Wicked Magic Read online

  His hand hovered over her arm, but he didn’t touch her. Did he expect the magic to rise from her skin like mist?

  “I’ve felt your magic, experienced it before. I remember that night in my bedroom. There was something different in your eyes—a sexual pull that made me feel like a damn pervert for wanting to take you up on your offer. Even though I scared you off, you weren’t my brother’s little friend anymore.”

  She shook her head. “You felt the magic because you brought it to life. Before that night, I’d never felt so much as a flicker. It’s you, your jaguar that makes me what I am. I was young and stupid and went about trying to seduce you all wrong. I thought if I got naked—then the rest would fall into place. I never counted on you saying no, or breaking my heart.”

  Trent plopped down beside her. The heat of his shoulder against her erased the chill the cold ground had left inside her.

  “Can I think about it?” he asked.

  “Time’s running out, Trent. Samhain happens only once a year. If I don’t do this before I’m twenty-one then my chance passes.”

  “That’s in two days. That’s a fuck of a lot of pressure and not a whole lotta time to consider the ramifications. I’ve got a duty, Sam. When you say bound together…” Trent looked like he was going to be sick.

  “I’d be attuned to you, and you to me.”

  “We’d be mates.” His skin paled, turned almost green and he shot across the room as far from her as he could get. Now he was the one making her dizzy. “You want to get hitched? We haven’t even gone out to dinner.”

  This really wasn’t working out how she’d planned. As she spoke, she put her clothes back on. “It’s not a marriage, I swear to you. Some witch/familiar pairs are close friends who are involved in other relationships. The bond goes beyond a marriage, or so I’m told. I can’t explain…” When she looked up, he didn’t meet her eyes. “Don’t you feel it, Trent? Feel how connected we are? God, do you think I would have picked you for this? You’re a royal pain in my ass! Hot, sure. It’s not our choice what fate chooses for us. I know your ex screwed you, ran off with your friend, but I swear on everything I am that what we have goes far, far beyond that.”

  “He told you? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” In the span of a few minutes, she’d seen him aroused, concerned, flabbergasted and now angry as all hell.

  Oh no. “Don’t get mad at ’Miah, everyone knows what that bitch Cindy did but people are too chicken-shit to say anything about it.”

  “Cindy didn’t mean shit, not really. She would have been my wife, but she was human—she wouldn’t have owned me the way you’re proposing. There’s a difference. Does my brother know about this familiar crap?” His finger zinged back and forth between them too fast to watch. The nice buzz she’d had when Trent had pushed her against the wall and kissed her senseless was gone. Her head ached.

  She squared her shoulders and made sure she had his gaze. On a normal day, she wasn’t afraid of him. Why should she be now?

  “If you won’t do it, he’s offered to take your place.”

  Trent’s back stiffened. At his sides, his hands curved into fists. The brooding, roiling energy swirling into the room ramped up her anxiety.

  “So if I don’t fuck you, you’re going to let my little brother pop your cherry?” His voice was cold as ice.

  She tried to call up patience, another thing being a real witch would have been good for. “No. I’m not into ’Miah like that, it would be like having sex with my brother. And unlike the other members of my coven, I won’t go through the transformation unless I have the man, you, who calls to my magic.”

  “So if I don’t go along with your little ritual, what happens?” he asked.

  She let out a long, low breath. “This has to be your choice. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. I know it’s a commitment but I’m not indenturing you into slavery. You won’t be at my beck and call. Equals. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  “I’ve got to think about this.”

  Trent turned and knelt in front of her. He cupped her cheek. She nuzzled against the heat of his palm. As if to prove her point, she let the magic he called up in her flow through them.

  “It’s not that I don’t care about you. You’re a sweet girl,” he whispered.

  “But?” she prompted when he said nothing else but stared into her eyes.

  His hand fell from her face. With it, her magic fell as well, an omen that had the backs of her eyes burning.

