Night Magic: A Wing Slayer Novel

by Jennifer Lyon

  How was her voice in his head? Suspicion slowed him enough to consider the possibility that she was a demon witch. It had been demon witches and their demon lord Asmodeus who caused the blood and sex curse a generation ago. The demon witches had captured three witch hunters and tried to bind them as familiars. The spell went wrong, ending up cursing them all. Maybe a demon witch was trying it again?

  He fought to stay in control even as sweat broke out on his skin. The pull to get to her was irresistible, and he put his hand on top of the fence, bent his knees, then sprang up and over to land in a crouch on the other side. He didn’t pause but hurried along the side of the garage. It was darker back here, which was no problem for his hunter vision.

  The tiny backyard came into view. The scent of blood hit him again, filling his nostrils, rushing down his throat, and making him burn to capture the coconut-scented power. He swept his gaze over the empty patio and across the yard until he came to the woman sitting on a towel in the middle of the square of overgrown grass. Moonlight poured over her, revealing choppy black hair skimming her shoulders. Her face was tilted down, and a black tank top exposed her toned arms. Her left wrist lay on her lap, and bright red blood trailed over her bare thighs. Hovering in the air above her hands was a silver knife with a wicked-sharp blade.

  Her voice soared again.

  Cut the shackle of lies and deceit.

  The knife jiggled and danced in the air, then suddenly sliced the skin of her forearm. “No, damn it,” she said, and the knife dropped to the towel. She picked up the knife and edged the tip of the blade against her wrist.

  His gut clenched at the sight. She was using magic and cutting herself, but it didn’t look like a ritual. It looked lonely and desperate. The call of her blood was too strong, too powerful. He tried to tell himself to freeze, to hold and not …

  But he was already striding across the patio, over the grass, until he was one step away from her. He had to stop the witch from cutting herself and reached for her arm.

  The woman jerked, dropped the knife, rolled to the left, and came up to a standing position.

  Phoenix blinked in shock as his hand closed around empty air. Then a foot caught him in the solar plexus and knocked him on his ass. Before he could get his breath back, a current of magic ripped through his guts. “Don’t!” he shouted at the witch standing there with her hands up.

  “Leave, demon!” she ordered, and released her power.

  A wave of pure witch energy hit him in the chest, sucking the breath from him. The curse screamed through him, hot agony racing through his veins like Drano. Only witch blood would cool the pain. He fought his brain’s demand that he grab his knife and cut her. Instead he rolled to his feet and slammed into the witch, shoving her to the ground. Pinning her with his body, he dragged her hands over her head and secured them in his grip.

  Instantly he felt the blood from her wrist touch the skin of his hand. The kick of power bowed his back and locked his muscles. He groaned at the rush of pleasure blasting through him, like some kind of internal orgasm. Finally his vision cleared, and he dragged in a breath.

  And smelled her, smelled the mango of her skin mixing with the coconut of her blood. She was like a damned tropical drink, and his veins begged for more.

  She bucked and fought. “Get off me! I won’t submit, I refuse!”

  The more contact he had with her body, the more the bloodlust drained. Or her magic had just knocked him senseless. Trying to gather his wits, he looked down into her angular face, full lips pulled back in a snarl. Her black hair spread beneath her. He lifted his gaze to her eyes and froze in the grip of another shock. There was a fine webbing of scars, almost like spider cracks in safety glass around her eyes. The color of her irises was a blue so light as to appear silver, and her gaze wasn’t on him. She wasn’t looking at anything.

  The witch beneath him was blind. Swear to the Wing Slayer, he thought he felt the winged tattoos on his arms tremble.

  “Get off! You can’t rape me, demon. I have to submit, and I refuse!”

