Arcane Heart (Talents 2)
Angela Knight
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Copyright ©2018 Angela Knight
First Edition
Available in Electronic File Format
Publisher:
Angela Knight
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Roebuck, SC 29376
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Editor: Treva Harte
Copy Editor: Karen Williams
Line Editor: Emilie Pitt
Format: Margaret Riley
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
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Table of Contents
Arcane Heart (Talents 2)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Angela Knight
Arcane Heart (Talents 2)
Angela Knight
The wildest passion has claws.
When a pair of cops with magical abilities become the target of a hate group, they must unravel the plot against them before it costs them their lives -- and love.
Deputy Erica Harris is a witch who can see the magical auras of those around her, a talent which helps her determine when someone intends to commit a violent crime. Her partner, Deputy Jake Nolan, has a psychic link with an African lion that allows him to manifest the animal’s powers.
But it’s tough to serve and protect when demagogues stoke public fear of you. As the two cops fight to unravel a politically motivated web of hate and deceit, Erica and Jake are targeted by a magical assassin hired by the plotters.
While dodging murder attempts, they begin to fall in love. But as Jake’s desire makes his inner lion more possessive, his self-control erodes. Can they afford to take a chance on love when so many lives hang in the balance?
Chapter One
It was sheer, stupid impulse, and she knew better. But when Deputy Erica Harris’s gaze fell on the Potions sign, she whipped her patrol car into the nearest empty parking space. For a moment she sat there, listening to the cooling engine tick and staring at the nighttime crowd streaming past her cruiser. “You really are an idiot.”
Shaking her head, she picked up her radio’s handset mic and clicked the button to call dispatch. “Laurel County, Alpha 22, going 10-8 at Potions.”
“10-4, Alpha 22.” The dispatcher sounded bored. No surprise; it had been a slow night.
So now Jake knows where I am. Question is, will he show up?
Yeah, Potions was Jake Nolan’s favorite restaurant, and she hadn’t heard him go 10-8 -- the Laurel County police code for “out of service” -- to take a dinner break. That didn’t mean he’d take one now and join her.
So go for it. Call the man and ask him to meet you…
Yeah, no. Much as she wanted to see him again, only a masochistic twit would want another ride on the Nolan merry-go-round. The last time had damn near destroyed her.
Yet here she was, masochistic and twitty, with the need she’d felt for months threatening to overwhelm her sense of self-preservation.
Screw it. If he shows, he shows. If he doesn’t, I’m still hungry. Erica got out, a spring breeze sighing cool against her cheeks. The Friday evening crowd surged around her, heading in and out of the bars and restaurants along Faraday Square. Her stomach growled, and she headed up the sidewalk toward Potions. She’d been too busy working a traffic accident to grab dinner. It was eight o’clock now, and she craved the greasy goodness of a cheeseburger combo.
Almost as much as contact with Jake Nolan. Her two Mideast tours as a member of his Arcane Corps team had turned the man into an addiction. Hunting terrorist sorcerers together built emotional connections that were hard to break.
The thought of the war made her automatically check the crowd, though she shouldn’t have to worry about terrorists in Laurel County, South Carolina. Still, last year’s attack by the polar bear Feral and his witch partner proved even Laurelton wasn’t immune to psychos. The Faraday Square Massacre had occurred months before Erica had joined the department, but even she could tell the whole community still suffered the aftereffects.
Breathing in to center herself, she opened her awareness to her Talent. Most Arcanists had to close their eyes to see the arcane energies surrounding all living things, but Erica was much more sensitive.
Suddenly those around her wore glowing overlays of healthy blue and green, though splashes of red here and there indicated pain -- headaches, feet hurting from pinching high heels. That poor bastard on the right probably had a bleeding ulcer; that shade of red wasn’t right for cancer.
All pretty standard. She started to close her Talent down…
A block ahead, the crowd parted, revealing a tall man just as white light exploded across his aura like a bomb blast.
Erica froze. For an instant she was back in Iraq, watching helplessly as a Caliphate sorcerer detonated his suicide vest, its explosives amplified by intricate spells. The terrorist’s aura had flared exactly like that the instant before the blast killed him and a dozen innocents.
Too late, too late… Erica braced for the explosion.
It didn’t come.
This isn’t Iraq, dumbass. There’s still time! She lunged toward the man, dodging through the crowd, pushing people aside, ignoring startled shouts and drunken curses. No sign of a weapon blocked the shine of his aura -- no black silhouettes of guns, knives, hand grenades, or a suicide vest’s wiring. Nothing but the shadows of zippers and buttons. I can still stop him.
Because he had to be stopped. Every time she’d seen someone’s aura flare like that, they’d attempted murder minutes later. The weapon might not be on the asshole now, but it was somewhere nearby.
