Arcane Heart (Talents Book 2)

by Angela Knight

  Maybe after an hour of this, she’d be exhausted enough to sleep without hearing that damn shotgun go off in her ear all night…

  “Well,” an unpleasantly familiar female voice sneered. “Look, y’all, Witchybitch thinks she’s Rocky.”

  Jolting, Erica lost her rhythm and missed her next swing. She turned, silently cursing herself. She’d been concentrating so hard on the bag she’d lost situational awareness. Not a smart thing to do with Assholes R Us in the building.

  Hampton, Clary, Green, and Martin stood smirking at her, all four dressed in some combination of athletic wear -- LCSO sweats, shorts, and tees.

  Erica silently cursed herself, remembering that she’d passed Hampton on her way downstairs. The bitch must have realized where she was going. Evidently they’d decided this was a perfect opportunity for an ambush.

  And they might be right. Shift change was over, and the cops of the second shift were already out on the road by now. True, the desk sergeant and Charlie Shift’s lieutenant were still in the building, but both were upstairs -- unlikely to hear if things got out of hand.

  And Johnson’s pet thugs looked as if “out of hand” was exactly what they had in mind. Hampton smirked like a possum perched on top of a full trashcan. Scott Clary looked smug, Tom Green uneasy…

  And Bob Martin’s eyes gleamed with ugly anticipation. His aura burned psycho red.

  Oh, fuck.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Heard you and furboy had a lover’s spat,” Hampton drawled “And here you are, nursing your broken heart.”

  Goddamnit, I should’ve kept my voice down. “What in the hell are you talking about? I’m here to work the heavy bag.” Flexing her fists, she stalked to the weight bench where she’d dropped her athletic bag. She knew better than to attempt the speed bag with those four in the room. Not that she was in real danger. They wouldn’t try anything in the sheriff’s department; senior officers were too likely to intervene. No, they’d jump her on the street like the bullies they were.

  Erica’s eyes narrowed in sudden calculation. If she could make the bastards think twice now, they might hesitate to try anything later. Certainly worth a try. Besides, I owe Hampton a mouthful of fist for trying to get Jake fired. Unzipping the bag, she pulled out a pair of boxing gloves Bobby had bought her for Christmas one year. The question was, what would be the best way to maneuver one of them into a fight? “Unless you’d like a little boxing practice?”

  “Why not?” When she looked up, Hampton flexed her fists. “I promise not to hurt you. Much.”

  That bitch caused this. If she’d kept out of it, I’d be in bed with Jake right now. She gave Hampton her best psycho stare, the one she’d perfected at age ten for the mini-maggots who’d tormented her. Hampton, after all, was only a taller version of those childhood bullies. “You won’t get the chance.”

  The deputy’s smile wilted at the edges before she hid her unease and widened her ugly grin. Yellow flickered in her aura. Seems I haven’t lost my touch.

  Clary gave her a nasty grin. “Guess I’ll referee.”

  “Guess you won’t,” Erica retorted. “Whoever hits the ground first loses. No kicks, no hitting below the belt.”

  Hampton smirked. “Then this won’t take long.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Clary eyed her. “You are an arrogant little Witchybitch, aren’t you?”

  “I have a lot to be arrogant about.” Erica reached into her bag and pulled out the padded head guard. She pulled it on and tightened the chinstrap so it cupped the sides of her face protectively. Amping up the psycho, she met Clary’s gaze. “And if you call me Witchybitch one more time, I’ll demonstrate just how much of both I really am.”

  “I’m shaking.” Despite the sneer in his voice, uneasy yellow swirled in his aura.

  “You’re smarter than I thought,” Erica said silkily.

  Martin glared, flexing huge hands. “Well, I ain’t afraid of you.”

  She lifted a brow. “You, on the other hand, are not.”

  Martin stared at her, his cheekbones going red, his nostrils flaring as his eyes narrowed dangerously. He jolted toward her, his aura paling toward white.

  Oh, fuck, I may have miscalculated. She might be able to handle Hampton, but Martin would be a real problem. He was several inches taller than she was, and most of his considerable weight advantage was muscle.