  Fury throbbed in her voice. Not fear, but rage. He had to get control of the situation. “I’m not going to hurt you. Stop squirming.” He could feel the sinew of her muscles as she writhed beneath him, and her movements ignited a whole different kind of lust inside him. Every slide of her body made him hotter and harder. Damn it, he’d only pinned her to stop her from pounding him with her magic before he killed her in response. He’d been so close to palming his knife and cutting her. But now the feel of her, the scent of her, the sensation of her body against his, heated him until his cock grew hard and heavy with the ache to bury himself inside her.

  “I don’t care what you do, I’ll never give in! No matter how much it hurts …”

  He was hurting her? He hadn’t meant to, damn it. He eased back from her, waiting warily for the blind witch to take another swing at him. Then Phoenix looked around for her knife. It was on the towel where she’d left it when she rolled. He shifted his gaze to her sightless eyes, and his stomach tightened. He had to get control! “I’ll let you up if you swear you won’t use your magic.”

  “Screw you, demon.”

  “I’m not a demon, witch.” Phoenix couldn’t stop looking at her. Her face was so strong, a slightly squared chin that screamed stubbornness, full mouth, blade-sharp cheekbones, black hair, all framing her damaged eyes. How had her blindness happened? Who had hurt her? Another witch hunter? The demon she seemed so worried about? The idea of it infuriated him. What coward had hurt this witch? Earth witches …

  But he didn’t know for sure if she was an earth witch. He’d caught her in the middle of a possible ritual. The knife she used looked silver, but maybe that was a trick. What had she been doing? Damn, she had him so tied up, he nearly forgot it was her voice that pulled him to her. That didn’t sound like the power of an earth witch. “Do you serve a demon, little witch?”

  “I’d die first.”

  He flinched at the cold statement. Keeping her wrists locked in one hand, he reached back and slid his silver knife free of the holster. Don’t cut her, don’t cut her. He repeated the mantra as he brought up the knife and laid the flat of the silver blade against her bare shoulder.

  Her body jerked at the kiss of cold silver against her skin. But she didn’t scream in pain.

  Lifting the blade, he looked at the spot. Her skin stayed clear. Relief poured through him like water. If she had been a demon witch, the silver would have burned her. But the real shocker was that he didn’t want her to be a demon witch. What was going on? He forced his hand to slide the knife back into the holster. “Don’t summon your magic.” He slowly let go of her hands, shoved off her, and pushed back to his knees.

  She sat up, scooting back on her butt, and rose. “It didn’t work anyway. You don’t stink of sulfur like a possessed human would, and if you were possessed, my magic would have banished the demon. You’re too fast and strong to be a mortal. What the hell are you, and why are you here?”

  He stood up, his gaze traveling over her long legs displayed nicely in the tiny black shorts she wore. She had slender hips, a tucked-in waist, and small breasts. She was sleek, like a fast car. Her witch-shimmer was sheer gold, making her skin glow in the moonlight.

  She put her hands on her hips and waited for his answer.

  “I’m a witch hunter. My name is Phoenix. Your voice has been haunting me,” he told her.

  “You hear me?” Her tone was sharp. “How long?”

  “A month or two, but it’s gotten louder and more intrusive in the last couple weeks. Tonight it was unbearable, and I had to find you. What kind of magic is that?” Whatever it was, he needed to make it stop.

  She crossed her arms and rubbed her palms over the bare skin. “Shit, that can’t be good.”

  “You think?” he snapped at her. The smell of her drying blood was torturing him. His veins were beginning to swell and pulse beneath his skin. He’d touched her blood, and now his body wanted more. Wante
d it all. “Hell, woman, your singing damn near got me killed tonight!”

  She sighed and scrubbed her hands up and down her arms.

  Getting a tight rein on his temper, he muttered, “What were you doing cutting up your wrist and singing like that?”

  She lifted her left arm. “I was trying to get this off.”

  He saw the band around her left wrist, and his heart sped up in some visceral, instinctive dislike of the thing. He moved closer until he was one step away from her. The bracelet was an inch wide, chalk colored, and just wrong somehow. He reached out to rub his index finger over the surface but couldn’t place it. It wasn’t plastic, or glass, or any metal he’d ever felt. It made him think of old bone worried smooth and creepy as hell. He looked up to her face. “What is it?” He scraped his fingers over the circumference, looking for a clasp, but there wasn’t one.

