BOOKS BY AUTHOR
Jinn and Juice
Jane True Series (in series order)
Tempest Rising
Tracking the Tempest
Tempest's Legacy
Eye of the Tempest
Tempest's Fury
Tempest Reborn
And don't forget her Sookieverse Story, in Dead But Not Forgotten!
Turn the page for an excerpt from Nicole Peeler’s newest book JINN AND JUICE!
Trip hissed at me as I leapt over her and Trap. The twin spider-wraiths were currently conjoined at the waist, their legs splaying around them as they prepared for their act.
I didn't respond, since I was in fully panicked-fleeing mode. Trip and Trap, after all, couldn't help me. Neither could Trey, or Big Bertha, or Charlie or any of my other friends. Not unless they ripped that fucking Magi's tongue out before he could speak. For Magi he certainly was, his eyes Flaring to my Fire.
I heard crashing behind me as Trap cried out. "No humans backstage!"
The Magi ignored the spider-wraiths, his footsteps closing in behind me. But he hadn't Called yet, and I used my Fire to propel me forward, pushing me toward Purgatory's stage entrance and the street. There, I could hopefully put enough distance between me and the Magi for Pittsburgh's steel-stained environment to help me hide.
The cool spring air hit all my bare skin like a slap as I plunged into the night, cutting right down the alley. It was a wide, empty East Liberty alley, giving me plenty of room to run. But the guy chasing me was fast, and his hand managed to catch my elbow, twirling me around to face his glowing eyes. He stared at me in wonder for a split second and I thought I might just have time to kick him in the balls before he could speak.
But it was too late.
“Hatenach farat a si.” I See you, he whispered haltingly, in a language older than humanity. Older than time. A language of smoke and fire; a language of magic. The language of the being that made me what I am today and that had the power to make me a slave.
Fuck if I was ever going to be a slave again.
With a harsh cry, I launched myself at the man, shifting my nails into long, wicked talons. A look of surprise twisted his features, but he had good reflexes. He threw himself out of my way with a neat somersault that had him back on his feet, his fists raised as he balanced on the balls of his feet—the stance of an experienced boxer.
I lunged at him again, calling my Fire to flame around me. I hoped to intimidate him even if a jinni’s black flames wouldn't burn a Magi. His eyes grew even wider at the sight, but he didn't budge. So I slashed at him again with my talons, but he got under my guard and I overextended badly, cursing my inability to use my strongest weapon even as I fell.
I landed hard on the ground, my breath knocked out of my lungs. He kicked away my hands and jumped on top of me. Concentrating on the words, he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could get out the rest of the spell, I struck upward with both of my hands bent, the heels of my palm striking him in the chin.
His eyes, already glowing in reaction to my presence, flared brighter in the darkness, causing my anger to blaze with them.
“Magi,” I hissed, and I hit him again. This time, he caught my wrists, his hands like vices. Now that he had me on the ground, his bigger size gave him the advantage.
At least for those few seconds.
It was his turn to hiss as suddenly, instead of a tiny Jasmine-stripper lookalike, I blossomed into obesity. My fat hips knocked his thighs open, pushing him off balance. I heaved myself over, morphing into a taller, more muscular version of me as I did so.
"Why don't you take on someone your own size?" I growled, as I dove for him.
In retrospect, I should have taken the fight slower. I was just so pissed and so panicked. I hadn't heard anyone with those eyes speak that language in a century—not since I'd escaped Europe for the New World, and found refuge in steel-stained Pittsburgh. Recognizing a true, initiated Magi, my crazy inner she-bear emerged, gibbering about never being taken alive. If I had any thoughts at all it was that my sense of self-preservation would give me an edge. I was fighting for my life, after all, while this guy was just a jerk trying to bind a jinni.
Unfortunately, he didn’t fight like a jerk; he fought like a cornered wolverine. He fought like he was the one who'd be enslaved if he lost this match. He fought like his life depended on it. Which, considering the fact I was intent on killing him, I guess it did.
He fought better than me.
I was hitting him, hard, but I'd lost my talons shifting to a bigger size. unBound meant I was far less powerful, even with my unusual access to all of Pittsburgh’s corrupted magic swirling at my feat. And now that I was unarmed, he wasn't hitting back, just using his big body to deflect the majority of my blows. Until I overextended a kick.
His own booted foot lashed out, knocking my leg out from under me. I was on the ground again and this time he didn't underestimate my abilities.
He pinned me down with all of his weight, his knees pressing painfully into my thighs and his chest blanketing mine, his hands holding down my wrists. His face was inches from me, but his features were entirely obscured by the bright glow of his Flaring eyes.
Not me, my brain howled. Not when I’m so close to being free. I started to shift again in a last, desperate attempt. But before I could change, he'd spoken.
It was the second part of the spell that was the real bitch. And I was too late to stop him.
“Te vash anuk a si,” he chanted over and over. I Call you. His pronunciation grew more confident with every repetition. The harsh sibilance of the language of the jinn reached toward me, wrapping around my soul. I cried out, but the spell blanketed me, muting my powers. I stopped mid-shift, my power whoomping out, leaving me beneath him in my own small form.
My wide brown eyes stared up at him, begging him silently to stop, not to say the last bit. The bit that made me his; that would make me do his bidding; that would make me a slave until either he let me go or died.
He spoke the words.
"Hatenoi faroush a mi." I Bind you.
And just like that, I was caught. Bound to a human. Again.
There were no lights or sounds or other magical occurrences, but we both felt it. I was his. He stared at me with eyes gone wide with shock, his flare fading as his magic accepted my acquiescence.
He was my master.
"Göt.” I muttered. Then I switched to English, so he’d understand.
“Asshole."
The Ryu Morgue (A Jane True Short Story) (Trueniverse Book 2) Page 8