  “I can’t be what you need Sam. I’m poison. The things I touch turn to shit. My profession, Area Enforcer, it’s a fucking death sentence. I never intended to take a mate. Everything inside me wants to dominate you, pin you to that couch and fuck you as hard as I can. I want to bite you, leave my mark deep inside you, make sure no one ever touches you, looks at you, ever again. Everything inside of you wants to fight against that possession, don’t deny it. Whether your father was a shifter or not, you’ve got no idea how strong the animal instincts inside me are. Fighting and fucking are the only two things I’m good at. Love was never on the table.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it. He stopped her.

  “Give me some time,” he said.

  Sam nodded, watched as he picked up his shirt and holster from the ground. As he turned, the shirt fell into place and the crisscross of claw marks disappeared under the fabric. He all but ran to the stairs left of the elevator. When she no longer heard the heavy thud of his boots, she fell back against the couch.

  He was right, in a way. She hated that he was possessive and demanding. But at the same time, what she hated about him, she loved—his aggression, his dominance, his stubborn need to be the best. Their partnership was about balance. Too bad they were both too fucked up to complete much of anything, let alone a circle. But maybe that was what made them so perfect. Who wanted a nice round circle when they could have a misshapen ball?

  Chapter Six

  Not many things in life scared the shit out of Trent. Somehow Sam, with her wide, gentle eyes, had managed to make him a trembling mess. A familiar? What the fuck? His hands shook. His stomach was tied in a knot. He slammed his palm against the door at the top of the stairwell. Holy hell, he’d been reduced to a witch’s bitch. Fate, he mused, must be a cruel, evil woman who was out to get him.

  Sure, Sam was gorgeous, sassy and one hell of a kisser. He even cared about her. But mates? He’d sworn off the idea when he’d taken his father’s place as enforcer.

  Over the last few years, his take-no-prisoners attitude had worked fine. When the urge struck, he filled it with a quick fuck. Except, even those few-and-far-between encounters had lost their appeal. He might be an asshole, but even he knew screwing one woman while thinking about another was shitty. Sam was all he wanted. All he couldn’t have. Why in the hell did he have to come to the Watering Hole tonight anyway?

  The door creaked open, the sound raising the hair on his arms. As soon as he entered the main floor of the bar, heat slapped him in the face. He deserved it. The music pulsed, penetrated him. The tune had shifted from country to hard electric guitars and vocals that sounded like women shrieking. If his head hadn’t hurt before, he knew it would in only a matter of minutes.

  He had one mission—get the hell out of the bar before he took out his aggression on his brother. The bastard had actually offered to fuck her. He should kick his ass. He was going to kick his ass—right after he went home and drowned his sexual frustration in liquor. He’d been blindsided tonight. Jeremiah had been the catalyst.

  “Worse than a goddamn, pansy-assed matchmaker,” he mumbled under his breath and stormed across the room.

  Every step he took increased the buzzing in his head. The jaguar roared, paced, did everything it could to let his agitation be known. The only thing that kept him from shifting was his hand on his feline’s tail, holding it below the surface. Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck, trailed beneath his collar and down his back. Sam had touched him there, traced her nails over the
many battle wounds he’d acquired in the last few years. Her scent, the taste of her skin, lingered in his mouth. He had a clear picture of her breasts, the indent of her stomach, the tiny mole left of her hip. When she’d spread her thighs, exposing the tiny black panties, he’d almost come in his pants like a schoolboy.

  “I know it’s been awhile, but damn, that was quick. Where’s Sam?” With a wide grin, Jeremiah stepped in front of him. His brother’s gaze darted from him to the door he’d come out of as if expecting the little witch to appear at any moment.

  Trent took in a deep breath through his nose and curled his hands into fists. ’Miah meant well—he really did. He lifted his head to meet his brother’s eyes. One step forward closed the space between him and ’Miah until their chests touched. Jeremiah’s eyes went wide. His back stiffened. Good. At least he had the sense to be afraid.

  Aggression, anger, pent-up sexual frustration…it all jumbled inside him. His hand slipped on the tail he was clutching. It was the inch his kitty needed. Canines slipped from his gums and the first strands of fur grew from the tops of his hands.

  “Don’t bullshit me.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. “I can’t believe you planned on fucking her, making her yours. Dad always did say it should be you.”

