Reynaud's Redemption, стр. 23

“I implore you, Baptiste, do not do this. I will not give up my magic. If you take from me what I do not give, it will not be as you think,” François warned.

Baptiste released François’ pajama top only to slip his hands around François’ throat. He brought his face up again but François shut his eyes tight.

“Open your eyes to me, old man,” Baptiste growled, giving him another shake.

François tossed his head back and forth pulling at Baptiste’s fingers. With an impatient noise, Baptiste dropped François to the bed. Breathing hard, the older man coughed and rubbed his neck.

“You are insane and have no respect for your elders. That is why Reynaud was chosen over you so long ago. You don’t deserve to lead—and you will not,” François croaked.

The mention of Reynaud’s name filled him with rage. Baptiste glared harshly at François. He reached back then slapped him hard across both sides of his face. Shock and pain widened François’ eyes as he cried out. Baptiste gripped his neck again but this time, though he fought, François could not shut his eyes.

“You may have your opinions, old man, but you will take them to the grave with you. Reynaud is dead. I will have your power and I will be the next leader of the council—make no mistake about it.”

François continued to struggle against him but Baptiste had him in his clutches. The life faded from his eyes, the sensation indicating that the power exchange had begun—but it was different. Unlike the smooth flow he had experienced from others he had taken, François’ magic came in quick shots like fireballs slamming against him. When the light in François’ eyes had finally gone out, Baptiste released him and fell back against his seat. The chair reared backward to the carpet. Baptiste gripped his upper body and screamed. Sweat burst to the surface, coating his skin. Overwhelming heat burned behind his eyes. They watered profusely. He swallowed several times in an attempt to cool his scorched throat.

What the fuck?

As fast as the attack had come, it started to alleviate. Panting harshly, he tore at his clothing until his chest was bare to inspect himself. He gasped, dragging his fingers over the damp skin. A moment ago, he seemed to catch fire from within, but his skin was not singed at all. Relieved, Baptiste let his head drop back as he continued to breathe in long, deep breaths. Before he could rise, the door flew open and Michael was by his side in seconds, helping him to his feet.

“Sir, are you all right?”

His voice was just as shaky as his knees when he was upright again. “Yes, Michael. I’m fine.”

“What happened, Mr St John?” Michael asked, picking up the chair.

“I don’t know,” Baptiste said honestly.

Michael walked over to the bed and looked down at François. “He’s dead,” he said sadly. “It’s been said that when an elder dies, it can be felt by those nearby. Maybe that’s what happened to you, sir.”

“Yeah, maybe. I have to go, Michael. I’m leaving you in charge of the arrangements for François.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, sir? You look—”

“Just do it,” he shouted and left the room.

Baptiste all but ran from the room, down the stairs and back to the car. Reggie had to rush to open the door for him.

“Where to, Mr St John?”

“Take me home, Reg.”

Baptiste sat in the back of the car taking more deep breaths.

Get a hold of yourself, Baptiste. François’ fire magic is just trying to find its niche with your earth magic. It will merge and blend—just like the others did—soon.

Baptiste calmed down and he smiled.

Yes, that’s it. Relax. Let the magic settle. He blew out a long, slow breath. That’s it. It just has to get used to being around other magic.

Baptiste continued his breathing exercises and calming techniques until Reggie pulled the car into his garage. After a shower and dinner, he felt like his old self. He was more than ready to receive Cindy when she appeared.

“Hello, Mr St John,” she greeted sweetly when he opened the door to his room.

Cindy’s five foot two, slender physique looked childlike in comparison to his six foot four height when he held her. He considered both that and her large doe-like eyes were her best features. Baptiste opened the door wider and stepped to the side. Cindy kissed his cheek before accepting his invitation. Baptiste closed the door and inspected her. Though he preferred her in white, the pale yellow dress she wore complemented her blonde hair. She stood with downcast eyes waiting for his impending command. Her demure manner pleased him. His cock throbbed with need and he realized it had been almost a week since he’d had a woman in his bed. Yes, he was ready for a much-needed release. Baptiste pushed himself away from the door and removed his robe.

“Come to the bed, Cindy, and take your clothes off,” he demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

He stood beside the bed, already naked, and stroking his full cock as he watched her undress. With a simple tug of the string tied into a bow at the base of her neck, the dress fell to the floor at Cindy’s feet leaving her wearing nothing but her shoes. Baptiste groaned low in his throat, gripping his balls. He loved that the women Maxwell sent to him didn’t bother with panties or bras. They were useless things, covering what he wanted to see and getting in his way when he was ready for sex. Cindy stepped out of her shoes and away from the garment to crawl across the bed. She stopped at the top, removed the rubber band holding her hair back, and rested her head on the pillow with her arms and legs opened wide.

Baptiste wasted no time getting onto the bed to cover her with