  On the other hand, bullies had a cowardly streak, and the best way to make them think twice was to act as if you had no fear at all.

  Erica held her ground and kept her face expressionless.

  Looking alarmed, Clary stepped into the big man’s path and braced a hand against his chest, leaning close to whisper something urgent. Martin glowered at her, seething. To her relief, his aura darkened, though red still burned in it.

  Hampton smirked and blew her a kiss.

  Erica turned her back on them all and bent to dig in her bag for the plastic case that held her rubber mouth guard. As she slipped it between her teeth, anger began to heat her blood again, replacing the unease.

  I’ve fucking had enough. I don’t care if these assholes do kick my ass later, I’m taking Hampton apart. She picked up her boxing gloves and slid her hands into their thickly padded confines, then tightened their Velcro straps. She’s going to pay for what she did to Jake.

  Pounding her gloves together, Erica walked over to the bare open area reserved for hand-to-hand training. When she glanced back, she saw Green helping Hampton wrap her hands.

  Erica drew in a deep breath for a count of four, then blew it out slowly, centering herself. She did it again, ignoring the taste of rubber in her mouth from the guard. Rolling her head on her neck to loosen her muscles, she repeated the breathing exercise.

  This was a fight she had no intention of losing.

  Erica reached for her Talent, letting her awareness of the magical patterns around her increase. The workout room was so brightly lit, it was difficult to see the auras, but she could still make out the swirls of color around the four.

  They were all feeling confident. The last traces of yellow had drained away, replaced by the burning blue and greens of pleasure. In Martin’s case, there was also the dark rose of sexual excitement. Man, he’s really looking forward to watching Hampton kick my ass. Erica slapped her gloves together. Sorry, buddy, you’re not going to keep that boner long.

  Green finally fastened the Velcro on the last hand wrap. Hampton put on her gloves and head guard, then slid in her mouth guard. It seemed she, too, habitually carried her boxing gear in her workout bag. That, or they’d intended to pull something like this all along. Given the way Hampton had deliberately goaded Jake, it was possible.

  Still, even with the protective gear, Erica knew she couldn’t afford to hit the other woman full force. Whether or not Hampton deserved it, the sheriff wouldn’t be happy if they put each other in the ER.

  Clary clapped his hands, grinning like a used car salesman. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we, ladies?”

  Hampton swaggered toward her, aggression and excitement swirling through her aura. There was very little yellow.

  Overconfident. Let’s see what I can do with that. She started toward her opponent. Just as white light flared on the right side of Hampton’s aura, right over her fist.

  The woman charged, swinging her right fist out and around in a haymaker obviously intended to lay Erica out before the fight even started.

  Pivoting left, Erica ducked under the taller woman’s punch. As she came up, she whipped her left fist over Hampton’s extended arm to nail the blonde in the side of the head. The impact jarred the length of Erica’s arm even though she’d pulled the punch.

  Hampton staggered, knocked off balance in the middle of her charge.

  For a moment Erica thought the fight would end then and then there, but the woman caught herself. Face contorted in a snarl, she went after Erica in a flurry of punches: a right, a left, another right. Erica tightened her guard,
letting Hampton’s fists slam into her lifted forearms twice before she bobbed clear of the assault.

  The woman wasn’t fucking around. Every one of those blows had struck at what had to be full force. This wasn’t just sparring. Hampton means to send me to the ER, then claim it was an accident. “Sorry, Sheriff, guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  Yeah, no. Sidestepping another haymaker, Erica powered her left fist into Hampton’s ribs so hard, she had the satisfaction of hearing her gasp.

  Cursing, the blonde swung out a wild backhand that caught Erica across the side of the face. Despite the padding, the blow staggered her. If it hadn’t been for the head guard, Hampton would have blacked her eye. Damn, the bitch can hit.

  The blonde charged in again, aura swirling chaotically as she threw punch after punch. Erica backed up, avoiding some of the blows by pivoting to one side or the other, deflecting others with her arms. Making Hampton chase her -- and tire herself out.

  A punch slammed into Erica’s shoulder with numbing force, but she ignored the pain and kept moving, backpedaling, weaving, so the bigger, slower woman barely managed to touch her at all. Waiting for the opening she needed.

