Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Adkins, Heather Marie

By some miracle, I managed to steady my voice when I said, “If by it, you mean the soul. Yes.” If Claudia’s stepfather had a soul. Time to find out.

  I glanced over at Dad, finally tearing my eyes from the work I’d done. The Devil looked nothing like he had before. This time, he was riding the skin of an older woman. A far more conservative version of my mother, if I were honest.

  The Devil crept over to the bloody pile of person that had been Claudia’s stepdad. “There isn’t much here, but I’ll take him. A deal’s a deal.”

  Why had that sounded like a threat?

  “Wh-When is the deal due?” I dared to ask.

  “On your eighteenth, of course,” the woman said, with the Devil inside. “You’ll perform the ritual, claim your power, and become my Inferi.”

  I wouldn’t, but I wasn’t telling the Devil that.

  “But first”—the woman caressed my cheek—“you must survive. Listen to the crone. She will guide you.”

  Something dark and writhing exited the lump of man on the ground, bound itself to the Devil’s essence. “It was a pleasure to do business with you, daughter. Until we meet again.”

  The woman’s body shook. The sky overhead roared in protest, a coming storm like so many storms in my life.

  “We have to go.” The old woman’s voice was her own again, though it was no less demanding. “The Wyka will come for you. Now that you’ve used magick, they can track your scent.”

  Scent wasn’t really the right word. Not that there was a proper word. Magick had a taste. A flavor. It’s own atmosphere that left a vibrational signature more unique than fingerprints.

  “Wh-Who are you?” My voice broke on the words as my body crashed from withdrawal.

  That’s what Dark magick was. A drug. I’d used it only once, and I was hooked. Junkie from minute one.

  The old woman perked up, a deer listening for predators. “Who I am isn’t important right now. Keeping you safe is.”

  “Why do you care about keeping me safe?” I asked. Seemed a perfectly reasonable question. Minions of the Devil never struck me as team players.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but never got the chance. A loud screeching whistle forced my hands over my ears. My knees screamed in protest as shards of debris cut my flesh. When had I fallen to the ground? What the hell was happening?

  A steady, determined hand grabbed my arm. “Move, girl!”

  My body obeyed. Rather, she gave me no other choice but to obey.

  Lightning blackened the spot I’d just occupied. I didn’t think Dad was allowed a return visit to Earth so quickly after just leaving.

  “There they are!” An unfamiliar female voice sounded from somewhere behind me.

  “Don’t let them get away!” someone else shouted. A man with a deep, rumbling tone.

  Shit. The Wardens had found us. Found me.

  “I’m taking you home,” the crone said as she drug me through the neighborhood, through backyards, and down alleyways. “Your mother will have wards up around the house. You’ll be safest there until—”

  Another blast whizzed over our heads.

  I had so many questions. How did this woman know about my mother? Or where I lived, for that matter?

  “In here.” The old woman pushed me into a shed, which was stupid if you asked me. One way in. One way out.

  She shut the door behind us and darkness engulfed us, but only for a moment. She immediately began to chant in Inferitas, the language of Hell. A language I couldn’t speak or understand, until, apparently, now.

  A volleyball sized sphere of dark purple magma appeared between her spiraling hands, lighting the small shed. She pressed it against the door, and the entire inside of the shed shone with the same dark light. Moments later, a bang sounded against the door.

  “Help me create a portal,” the crone insisted.

  She began to chant again, move her body in a way that spoke to mine. Somehow, I knew what I was supposed to do even though I hadn’t known before.

  I stared at my hands as she worked. Sweat poured off of her forehead. Still, I did not move.

  “Kate,” she pleaded, the magick required to work such a spell taking a toll on her. Transportation magick was some of the toughest. Cost the most. That’s what Mom had always said. It was one of the few things she’d taught me. She’d tried so hard to raise me mundane when I was destined to be anything but.

  My gaze remained firmly on my hands when I answered, “I can’t.” The pull to use my father’s fading power made me dizzy. It lured me with promises of relief and more magick than I could ever dream. And like every drug, it would leave me used, washed up, a slave to the next hit.

