Arcane Kiss (Talents Book 1)

by Angela Knight

  Until the gold seemed to explode in a blinding flash. The great glowing muzzle of a tiger reared over her, fanged jaws opening to reveal three-inch daggers of light.

  She screamed.

  * * *

  Genevieve jerked awake with the sound of her own scream ringing in her ears, disoriented, terrified, her heart pounding in thick lunges. It was pitch black, but somehow she knew it wasn’t her bedroom. She didn’t recognize the smells, couldn’t make out anything in the darkness.

  Flinging out a hand, she groped for the lamp, terrified Kurt was still in the room with her, playing with her like a cat in the dark. Her fingertips hit something hard -- the lamp base -- and she grabbed it, lifting it like a weapon even as she used her left hand to search for its switch.

  Light burst into the room. She was alone in the Briggs’ guest bedroom. Blowing out a breath in relief, Gen rolled to her feet, still holding the lamp as she peered around warily.

  Alone. I’m alone, I’m safe. She lowered the lamp to the nightstand and sank down on the mattress again to rake trembling hands over her clammy face. Her heart thundered in her chest. Jesus Christ, that was a bad one.

  The flip side of artistic creativity was horrific nightmares. She’d learned to accept them as the price of being what she was. As Dad had always told her, there was no such thing as a free lunch. Even Normals with purely non-magical talents paid for them with nightmares worse than those endured by the less talented. In Gen’s waking hours, she believed the gifts her talents gave her made up for the price they exacted. But on nights like tonight, it didn’t feel that way.

  Then again, anybody would have had nightmares after what had happened to Fred. Especially after that nasty little bedtime story of Dave’s. Still, she supposed she should be grateful for the warning. Of course, she’d known battles between Ferals could get ugly -- she’d been listening to her parents’ war stories for years.

  But to actually watch Fred get torn apart on that recording… she shuddered.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  A calm, cold voice in the back of her mind told her it had been stupid to involve herself in this ugly mess. If she had any sense, she’d get her ass back home and avoid Kurt and his furry friends like the plague from here on out.

  She’d find out what the spell did and give the information to Sawyer. Then she’d head to New York, visit the gallery that carried her work. Maybe do some sightseeing and get her head back on straight.

  What if those assholes track me down? If Fred and his lion couldn’t fight that bear off, I’d have no chance whatsoever.

  And then there was the Arcanist. Spell-casters might not have as much raw magical power, but Ferals had no defense against Arc booby traps.

  If she cut and run, and something happened to Kurt or Dave -- or hell, anybody else -- because she wasn’t here to help, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

  So no, she wasn’t going to run. She was going to stay in Laurelton and do what she could to keep the Arcanist from killing anybody else. And I may get myself killed doing it.

  Yeah, well, everybody dies. The trick was to make sure you didn’t spend the rest of your life regretting your actions because the result was somebody else’s death.

  The nightmares from that would make tonight’s look like an episode of Sesame Street.

  On the other hand, that didn’t mean she had to be stupid about it. Trouble was, she could control her actions, but her emotions were the real problem. Kurt had already touched her with his pain and heroism. If she wasn’t damned careful, she’d fall in love with him.

  Especially since he was exactly the kind of man she’d always looked for. Kurt was far too much like her father -- a hero with a strong sense of responsibility and honor.

  Plus he’s gorgeous. Too bad she’d met him at the worst possible time.

  Becoming one with a big cat did not automatically make you crazy. After all, Fred had been melded with his lion for twenty years since the animal’s death, but there was no indication he’d had any problems with self-control. Given what an extremely public person he’d been, there would have been rumors if he’d ever lost it.

  But Kurt’s meld was too fresh, leaving him vulnerable to his tiger’s instincts. If she followed up on this attraction, he could easily become even more dangerously possessive -- as male cats tended to be. Considering he’d already come close to attacking both Sawyer and Jake…

  “No! Goddamn you, you bastard!” Feet thudded to the floor, accompanied by a snarl that had not come from a human throat.

  Genevieve froze, staring at the wall opposite the bed, her heart thundering.