  She jerked her hand from him and moved back another step. “It’s a handfast binding from a demon.”

  Shock punched him and totally pissed him off. “Bullshit. I touched you with a silver blade and you didn’t burn. You can’t be a demon witch.”

  “I’m not!”

  “But you sold yourself to a demon, then reneged on the deal?” Disgust and anger brewed up an ugly mix inside of him. “Was your voice one of the powers you got from the demon? And why are you using it to screw with me?” Did she and Asmodeus plan to force him to go rogue? His hatred of demon witches buzzed in his head until he could only hear the roar of his rage.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t even know about you. My voice didn’t come from the demon. The power is mine. Asmodeus wants my power and is trying to force me into becoming a demon witch so he can control it. I’ll never give in to him!”

  Her voice rang with the truth of that statement. So what the fuck was going on here? “What are you talking about? You had to agree to the handfast.”

  Her mouth pulled tight, the faint silvery scars around her eyes standing out against her skin. “I did not agree.”

  He didn’t believe that. For a second there, when he first saw her damaged eyes, he’d felt … what … pity? Tenderness? Admiration? For this witch. She dealt with a demon! Now she was trying to renege and, surprise, the demon wasn’t taking rejection well. He had to get away from her. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t give a shit about you or Asmodeus. Just keep your voice out of my head!” He turned to leave.

  “Tough shit, witch hunter. I’m using my voice to break this handfast. Stay out of my way.” She turned and strode over the small patio toward the house while adding, “Don’t let the gate hit you in the ass on your way out.”

  Phoenix moved fast enough to create a breeze, getting around her to block her before she got to the house.

  She slammed right into his chest and started to fall back.

  He grabbed her arms. “Do not fuck with me, little witch. If you keep taunting me with your demon magic voice—”

  Her head snapped up. Her gaze seemed to find his shape. “It’s not demon magic. God, are all witch hunters as dense as you? It’s my power, mine.” Her body was tight with her quiet fierceness.

  The controlled anger emanating from her rattled him on a level he didn’t understand. Gentling his hold on her arms, he looked down at her upturned face. Her skin colored with her fury, her gold shimmer darkened almost to a bronze as it shifted over her skin. Her silvery blue eyes shone. She was … breathtaking. Fighting the dual urges strangling him, to either touch her or cut her, he said, “Exactly what power is in your voice, then? What is this power that Asmodeus wants from you?” And why, he wondered furiously, was it affecting him?

  She blinked, lowered her chin, and said, “I just call it my voice power. It’s rare, so rare I can’t find out much about it. What I do know is that when I unleash my magic into my voice, I can enhance all magic.”

  Phoenix felt his throat tighten as the words sank in. “All magic? Even demon magic?”

  She said softly, “Yes.”

  He stared at her. “Are you out of your mind?” He ground out the words as he realized she could be helping other demon witches with her voice. “You’re unleashing dangerous magic.”

  “I’m working to get control of the power to break the handfast. I can’t let the demon get hold of my voice power.” She jerked out of his hands and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

  He saw that goose bumps had broken out over her skin, her nipples pebbled to delectable little points beneath her tank, and when he inhaled, he caught more than just the scent of her skin and drying blood. He smelled desire, the buttery scent of lust in her. How was that possible? She should be terrified of him. All earth witches were afraid of hunters since the curse.

  But he didn’t smell the thick, too-sweet scent of fear. Could she be reacting to his pheromones? Hunters had them to draw women to them for sex, but as far as they knew, it worked only on mortals.

  Was she on the level and really trying to keep Asmodeus from getting control of her power? Or had she cut some deal with the demon and was working with demon witches to destroy him? Maybe her desire was another trick to get control of him. How did he find out? Softening his tone, he asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Ailish.”

  “Ailish.” Her name was strong and sexy. “Your voice is dangerous.”