  I was no one’s slave.

  My hands balled into fists. My jaw clenched tight. “No,” I said, knowing that would always be the answer. Had to be if I wanted to fool the Devil. “I won’t.”

  Curse words were the next thing to reach my ears, followed by more chanting, more banging. The tiny wooden shed should’ve shredded by now. Only the force of the crone held it at bay.

  Who was this woman? A High Priestess certainly, though where was her Pentagram—the warlocks she’d bonded to get this kind of power? Were they stashed nearby so she could siphon their energy? Would they soon rush in to save us?

  Anyone who could cast a protection spell strong enough to hold the Wyka Wardens back, and at the same time create a portal, was someone no one should want to fuck with. Here I was, doing just that.

  “Damn petulant child,” she swore as the fabric of reality unraveled, an intangible wave of distortion in the air between us. “Of course you would inherit that trait.”

  “Inherit?”

  The word had barely any time to form on my lips before the shed split in two. I’ll never forget the look on the face of the Wyka who lunged toward me.

  His lips curled in loathing, forehead creased in hateful concentration. His hand clenched in frantic desperation.

  It was his eyes that had the most impact, though. The way he looked at me as if I were an atom bomb that would destroy the planet. That, if he didn’t end me first, I would end him. End everyone he ever loved. Anyone he’d ever known.

  I took a step toward him, ready to give myself over. I didn’t want to be responsible for that kind of destruction. I’d already killed someone. Someone who deserved it, but still. One death was enough. One more would end it all. It was the best way to make sure my deal with Dad never came to fruition.

  “Time to go.” I felt the old woman’s grip on my arm before her words registered.

  Something cool, like frozen liquid metal, coated my flesh. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, see, or hear. I was nothing. Nowhere. Everywhere. And then I was home, staring at the front of my house.

  The door burst open. My mother ran out, eyes wide, hair wild, face streaked red. She’d been crying, and she was pissed.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Mom practically yelled. The confusing thing was, I wasn’t sure who she was yelling at.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Caudra,” the old woman said to my mother, which brought her up short.

  It would’ve caught me off guard, too, if some stranger showed up at my house with my teenage daughter, calling me by my name.

  Just when I thought things couldn’t be more screwed up, my mother threw back at the old woman, “Wish I could say the same, Mother.”

  8

  “You are one mean bitch.”

  I pull up to my full height and face one of the twins blocking the exit to my office. Derion, by the tone of his voice.

  “I’ve been called worse,” I mutter as I push past.

  Try and push past.

  His arm cuts across the space from his body to doorframe, practically clotheslining me. No, clotheslining would be my neck. More like tit-lining.

  “Move.” The word comes out on a growl, with all of the force of my annoyance.

  “Or what?” he calls my unspoken bluff. All semblance of the sexy, charismatic warlock is g
one, replace with danger and defiance. “You don’t use magick, so what can you possibly do to me?”

  This. This right here is why some people make the generalization that all men are stupid.

  I bring the heel of my shoe down hard on top of his foot. At the same time, I land an elbow to his jaw, then angle my body for a hip throw. He lands on his ass inside my office. I don’t have time to enjoy the look of pure shock on his face or to celebrate the countless hours spent working out and kickboxing.

  As fast as possible, I grab my purse off the desk and slam the door shut. Without thinking, I unleash a tiny bit of energy toward the lock. It glows purple when it clicks, a moment before Derion pounds on the door.

  Guess that’ll hold him.

  I throw my purse over my shoulder and turn to go. One minute, I know I’m upright. The next, I’m against the wall, legs like jelly underneath me. Adrenaline spikes my heart rate. A rush of euphoria overtakes me as if twelve years haven’t passed since my last hit.

  Shoving the sensation down as far as I can, I regain my feet, make my way to the front door. I use my keys to lock it, make sure I turn the sign to closed before I go.