Erica thumbed the button on her body cam, activating it as she plowed ahead. Grabbing her shoulder mic handset, she keyed her radio. “Laurel County, Alpha 22. Officer needs assistance in front of Potions on Faraday Square. Possible 10-68A.” Which was the ten-code for mentally ill suspect, possibly violent and armed. “White male, approximately six-three, weight 230 to 240, dark haired, dressed in jeans and a black trench coat. Out with the subject.”
“10-4, Laurel Alpha 22,” the Laurel County dispatcher replied. “Dispatching units.”
Hope they’re in time to do me some good, Erica thought, slowing to a cautious walk as she moved up behind the man. He had a good six inches on her, along with sixty or seventy pounds. On the other hand, she was good at hand-to-hand, and the g
uy looked a bit chunky, which should slow him down. Unfortunately, given the way his head was glowing with fifty shades of crazy, she wasn’t confident she’d win. Not without shooting him, anyway.
She’d rather not have to shoot the unfortunate batshit bastard. Judging from the furious currents whirling around his head, he was already hip deep in hell. He needed help, not a bullet. Erica could kill if she had to -- she certainly had during the Caliphate War -- but she’d rather avoid it.
Just as she was about to reach for him, Burning Man stepped off the sidewalk and started across the street. Meaty shoulders bunched, big hands curled into fists, he headed for the cars parked along the narrow strip of park that occupied the center of Faraday Square.
His weapon must be in his car. Erica’s hand tightened on her pistol, her thumb on the snap of the retention holster. She didn’t draw the Glock. It would be way too easy to miss and kill an innocent bystander in this crowd.
“Sir!” Throwing up a hand to stop oncoming traffic, she jogged across the street. “Sir, I need to speak to you.”
He didn’t turn, didn’t appear to hear her at all. The white blaze surrounding his brain intensified. I really don’t like the looks of that aura. It wasn’t just murderous-asshole-white. You could reason with a murderous asshole because he didn’t necessarily want to die.
Burning Man was I’m-going-to-die-and-take-you-all-with-me-white.
Yeah, this isn’t going to end well. She was right behind him when he reached a battered Honda Civic, parked diagonally in a patch of darkness between the street lamps. As he paused to fish in his pocket for the keys, Erica slapped a hand down on the trunk with a hollow metallic bang. “Sir!”
Burning Man jumped, shying like a startled horse. She had to concentrate hard to see his face through the hectic shine of his aura against the night. His dark hair stood up in sweaty clumps, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He stank of sweat and stale beer, and his round face was stubbled, as if he’d forgotten to shave for a couple of days. An intricate tattoo crawled up the side of his neck, something serpentine with wings.
“What?” Burning Man rocked back on his heels at the sight of her black sheriff’s deputy uniform, and his eyes took on a hunted rat gleam. “I didn’t do nothin’!”
Yet. “You were jaywalking.” She hated to fall back on the excuse of harassing cops everywhere, but it wasn’t like she had a choice.
He glowered. “You gotta be kidding.”
“Crosswalk’s back that way. Can I see some ID?” She needed to distract him long enough for her backup to arrive. At least that murderous white had dimmed around his head, taking on a yellow tinge of fear. Burning Man could still blow, but she’d bought a minute or two.
Cursing, Burning Man dipped in a pocket of his coat. She tensed, but he only pulled out his billfold and fumbled for his driver’s license. Still no sign of a gun.
No sign of probable cause either. The Supreme Court had ruled information gained through magical means about non-magical crimes wasn’t admissible in court. She badly wanted to draw on him, but he was unarmed and not visibly violent. Instead she moved in closer and reached with her magic. Blue tendrils of her aura brushed his roiling energy, curled into it like fingers, trying to slow it down, cool it off.
Burning Man handed over his license with a shaking hand, his aura going a brighter yellow as her magic shifted his emotions away from suicidal determination to the fear of going to jail. Keeping her voice low and soothing as she wrapped her power around him, Erica went into a cop’s questioning patter -- who was he, where did he live, what was he doing in town.
As she spoke, she darted a glance down at his license in the illumination of a nearby streetlamp. Assuming the information was accurate, his name was Richard Carson, age twenty-eight, brown hair, blue eyes, address 132 Mason Avenue in Cotton Ridge. “This address still correct?”
“Uh, yeah.” Carson fidgeted, rocking from foot to foot, his eyes darting.
“That’s forty-five minutes from here,” Erica said, even as she poured more magic into calming him. Her head began to ache with effort; he was too damned close to the edge.
“I was just going to get a beer,” Carson began. “I work at…” He broke off.
She sucked in a gasp as the psychic currents of his aura dragged harder against her magical grip.
Which was when she realized he was staring at the gleam of the gold pentagram pin on her collar. An expression of fury dawned on his face, eyes narrowing, lips pulling off his teeth.
Oh, shit.