  “Brother,” Jeremiah warned, then took an immediate step back when a growl ripped from Trent’s throat.

  The collective smoke in the bar hazed around him, filled his lungs. He was already moving before his brain could catch up. A gasp sounded from the poor guy who’d picked a table in his line of sight.

  “Cigarette, now.” He slapped a hand on the table, looked up, and met wide, terrified eyes. Even shifters got a little uneasy when you were half human, half animal.

  Scrambling, the kid did his best to open up his pack of smokes. Jesus, was this pip-squeak even old enough to be in the bar? The white stick hovered in the air, shaking, before Trent rolled his eyes and snatched it. He ripped off the brown filter and stuck the rest between his lips. When he held out his hand, a lighter landed in it.

  He scraped his thumb over the wheel of the Bic, sparked the flint and took in a deep breath. The smell of the flame mixed with the sweet nicotine. He drew the smoke into his mouth, brought it into his lungs, taming the sudden craving. In, out. He ignored the loose tobacco that stuck to the inside of his lip.

  He tossed the lighter to the table and turned right into Jeremiah. The kid didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Never removing the cigarette from his mouth, he blew a line of smoke into his brother’s face.

  Waving the mist aside, Jeremiah straightened to his full height. Being as tall as he was, he tended to slouch.

  “She doesn’t deserve to be punished because you’re afraid,” Jeremiah said, tone defensive.

  “You think life with me would be sunshine and fucking roses? I’m doing her a favor by walking away. Get out of my way. I’m not in the mood for this.” For every step he took, his brother took one more. He’d forgotten the ashy aftertaste cigarettes left in his mouth. As he walked by a table of werebears, he dropped his partially smoked cigarette in their pitcher of beer.

  “If it’s not fear, then what in the hell put your panties in a bunch?” Jeremiah yelled.

  Trent stopped, turned to look into his brother’s eyes. ’Miah was asking for a beat down.

  The room changed. His eyes pulled tight and colors morphed. It was too late to pull back the beast. Trent barely made it outside. The night pressed into him, cool and windless. He dropped to his knees—his stomach curled, twisted and he fisted the gravel beneath his hands. Glass dug into his palms, drew blood. The scent filled the air until he tasted copper in his mouth.

  Bones shifted. His back arched, spine lengthening. The last thing he heard as a human was the ripping of cloth before his jaguar pushed to the surface and took control. He shook his head, body following. He whipped his tail, felt it curling in the air. He drew in a deep breath. The familiar scent of the earth filled him. Pine. Soil. Rain. There was something else much fouler that lingered in the air. Terror. Blood. Female.

  He padded forward, following the scents. This, protecting humans and other shifters, was what he knew. Trees rustled along the edge of forest that lined the western side of the bar. Through the cars and trucks, branches swayed in the breeze. Leaves crunched, giving off a subtle scent. He tilted his head, studied the shadows that appeared between the trees.

  “Please, no more!” A woman’s sobs filled the night and drew his focus as his heart thundered with adrenaline. The scents around him shifted. There was something familiar in the air, something evil. A tight sensation puckered the skin below his fur, and his hackles rose. The wolf pack he’d tangled with earlier was nearby. And they weren’t alone—assholes.

  He sprinted forward. The impending hunt had his blood singing. The air caressed his fur. Each strand that moved tickled his skin, invigorating him. The faster he ran, the more scents he took in. All those smells stayed with him, told him where to go.

  He stopped at the edge of the clearing. Rage and disgust filled him. He was too late, and now a woman was dead. A naked blonde lay in the dirt, her pale flesh splayed open with deep claw marks. Teeth marks and bruises marred her skin. Trent let out a bellowing roar that reverberated through the night. If these assholes wanted blood, he was more than willing to teach them a lesson. One by one, the glimmering sheen of the wolves’ eyes pierced the darkness.

  Padding forward, he drew them out, into his sight. This was going to be a dirty fight. As an enforcer, he had the authority to put down any shifter he’d deemed a threat. The corpse before him was more than enough cause for him to take action. He knew this would be a fight to the death. The pack filtered out through the trees and surrounded him.