  After heading past the fudge shop, and the few other storefronts next to that, I finally reach my car. I’m grateful the black Beemer is gone, Dante along with it. He’s the nicer of the two. I would hate to have to kick him where it counts to get away.

  A loud blast sounds from inside my shop. I yank open the driver door, get it, and get the hell out of there as fast as I can. In my rearview, Derion chases me. Thank fuck traffic isn’t congested this time of day. And it’s off-season, so Gatlinburg isn’t particularly crowded.

  The light turns red. If I stop, Derion will catch me. I don’t know what happens if he does. Don’t want to find out. He looked pissed when I speed off. Angry enough for murder. I wonder if that’s how I looked when I thought I got the ultimate revenge on Claudia’s stepfather.

  I cut down an alley to avoid the light, narrowly miss clipping a guy on a bike not paying attention, and pull onto East Parkway heading north. I obsessively check my rearview for the first few miles, take the extremely roundabout way into my neighborhood, and park down the street from my apartment.

  At least ten minutes pass before I’m convinced no one’s following me. I listen at the door to my apartment before unlocking it. If the twins found me at work, they probably know where I live.

  Assholes. I love this place, my business, my quiet, obscure life. Why did Dad have to show up and ruin everything? Why can’t they all just let me live in peace?

  After checking my entire apartment for anything out of the ordinary, twice, I head to the closet. I’d cut out a piece of the wood paneling when I’d moved in, created a makeshift hidey-hole for the only magickal possession I still own.

  My breath catches when I grab the box. It’s untarnished, looks exactly the same as the day I pulled my mother’s grimoire from it. The same as the day it was created by my great-grandmother.

  Grabbing a safety pin from a nearby drawer, I prick my finger and press a drop of blood to the keyhole. The lid pops open. The grimoire isn’t there. Hasn’t been since the day I made the deal. What is there are the only things I have left from the day-that-shall-not-be-named.

  A coin and a small silver dagger.

  My front door opens. I pocket the coin then reach for the gun I keep in the bedside table. I flick the safety off and cock the hammer. If it’s Dad, a gun won’t do me any good. Hell, it won’t do much against magick at all. But I never underestimate the power of surprise.

  “Babe, you in here?” Callen’s voice calls from the living room.

  Oh, thank fuck!

  I lean against the wall to steady myself, only now realizing how tight I’m wound. I make sure to flick on the safety before putting the gun back.

  “In the bedroom,” I call after shutting the drawer to conceal the fact I could’ve shot my boyfriend.

  The sound of his footsteps provides a familiar relief. Callen is shredded as hell, knows how to fight, and would do anything for me. Not that I’d want him going up against a warlock. Still, it feels good to know he’s here, at least for the moment.

  “Hey.” He crosses the distance between us to wrap me in a hug. Damn, he smells good. A mixture of sweat, salt, and soap.

  He gives me a kiss, innocent at first. In no time, I want more. His lips are no longer enough.

  “Woah.” He wraps his hands around my wrists to stop me from pulling his shirt over his head. “Slow down.”

  Really? Slow down? Is he a virile alpha male or what? Callen’s a lot of things. Prude isn’t one of them. He’s always down to get a taste of me.

  “I just…I want to make sure you’re okay,” he adds, probably after assessing the look on my face. “What are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  I could ask him the same thing.

  “I was, but…” I let the thought fade. Something else pulls at my attention. A sinking feeling in my gut.

  The air isn’t quite right. It’s thicker, somehow. And my lust for Callen hasn’t cooled, even after the rejection. Honestly, the longer I’m in his presence, the hotter I get between my—

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask, taking a step away from him.

  He gets that puppy dog look in his eyes, the same one he wears after every fight he loses. Which means after ever fight.

  “I almost live here, remember?”

  “No. I mean, how did you know I would be here now?”

  Callen should be at work, same as me. The fact we both ended up at my apartment, middle of the workday, same time, isn’t a coincidence.