  “Look at her run like a pussy,” Martin sneered. “Coward.”

  No, strategy. Hampton was taller than she was, not to mention more powerfully muscled, but she was also breathing harder, her face going red. Too much time in a patrol car, too little time in cardio. And I’m going to demonstrate why that’s a bad policy.

  Though to be fair, Erica was breathing hard now too, sweat beginning to slick her heaving ribs. No exercise was quite as exhausting as close quarters combat.

  A fist streaked toward her ribs. Erica dipped to one side to take the punch on her left arm, then powered in a right, driving up through her thighs and into her hip, slamming her body’s momentum into a vicious uppercut that snapped Hampton’s head back.

  The blonde staggered, but didn’t quite go down.

  Had to pull it just a little too much, Erica thought in disgust. Hampton might not care if she gave Erica a concussion, but Erica wasn’t willing to risk doing the same. Which probably makes me a dumbass.

  With a screech muffled by her mouth guard, Hampton swung a vicious right at her face. Erica danced back a step…

  Her shoulders smacked up against the wall behind her. Fuck.

  Hampton’s mouth pulled wide in a grin that showed black mouth guard, as she rammed a punch into Erica’s jaw. Rolling with the blow, Erica slid sideways. Tasting victory, Hampton stepped in, drawing a fist back…

  The instant her guard dropped, Erica threw herself off the wall, driving a right at her opponent’s jaw with the full weight of her body behind it. The blonde walked right into it. The jolt of the landing punch jarred bone all up and down Erica’s arm.

  Hampton fell flat on her ass and toppled onto her back.

  Erica stared down her a moment, watching her blink up at the ceiling, fighting to breathe. She looked dazed. Which was no surprise. Erica hadn’t pulled that last punch at all.

  Spitting her guard out into a gloved hand, Erica told Hampton, “You might want to get that looked at.”

  “Shit!” Alarmed, Green hurried over and dropped to one knee to help the blonde.

  Erica pivoted on her heel and started toward her athletic bag. Her ribs ached, and she suspected a bruise was coming up on her jaw. It was all she could do to draw a breath.

  Damn, she’d forgotten how much boxing hurt. She’d had more bruising boxing sessions -- one or two memorable lessons from Bobby sprang to mind -- but this one hadn’t been a party.

  She almost walked directly into Martin’s broad, beefy chest as he stepped into her path. Erica looked up to see his aura burning dangerously pale with rage.

  Fuck.

  Her first instinct was to back the hell up, but that would lose whatever ground she’d just gained. Glaring up at Martin, Erica wondered if she had enough juice left to give him a magical jolt in the aura. She doubted it. The fight had taken too much out of her, and he was fresh.

  Not to mention fucking huge.

  “I served two tours killing sorcerers, asshole,” Erica growled. “Think about it.”

  As the words left her mouth, she realized she wasn’t bluffing. Exhausted or not, she’d give the son of a bitch enough of a jolt to make him think he’d been Tased. She started drawing magic…

  Martin blinked, and she saw the faintest swirl of yellow in his aura. “I ain’t scared of you.”

  “You should be.” Giving him a snarl that would’ve done Clarence proud, she stepped around him, grabbed her bag in one gloved hand, and headed for the women’s locker room.

  * * *

  Dizzy, humiliated, Mary Hampton listened to the door thump closed behind Harris.

  “Damn,” Green said, shaking his head. “Who knew the bitch could fight like that?”

  “You getting your ass kicked was not the plan.” Clary pursed his lips, a note of cool disapproval in his voice. “You were supposed to put a hurting on Harris so bad, Nolan would do more than roar. We need something Gable can’t blow off.”

  “I know what the plan was,” Mary snapped. “Harris must’ve put a spell on me or something.”

  Clary snorted. “She didn’t have time.” Despite everything, there was a smug note in his voice. He didn’t think women had any business being cops. He just fucking loved it when Mary failed, on his side or not. Prick.

  “You should’ve let me do it,” Martin growled. “She wouldn’t have beat me.”