  “Not if I learn to control it. I’ve only started working on it the last two months.”

  He was losing his tight hold on himself. “That’s how long I’ve been hearing you in my head. It’s getting stronger. You must know witch hunters are cursed. If you keep this up …” He sucked in a breath.

  She went still, shifting her weight slightly.

  He felt the sudden intensity in her, the gathering of her muscles to react. But he needed her to stop this shit, so he told her the truth: “I’m going to end up killing you.” Too late, he smelled her burst of adrenaline, that pungent spike of fight-or-flight hormone. His body responded on a cellular level. “Don’t run!” he warned.

  She whipped around and ran for the door.

  The cursed predator in him broke free and sprinted after her.

  The French doors that led to the house flew open from magic.

  Her magic goaded the predator, and he exploded into a bring-down-his-prey run. Her power sang through his veins, and he wanted it. Needed it. Witch blood! Get her! He reached out, locking both hands around her upper arms.

  He fought it, fought the raging beast that wanted to cut her, bleed her, get her power. He shouted, “No!” in an effort to stop himself.

  She went still, freezing in place.

  Then he felt her skin beneath his palms, so soft and smooth over lean muscles. He pulled her back to his chest and pressed his swollen cock against her back. He grunted out, “Don’t run. Don’t. When you run it brings out the predator in me.” But was he going after her for her blood or sex? Christ, he couldn’t sort out the hungers exploding in him.

  She tensed but didn’t move. “You threatened to kill me. I’m fighting to stay alive, while not submitting to the Claiming Rite. I’m not going to let a witch hunter with questionable self-control kill me.”

  Her skin smelled of warm mangoes with only a lingering scent of the coconut-blood aroma. But it was the buttery-cream scent that told him her desire was growing as fast as his. The bloodlust receded under a possessive sexual lust that had him tighten his hands around her. “That’s what you were trying to do with your magic. You thought I was a human possessed by the demon to finish the handfast with sex, and you were trying to banish the demon.” His voice dropped to a growl as his heart pounded with anger. It was irrational and dangerous, this sudden compulsion to have her, mark her, take her, and kill anything that got in the way.

  “Yes. Let go of me, I don’t like being touched.”

  He leaned his head down to the curve of her neck. “You’re lying. I can scent your desire.” He had to stop. Now. He didn’t know what her game was, what deal she’d made with Asmodeus.<
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  She shivered more and shook her head in denial. “It can’t be real. The demon forces lust on me through the handfast binding. Even if this feels different, it’s just another of his tricks to ramp up my lust.”

  “So he can seduce you.” That knowledge splashed cold water on him, and he released her. He had to leave, get the hell away from her. Figure out what to do next. “Go inside. Shut the door. And don’t sing.”

  She straightened her back and walked inside the house. He watched her close and lock the door. What the hell was he going to do? She wasn’t a demon witch, at least not yet. But that voice of hers could destroy him.

  Phoenix let himself into the condo over the club that he and Key used, sometimes for sex, sometimes for convenience. No lights were on, but he could see perfectly well. The furniture was black leather with chrome-and-glass tables.

  He strode over the black-and-white marble floor to the wet bar, poured out a measure of Glenfiddich into a heavy crystal glass, and took a drink. He sank onto the couch, the leathers of his pants and couch meeting with barely a whisper. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  His veins burned as if they were laced with acid. The witch Ailish, her blood was in him now, she was in him. He drained his glass, tried to drown out the bloodlust.

  He heard Key walk out of one of the two bedrooms and across the marble in his bare feet. Opening his eyes, Phoenix saw the hunter wore a pair of sweats, the massive dragon inked across his chest visible even in the dark. “Alone tonight, huh?” He didn’t hear a woman in the other room.

  Key went to the wet bar and came back with the bottle of Scotch and a glass for himself. Refilling Phoenix’s glass, he said, “She went home. Why, you looking for leftovers?” He went to the chair on the right and sat down.