Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles by Caedis Knight (hardest books to read .txt) 📗

I open another door and duck as a broom falls at me, landing with a clunk at my feet.

“Thank you, but I already ordered an Uber,” I say, and snort-laugh at my own joke.

I shake my head. I’ve not drunk enough champagne yet to be quipping with cleaning equipment!

I keep going, searching each room one by one. Beatriz may be a powerful Witch, but even she can’t disappear into thin air! There are no stairs or elevators on this side of the building, so she has to be on this floor somewhere. I hear the clatter of the kitchens I passed earlier, and a waiter hurries towards me, holding a tray of wine destined for the ball. Why is Beatriz hanging around back here?

I turn a full one-eighty, when something tickles my toes through my torturous shoes. A black feather.

With the feather in my hand, I look up to the ceiling as if a nest of crows has somehow found a home in the alcove. Impossible. There are no windows in the corridor.

Someone is giggling. I’m certain I’ve checked every single door on this landing, yet clearly someone is here. I follow the tinkling sound of a young woman’s laugh. Retracing my steps, I pass one room, then another, until I turn a corner and, according to the sign on the door, find myself outside a research library. There are people inside, murmuring. As quietly as I can, I push open the door and walk in, squinting in the half-light at the rows of books.

The giggling I heard turns to heavy breathing. A flurry of movement catches my eye, and I peer behind a bookshelf, swallowing the gasp forming in my throat.

A man has Beatriz up against the wall. Her bare legs are wrapped around his waist, tanned against his white shirt, and his black pants are by his ankles as he thrusts against her. Her eyes are closed, fingers clasping the back of his damp head as she moans into his neck.

His naked ass is a stark contrast against his waiting apron, but that’s not what has me rooted to the spot. His right hand is cupped to her behind, pulling her into him, but the other arm isn’t an arm at all. His giant wing curls around the other side of her, enveloping her in a shimmering blanket of onyx feathers. Beatriz nuzzles his neck and moans again.

What in the feathery fuck is this?!

I step back behind the bookshelf. Dogging isn’t my thing, or maybe birding in this case, but I need to know who she’s with. It was obvious Beatriz was seeing some guy, but this? My mother would throw her out of the MA in a split second if she knew she was having a relationship with a Shifter. Let alone in the same building as the fucking MA ball!

Beatriz’s tanned legs pretzel tighter around the guy’s behind, the Shifter’s thrusts growing stronger, harder, matching the rhythm of their pleasure-fueled groans.

“Corre, mi brujita,” he murmurs, telling his ‘little Witch’ to come.

It’s enough to tip Beatriz over the edge. She throws her head back in answer and lets out a low moan. His pace quickens in response, making her cry out even louder.

OK, this is my cue. It’s one thing to watch people fuck, entirely another to stay until after they’ve come. I’m not completely uncouth.

As I edge away, my heel accidentally scrapes the polished floor and lets out a high squeak. Shit!

Beatriz’s eyes snap open and lock on mine, terror flooding through them.

I look away as the couple breaks apart, and the guy struggles to pull up his pants with only one human hand. He’s younger than I thought, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. His dark floppy hair is in his face, partially covering his large chocolate eyes that are now looking between us both in fear and confusion.

“Saskia! We were just...” Beatriz begins, then thinks better of it.

I turn to leave. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“Wait!”

I pause at the door as Beatriz straightens her dress before giving the waiter a dismissive glance.

“Get back to work!” she snaps.

Hurt flickers across his handsome face as the feathers on his arms retract into his skin, and his white shirt sleeve reappears.

He dips into a sardonic curtsy, pain still clear on his chiseled features. “Si, señorita,” he says through gritted teeth. “Pero esta noche soñaré contigo, como siempre.”

But tonight, I will dream of you as always. Wow.

Then, without a backward glance, he walks out of the room, tightening his apron. Beatriz and I are left alone, a flurry of black feathers swirling at our feet.

She clears her throat. “He’s just some waiter I was talking to earlier. I’m drunk, it was nothing but a quick fuck. I barely know him.”

I bunch up my face as the four pings hit me like notes on a xylophone.

“I just needed to blow off some steam. It meant nothing,” she continues.

Ping. Ping.

I stay silent and wait. Realization dawns on her glowing face as she slowly remembers I’m a Verity Witch and her lies are pointless.

“You won’t tell, will you?” I never imagined Beatriz could look this scared.

“That he showed you his Alfred Hitchcock?”

I’m trying to diffuse the situation with humor, but Beatriz’s face is twisted in confusion.

“Oh,” she says finally. “He directed The Birds. I get it.”

“And he has ‘cock’ in his name, so it was a double joke. Come to think of it, his entire name is very phallic...” I’m rambling, but Beatriz interrupts me.

“Please don’t tell anyone. You know mating with a Shifter is the ultimate mark of shame in the MA. I could lose everything.”

“Hey,” I rub the top of her arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” I think back to the young guy’s face, his adoring gaze, and how quickly it crumbled to hurt as soon as she dismissed him. “But maybe try not to be so mean to him in the future.”

Her face drops, and she blinks back tears.

“I owe you one,” she