  “The idea was to get Nolan fired, not you,” Clary told him. “You’re on thin ice is it is.”

  That was a legitimate point. If Martin had put Harris down, he wouldn’t have stopped until she went to the ER -- or the morgue. His control issues had almost gotten them all suspended more than once. Luckily the other times had been with suspects, and the brass had given him the benefit of the doubt.

  Mary dreaded the day someone live-streamed one of Martin’s temper tantrums. They’d all be cooked.

  Green examined her with concern. “You want to go to the ER?”

  She glared at him through the eye that hadn’t swollen shut. “Fuck, no. Harris barely hit me.” She hobbled over to weight bench and sank down, trying not to wince from the pain in her battered ribs. She’d be black and blue tomorrow.

  She fumbled with the boxing gloves until Green sat down next to her and helped her pull them off. She thanked him automatically, then started unwrapping her hands. Despite the wraps, her knuckles throbbed almost as much as her face. God, she hoped that little bitch hurt as bad as she did.

  Harris could probably wave her magic wand and make all the bruises disappear.

  Fucking Talents. Even when Mary was a kid, her bitch sister always got away with murder thanks to her magic. Janice was the golden child, the Talent who sailed through school, went to college and got a fancy corporate job.

  Mary had been the powerless one, the one the magic skipped. The whole reason she’d become a cop to begin with was that she figured she wouldn’t have to worry about Talents on the force. Witches wanted nothing to do with cops.

  But no sooner had she started making a place for herself than Harris flounced onto the scene with her magic and her pretty face. She’d probably be a detective inside a year, thanks to that fucking Talent of hers.

  Mary had been positive she’d be able to kick the little bitch’s ass. She’d thought it would prove to that smug fucker Clary that she could pull her own weight, female or not.

  Instead, the whole thing had blown up in her face.

  Fucking witch. Somehow, someway, Mary was going to turn the tables on her. And next time, she’d make damn sure she didn’t lose.

  Next time Harris would be the one who bled.

  * * *

  It was well past midnight when Jake drove through the gates of BFS. Kurt had given him permission to come by whenever he needed to see Clarence. The lion needed him tonight. And to be honest, he needed the comfort too.
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  He parked his truck in the empty lot and got out, heading for the winding paths that led between the enclosures to the one Clarence shared with his two lionesses.

  It had been a long and depressing day. After Erica had broken up with him, Jake had spent the rest of the shift driving around and brooding.

  To make matters worse, it had been one of those utterly boring nights when absolutely nothing happened, despite his fierce need for distraction. He’d spent the last couple of hours doing nothing but checking doors on closed stores and businesses to make sure they hadn’t been broken into.

  As he walked along, Jake considered dropping in to see Kurt and Genevieve. He could use his friend’s advice right about now. Unfortunately, it was so late the newlyweds were probably asleep.

  Or not in the mood to be interrupted.

  Reaching Clarence’s enclosure, he opened the padlocked door into the unoccupied section. Each cage was divided in two sections, so the animals could be kept in one half while the other was cleaned. Jake strode to the door of the second section, drawing on Clarence’s night vision to avoid trees and brush in the darkness.

  He found his Familiar and the two lionesses waiting patiently for him by the gate.

  Unlocking it and stepping inside was the kind of thing that would get an ordinary human killed. Fortunately, Jake was a Feral. As far as all three cats were concerned, he was basically an extension of Clarence.

  When he stepped inside the guillotine door, the lion gave one of those miserable moans Jake had been listening to all night. It was considerably louder in person.

  “I know.” Jake sank to one knee to stroke his Familiar’s thick mane. “I’m not happy about it either.”

  Clarence chuffed, puffing warm breath pungent from the raw turkey he’d had for breakfast. Jake didn’t even blink, not after twelve years being bonded to the cat.

  “Look, you just can’t go roaring at the police. It gets me in a fuck of a lot of trouble.”

  Clarence rumbled back at him, a borderline growl. Jake had no trouble understanding the subtext, given the images rolling through the cat’s mind. “Yeah, I know, Hampton is a huge bitch, not to mention a lousy cop. We still can’t threaten to eat her.”