  The bear. Had the bear assassin broken in and attacked Kurt? For a long moment, she heard nothing more than her own ragged panting.

  “You fucking idiot,” Kurt’s voice growled.

  She strained her ears, but seconds ticked by in ringing silence.

  Her shoulders slumped in relief and she settled back against the headboard, swinging her legs up. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d had bad dreams. Though his would probably have been even worse. At least hers hadn’t featured her father’s murder.

  A door opened and closed in the hallway, and the floor creaked as he walked past her door and started down the stairs.

  I need to go back to bed.

  But what she really wanted was to follow him down the stairs. Dumbass. Didn’t we just go through that? Getting involved with the magical were-tiger is not a good idea.

  But there’d been such defeated pain in that “You fucking idiot.”

  “He’s not the only one,” she growled, and rolled out of bed. She’d worn her turquoise top to bed, so she put on her shorts and padded barefoot out into the hall.

  Gen was midway down the stairs when Kurt looked out at her from one of the downstairs rooms. “Sorry I woke you. Everything’s fine. You can go back to bed.”

  But everything wasn’t fine. He looked haggard, his handsome face drawn under disheveled dark hair that looked as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He was shirtless, his glorious chest bare.

  She tried to ignore the view. “Actually, I was already awake. Had a nightmare.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around. You want something to drink? Dad’s bourbon is really…” He broke off. His expression twisted before going controlled again. “… good.”

  “Sure.” As she followed him into the parlor, she thought, I am such a moron.

  If the house was Victorian, its decor was not. An oxblood leather sectional couch faced a flat screen television on an entertainment center. On shelves beneath that sat a satellite box and a video game console with a pair of controllers. At the opposite end of the room, a gas fireplace had replaced one that had obviously once burned wood.

  But it was the walls that caught her attention. They were covered in photos of lions, tigers, jaguars, pumas, leopards, lynxes -- all kinds of cats, including species she didn’t even know the names for.

  Compelled, Genevieve walked over to the nearest of them, a lion with bright Feral gold eyes. Judging by the skillful composition and quality of the print, it was obviously professional work. “These must have set Fred back some serious cash.”

  “Actually, no. Dad was an amateur photographer. Did photos of every cat BFS ever housed. There’ve been a lot of them over the past twenty years.” He moved closer. “That’s Lahr, Dad’s lion. He’s the one you see in the BFS logo.”

  She looked around at him. “Lahr?”

  “As in Bert Lahr, the actor that played the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz.” He grinned. “Which was something of a joke. Lahr loved a good fight. He had a roar that could vibrate the paint off a wall.”

  “Sounds intimidating.”

  “Yeah, but deep down, he was a softy. Especially with me. He’s the reason I was so determined to join the Corps and get my own cat. I loved him.” His smile faded. “Mom, not so much.”

  “Your mom didn’t like him?”

  �
�Mom hated him. I think she was actually glad when he died -- testicular cancer. It wrecked Dad and me. I was ten.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her gaze drifted back to the lion’s hypnotic gaze. There was more than an animal’s intelligence in that intense stare. “Your father had real talent.”

  “He loved his subjects. That always helps.” Kurt moved over to a walnut bar that ran beside the television and poured himself a glass of something amber from a cut-glass decanter. “Want any? Aged Kentucky bourbon. Dad loves… loved the stuff.”

  “Sure.” Maybe it would help her get back to sleep.

  As he filled a second glass, she asked, “Where’s Dave?”

  “Took the first watch. He’s probably skulking in the bushes outside the house.”

  “Is that safe? I mean, between witches and polar bears…”

  His mouth pulled into a flat line as he handed her the glass. “We fought a war, Gen. We know how not to be seen.” He nodded toward the sectional, and she followed him over to it to sit down. “What did you dream about?”

  Genevieve froze. And knew by the heat in her cheeks that she was blushing.

  Kurt blinked and looked startled. His nostrils flared. Almost like an animal scenting…

  He looked quickly away, downing a deep swallow of his bourbon.