“Witch!” Carson’s aura flashed blinding white, detonating like a Molotov cocktail. “Witch!” And he dove at her.
Erica went for her gun.
All two hundred plus pounds of him plowed into her like a runaway truck. She hit the sidewalk flat on her back hard enough to click her teeth together. Erica tasted blood and glimpsed a tattooed fist flying toward at her face. She snapped both arms up in an automatic boxer’s block an instant before big, inked knuckles rammed into them.
“Witch, fucking witch! Trying to cast a fucking spell on me! I’m gonna kill you!” Screaming in fury, Carson loomed over her, raining punches over her head, his expression crazed, the whites of his eyes showing all the way around his irises. She could only ball tighter behind her blocking forearms, pain blasting through bone every time he struck. Opening, I need an opening…
He paused an instant, frustrated at his inability to hit her.
Erica rammed her fist into his mouth hard enough to rock his head back on his shoulders. Whipping both legs around his hips, she wrenched sideways, fighting to wrestle him off her as she gathered her magic. If all else failed, she’d…
A fist the size of a canned ham powered past her guard. As it slammed into the side of her face, Erica saw stars and tasted blood again. Oh, fuck this!
She reared up, slapped her palm against Carson’s forehead and fired a magical blast right into the center of his skull. Though she didn’t have the power to knock him cold, she could induce a blinding burst of pain in his cerebral cortex.
With a startled scream, he rocked back on his knees. Erica released his hips to slam both feet in the center of his chest, knocking him flat. She clawed for her Taser…
The roar echoed off the surrounding buildings -- a shattering leonine blast of sound that made them both jump.
Jake Nolan. And he sounded seriously pissed.
Oh, thank you, God. With the Feral in the fight, Carson didn’t have a prayer.
“Shit!” Pale-faced, terrified, the big man scrambled to his feet and ran for his life.
Despite her aching jaw, Erica leaped up and charged after him. Something gold and blazing bounded past her with another ear-ringing roar. Bystanders screamed in terror, fleeing in all directions. Probably remembering the polar bear…
Glowing like a halogen bulb, the magical African lion leaped, knocking Carson on his face and pinning him there with massive golden paws. The man writhed, fighting to escape, screaming until his voice cracked. “Get off me! Getoffgetoff! Don’t eat me…”
“I’m not going to eat you, you idiot,” Jake growled back, magic giving his normal baritone an inhuman reverberation. Erica could just make out the familiar broad, muscular body inside the blazing shell of his cat. “But I am going to kick your ass if you don’t quit fighting me!”
“No no no…” With a sob, Carson went limp, his aura burning red with pain, probably from a combination of her blast and getting tackled by a fully manifested Feral. None of the red was intense enough to indicate serious injuries, though. Probably just bruised all to hell. Eyes squeezed shut, he started babbling about demon cats and witches interspersed with fragments of prayer. Waves of terrified yellow rolled across his field’s scarlet background. He really did think Jake was going to eat him. Erica might have felt sorry for him -- if she hadn’t suspected he’d been planning mass murder.
“Hey, Jake.” She stepped up behind them as Jake pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt and
started cuffing the sobbing man. “Thanks for the backup.”
The big deputy glanced over his shoulder at her. Feral-gold eyes shone through the outline of his manifestation’s mane as he gave her a tight nod. Judging from the muscle flexing to the right of his mouth, he was still pissed. “Why the hell was he trying to kill you?”
“My winning personality. Also my pentagram pin. Don’t think he likes Talents.”
“Witch!” Carson moaned, his voice muffled by the grass he was pressed into. “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!’”
“I’ll see your Exodus 22 and raise you a ‘Thou shalt not kill,’” Erica said dryly. Bullies had been throwing Exodus in her face since kindergarten. The verse had lost all power to sting by the time she was in high school.
“Cat demon in the shape of a man…” Carson panted, but made no effort to resist as Jake patted him down. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. Fully manifested, a Feral was four or five times as strong as a Norm the same size, not to mention damn near bulletproof.
“Okay, Mr. Carson, you’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer,” Erica told him. Then, just to cover her ass, she started reciting the Miranda Warning. She might need to interrogate him, and she didn’t want the case thrown out if she was right about what he’d intended. “You have the right to remain silent…”
As she finished her spiel, Jake banished his lion manifestation, letting it dim until only someone with Erica’s Talent could see it at all. Though the deputy’s attention was focused on Carson, his Familiar’s ghostly head turned toward her. Glowing eyes studied her with interest. Clarence’s physical body was several miles away at Briggs Feral Sanctuary, but thanks to the mystical bond between them, Jake and his cat could draw on one another’s magic even at that distance.
“Rrmmmmm.” Clarence butted his big, maned head against her hip, creating a ghostly sensation of fur brushing over her aura.
Arcane Heart (Talents Book 2) Page 1