  Trent moved in a circle, baring his teeth and eying his prey. He swatted, his razor-sharp claws gleaming in the light of the nearly full moon. The pack initiated the dance. They snarled, advanced and then retreated. Power leaked into the air. It was potent, unsettling. It should have been a warning, a sign that he might be outclassed. At six to one, he knew he was being foolish. Everything went silent, as if the earth sensed the danger and backed off. But pride wouldn’t let him bow out. He was Alpha. Male. Stronger, quicker, more powerful than these dogs—he’d show them.

  The first wolf attacked, jumped into the air. He pushed off the ground with his hind legs and sprang to meet him. His tail moved, lashed against a solid body before they collided in air. The rest was a tussle of fur and teeth. The wolf went straight for his neck. Trent was quicker. Blood filled his mouth, the rich, salty taste whetting his appetite for more. The ground crashed under his feet and he rolled, pulling his attacker with him. The wolf yelped, a pitiful cry that was silenced when he dug his teeth into its neck and shook. Bones popped. The wolf’s heart thudded into silence and Trent’s pulse sped.

  Two wolves jumped on his back. The sting of claws forced him to drop their brethren. He reared back in an attempt to throw them off. Two more leaped, sharp teeth dripping with saliva, aiming for his neck. As he pulled on all his strength, a fierce snarl ripped from his throat. He shook the beasts off his back, curving his neck enough to grip one of their napes and yank. The wolf crashed to the ground, yelping before it sprang upright. The dog growled and limped forward, blood dripping to the ground.

  They circled, never taking their gazes off each other. He swatted, his paw colliding with solid muscle. The wolf tumbled to the ground, its snout sliding through leaves. Triumph gave him a burst of adrenaline. The wolf didn’t get up. Teeth pierced Trent’s thigh, forcing him around in a circle. He tried to shake off the attack. Another wolf jumped, hit him on the opposite side. Pain shot through his lungs and made it hard to draw in a breath. He staggered, thrashed with claws and teeth to fight free. His tail twitched, dragging through dirt. The beast biting him shook its head, tried to separate muscle from bone. Heat pierced his leg, spread into his back.

  He cried out and swung, barely managing to take down another w
olf. For every one he threw to the ground, another rose. It was becoming hard to breathe. Adrenaline coursed through him, kept him upright. Blood dripped from the wounds along his back and limbs. The pack surged, fed off the doubt that crawled inside him. They lunged, knocking him to his side.

  The world grew black and the sound of snarls dampened out everything else. Sam. He shouldn’t have been such a coward. He could jump headfirst into a fight with a pack of bloodthirsty beasts, yet he wasn’t man enough to take her, to claim her as his own. He was afraid—fearful that the joining would somehow weaken him. Well, look where that had fucking got him. A guttural cry rent through the night, and teeth closed around his neck. Heaviness pressed along his back and legs. The pack howled, the jaw at his neck tightened, teeth piercing his skin. Trent was too weak to move, to fight them off. Samantha…

  Chapter Seven

  The doors opened with a pathetic ding and Sam pushed off the elevator wall. She didn’t know why Trent insisted on the stairs. The shaft worked. Most of the time. Naked and shivering in the cool air, she’d taken longer to dress than she should have, spending her time staring at the ceiling. She’d fucked up.

  Head tilted to the ground, she made every effort she could not to look around when she walked into the bar. Compared to the temperature in the room below, it felt like a sauna up here. Heat pulsed with the music and the fog of smoke. It was suffocating. Out of habit, she looked up, searched out Trent’s table. She felt stupid for even thinking he might have stuck around. Her eyes watered, blurring her vision. She wouldn’t cry, not here at least.

  She set her sights on the bar and the man behind it, almost right where she’d left him. For brothers, Jeremiah and Trent looked nothing alike. ’Miah’s face was grim, his broad shoulders sagging in defeat. He fumbled with the pull lever on the tap and cursed.

  Beer tumbled over the rim of the glass, pouring over his hand. The last time she’d done that was when Trent had strolled up to the bar and ordered a whiskey, neat. When Jeremiah shook his hand, drops of moisture rained from his fingers, splattering over the bar.