  I need to get my ass back to bed. Instead she took a sip of the bourbon. Liquid fire detonated in her mouth, smoky and dark. It burned all the way down. She coughed, acutely aware of him, sitting bare-chested and handsome in the light of the single lamp he’d turned on.

  God, that chest. I’d love to paint him.

  It wasn’t the first time tonight she’d had that thought. But then she hadn’t known what a bad idea it was.

  He almost lost it twice tonight. Only an idiot would go for three. She forced herself to look away. But a moment later her gaze drifted back to dwell on the ridged muscle of Kurt’s flat abdomen and broad chest. His biceps flexed as he lifted his glass for another sip. Heat rolled through her, and she swallowed. Bad idea.

  Really, really bad.

  Really.

  Chapter Eight

  The smell of her arousal seemed to sink right into Kurt’s brain. In the depths of his mind, Stoli rumbled in hunger. His eyes swept the length of her body in the dim light, taking in the soft curve of her cheek, her plump lower lip, her straight, slim nose.

  Her hair was sleep-tousled, as if she’d just rolled out of bed -- which she had. The rich auburn shone, a dozen shades of copper, bronze and red burnished by the glow of the single lamp he’d on. Curls foamed around her slim, pale throat, leading his gaze down to the cotton turquoise top she wore. The fabric bore fingerprint smudges of pastel dust from drawing Parvati.

  She’d taken her bra off to go to bed. He could see the small points of her nipples pressing against the fabric like little bullets.

  Her nipples are hard. His imagination instantly began spinning erotic speculation about the way they’d look without that top. What color were the tips -- rose, candy-pink, soft brown? How would she taste?

  Stoli chuffed in his head, reacting to the burst of hunger with a blaze of pure need. The tiger’s arousal built his own, and Kurt barely bit back a groan. It seemed anger wasn’t the only emotion that could set off a feedback loop. I need to get the hell away from her.

  But before he could force his reluctant feet into motion, she lifted her glass for another sip of the bourbon, and those soft breasts swayed, looking full and touchable beneath the thin fabric.

  The scent of her need intensified, a teasing bloom of female musk in the air as she grew more aroused. He caught a flash of blue as her gaze flicked toward him, then instantly away.

  Kurt asked the question knowing perfectly well he shouldn’t. “What did you dream about?” His voice sounded a trifle hoarse. “Was it me?”

  Genevieve laughed, but it wasn’t at all convincing. “Conceited much?”

  “Was it?” Stoli sent him a vivid mental image of Gen on her hands and knees, her ass lifted in invitation.

  Or maybe that was his own imagination.

  “What were we doing?” He’d intended the question to sound teasing, but the words came out darkly suggestive.

  The blush drained from her cheeks, leaving them too pale. Gen looked away, taking a deeper slug of the bourbon. She didn’t even shudder this time. Unfortunately, the line of her lips looked tight rather than sensual.

  Something clenched his belly in an icy fist. “Did I hurt you?”

  Gen raised the glass and drained it. A tiger’s nose wasn’t as sensitive as a dog’s, but he could still detect the faint acridity of her fear. She still didn’t answer.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.” He felt sick. “I would never hurt you.”

  “Not intentionally.” She turned back and met his gaze. Despite the fear, there was sympathy in those crystalline eyes. “Dave told me what happened to Bobby.”

  Goddamnit, Dave. “My dad trained me to be a lot more disciplined than Bobby. Nothing against Bobby’s mom -- she was a single mother, and she didn’t have a Familiar. I don’t think she realized how important it was to be tough on a Feral kid.”

  She sighed. “It was just a nightmare, Kurt. It didn’t mean anything.”

  “There’s fear in your scent.”

  “It was just a bad dream.”

  He sank back on the couch and rubbed his eyes with one hand. In his own dream, he’d been the one to trip the Arc’s booby trap in that cave. He’d been the one to go mad when someone bumped him from behind, reacting in blind animal rage. Except it hadn’t been Dave he’d killed.

  It had been Genevieve.