  He shrugs as if what he’s about to tell me won’t bring my world crashing down at my feet. “I got a text.”

  “From who?” I ask, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Turns out, I don’t need to.

  “From me.”

  My eyes widen as I glance behind my boyfriend of two years to find the warlock I’ve known for all of like, two minutes.

  I switch places with Callen, make sure I’m between him and Derion.

  “Don’t you fucking touch him,” I say to Derion, letting him know I’ll fight dirty to protect Callen. He’s a mundane. Doesn’t belong in our world.

  Derion scoffs in the special asshole way I imagine only he can. “Impressive trick with the lock.” He cracks his knuckles, rolls out his shoulders. “I haven’t been trapped by anyone in a long time.”

  “If anyone can cage you, it’s bound to be me,” I can’t help but admit under my breath.

  By all accounts, Derion is mine. Dante, too. Mine to mate. Mine to control. Mine to use. None of those things sound like the makings of a healthy relationship.

  “You aren’t going to get what you want,” I say, louder this time so he can hear. “So just fuck off and leave us alone.”

  “We can’t do that, Kate.” Dante’s smooth, calm voice precedes him down the hallway leading to my bedroom. A hallway that’s quickly becoming too crowded.

  “Got your car back, then.” It’s a statement, not a question. Dante answers, anyway.

  “Your stunt cost me a grand.”

  I let my lips slide up into a grin. Good to know I can find something satisfying about this entire experience. “The stunt you and your brother are trying to pull will cost a lot more.”

  Without missing a beat, Dante responds. “It’s a price we’re willing to pay.”

  If Callen has a reaction to the twins and our conversation, I don’t notice. Granted, I’m not focusing on him. Best case: I’m trying to figure out how to keep him alive. Worse case: I’ll need to sacrifice him as a distraction to get away.

  No. That’s what Dad would do. I’m not him. I’m not his. Not yet.

  “What about me? What about my cost?” I plead with the twin who clearly has more sense. “Take your brother, walk out of my apartment, out of my life. Fly to some tropical island, order drinks with tiny umbrellas as you sun on the beach, far, far, fa
r away from here. Doesn’t that sound better than anything my father’s offering?”

  My fists clench as Dante and Derion exchange silent communications. Magick pushes against the underbelly of my flesh. It tests for soft spots, weaknesses it can use against me. Unleashing it is the last resort. The nuclear option.

  I reach behind me until my hand holds Callen’s. He feels warm, safe. Mine.

  “I’m done talking.” Derion breaks the silence that’s stretched too long. “We’ve done it your way, brother. Given her a choice. Now we do it my way. Give her no other option.”

  Derion conjures a ball of energy between his palms, lightning quick and just as deadly. His eyes flick to Callen, telegraphing his move. I don’t think. I act.

  Turning my back to the twins, I bury my face in Callen’s chest, breathe in the scent I’ve awoken to more often than not over the past two years. It takes no more effort than a thought before a shimmering, undulating shield of dark light surrounds us both.

  The energy ball Derion throws tickles when it hits. I ignore the twins. They can’t hurt me, not if I don’t let them.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I stroke Callen’s face. His features remain calm. His eyes tell me he trusts me. “I’ll explain what’s going on, and I won’t let them hurt you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he answers, voice low and sexy.

  Even now, with hell about to break loose, and Dark magick flowing through my veins, I want Callen. If I’m being ultra-honest, I want Derion and Dante, too. All at the same damn time.

  Instead of acting on my base needs, I squeeze my thighs tight and tell Callen, “I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”

  Callen’s rough fingers find the soft flesh behind my ear before skimming around behind my neck. “I’m already safe, Kate.”

  When he kisses me, I almost forget he just used my real name. Almost.

  What I do forget is to hold my shield. “Wait,” Callen growls against my mouth, his lips still touching mine.

  “We’ve waited long enough,” Derion says, the heat from his body warming my back.

  A part of me doesn’t understand what’s happening. Doesn’t want to. Understanding brings truth. And truth exposes lies.