  I’ve got to get out of here before I do something really stupid. Like kiss her again. Kurt dropped his hand, shoulders slumping. “I don’t blame you for being afraid, especially after the way I acted tonight. Look, I’m going back to…”

  Gen touched him, shutting him up in mid-word. Her silken fingers curled along his cheek. “I’m not afraid.” Her blue eyes gazed into his, vivid and steady. “You didn’t lose control, Kurt. Your father was just murdered, but you still held on. You didn’t hurt anybody. I’m not sure I could have said the same if somebody’d killed my dad.”

  He inhaled sharply. Her scent flooded his head, and he realized she meant it. The acridity was gone, leaving only her personal scent, all magical ozone and Genevieve.

  But if the fear had faded, the need had not. It still rolled from her, smoky and tempting as incense. “I’m not afraid,” she repeated softly.

  “You were.”

  “I had a bad dream. It’s been that kind of night. But if you were really going to lose control, you’d have done it in the arena when your dad died. If you didn’t then, I don’t think you’re going to.”

  Kurt closed his eyes, fighting temptation, and saw her magic glowing behind his lids. It wasn’t just gold like his, but a hundred other shades, colors chasing each other across her aura like the aurora borealis.

  The glowing woman leaned toward him. His eyes flew wide as Genevieve kissed him. It might have been their third kiss of the night, but it didn’t feel like either of the others. Those had been kisses of desperation, of grief, of pain and sympathy. This was a gentle exploration of a kiss, slow and soft.

  Her tongue slipped into his mouth in a teasing lick that burned smoky with bourbon. Kurt closed his lips and suckled her gently, tasting her with senses both feline and human. Her lips brushed back and forth across his in slow seduction. He returned the swirling stroke of her tongue, sliding his own into her mouth, tilting his head as he explored her.

  At last she eased back from him. Kurt stared at her, fighting the need that burned hot in his groin, his and Stoli’s desire flaring like gasoline teased with a torch.

  Cool little fingers touched his hand and took the glass away. Leaning forward, she put both their empty glasses on the coffee table with a clink. His eyes caught on the sinuous curve of her back, leading down to the swell of her ass.

  Genevieve
turned back to him, and he took her in his arms. She felt perfect, skin soft and smooth and lush.

  That image flashed through his mind: Gen on her hands and knees. Stoli wanted her to pull her under him, but he refused. Not after the fear I saw in her eyes. I am not going to scare this woman again. He was going to make love to her. Despite common sense, despite his better judgment, he wanted her. Needed her.

  Craved her.

  But he wasn’t an animal. He eased back and looked deep in those cornflower eyes. “You trust me. But do you want me?”

  She caught his shoulders in both hands and pushed him back against the couch, then slung a leg astride his lap. “Yes.”

  Kurt stiffened… in more than one sense of the word. His cock leaped as her soft weight came down on his thighs. She felt so delicious, he groaned. Gen covered his mouth with hers and drank the sound, kissing him harder this time, demanding, tongue swirling around his.

  Closing his eyes, he watched her glow as the heat in his veins blazed.

  She stroked him as she kissed him, tracing the cords of his throat, the thick muscle of biceps and shoulders.

  He cupped the rise of her hips, slid one palm up to the dip of her narrow waist. Pushing up the hem of her shirt, he found bare skin, warm and smooth and soft under his fingertips.

  Stoli rumbled, and Kurt had to suppress a magical echo. He had no intention of killing this mood with a growl, even a growl of hunger. Especially a growl of hunger. “Are you sure this is what you want? Because I’ll go if you’re not.”

  She pulled back just enough to glare. “Don’t you dare.” Sharp little nails dug into his chest.

  “All right, all right!” Laughing, he reached up to cup her breast. Soft. God, she was so incredibly soft. The smooth, warm curve filled his hand with pure erotic delight. He groaned.

  So did she.

  He caressed her gently, squeezed, stroked. Found the stiff little nipples that had been driving him crazy since she’d walked into the room. Made them even stiffer with gentle tugs between thumb and forefinger.

  Genevieve pulled away from his mouth and let her head tilt back, eyes slipping closed. “I do love a man with talent.”