Night Magic: A Wing Slayer Novel

by Jennifer Lyon

  “What?” This scared the shit out of her. What was she doing? She, who never let anyone touch her. But she didn’t feel the painful lust of the handfast. She felt … desire. Deep, growing desire. And that was some scary shit.

  He groaned. “You’re bringing out something in me. Breathing life into a part of me I didn’t know was there.”

  She tilted her head, trying to see his face, but it wouldn’t come into focus. Unable to stand it any longer, she released the feathers and lifted her hands to his face. First she laid her palms on both his cheeks. His face was wide and strong, with hollows between his protruding cheekbones and squared jaw. She could feel the stubble on his cheeks and chin. Then she brushed her fingers over his strong forehead and moved her thumbs over his slightly arched eyebrows.

  “Keep going,” he said, and closed his eyes.

  A thrill danced through her. She gently felt his eyes, deep set and a bit wide, a nose with a bump slightly to one side. “Broken?”

  “Few times.”

  She drifted her hands down to his cheeks, then used her thumbs and touched his lips. Full, firm lips, the bottom one bowed in the center. The top lip had a perfect little dent. “What color is your hair?” She was trying to form a picture of him.

  “Black. Eyes almost black.”

  She slipped her fingers into his hair. The strands were thick, soft, and cut unevenly to fall to the middle of his neck. His features were strong, his skin smooth but for the beard stubble, his hair dark, a little choppy—in her mind, she saw him. Pictured him. Long, muscular, with a face like an outlaw, framed in that I-don’t-give-a-shit hair.

  “Damn, Ailish. Just … damn.” Keeping his hands anchored on the chair and the table, he leaned toward her. “Dangerous, stupid, risky …”

  Her hands slid to his shoulders. She was caged in her chair by him, surrounded by his scent, the scent that was all Phoenix and not a trace of demon sulfur. She knew the feel of his skin now and craved more … wanted to feel more. “What?”

  He moved closer until she could all but feel his mouth on hers. “Kissing you.”

  No, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She couldn’t be sure of him, didn’t trust him. No. She hadn’t kissed anyone since she’d been sixteen. She was a loner, and—“I live for risk and danger.” What? Why had she said—

  “Oh yeah.” He closed the last fraction of space and brushed his lips over hers.

  Desire swelled like a gently rising wave. The feel of his mouth was incredibly soft, and then he sucked in her bottom lip and caressed it with his tongue. Her powers began humming, causing a soft vibration inside of her. Her stomach flipped over, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. She was being drawn into a rich sensuality that scared her. Yet she was desperate for more.

  He released hold of her lip. “More, Ailish. Let me taste you.”

  His darkly beseeching voice compelled her. She wanted to taste him, taste what it was that made her body hum and shiver and yearn but not hurt. She shouldn’t trust this, but then she moved her hand from his shoulder to touch the feathers, and they responded by stroking her fingers, holding her. Ailish opened her mouth, and Phoenix made a noise of approval as he sank his tongue into her. In seconds, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her up from the chair. Her feet dangled, but her mouth … He plunged in, tasting her, sliding his tongue along hers as tremors of pleasure raced down her spine and spread through her womb.

  His chest swelled against her breasts. He shifted her until her hips pressed against his erection.

  Her magic built into a lush waterfall of sensations, stirring a tingling ache in her breasts straight down to her groin, making her want to rub up against him as if he were slowly possessing her.

  Possessing? The fear bloomed, followed by hot rage. What the hell was she doing? She jerked her head away. “Put me down.”

  He went utterly still, while continuing to hold her tight against him.

  His superior strength slammed into her. He was holding her with little effort. “I said—”

  “I’m trying. Can’t … one second.” He drew in a deep breath, then eased her down to her feet.

  She stumbled, caught the back of her chair, and recaptured her balance. Her powers were swirling around her spine, her body felt … ready and willing. Not that sudden, painful lust; this was organic and real. “What was that?”

  “Soul mirror.” He paced away from her, grabbing stuff off the table.

  She heard him go into the kitchen and open her fridge. What was he doing now? “Crazy,” she muttered. “I have to think. Even if it’s true, if this whole soul-mirror thing is true—”

  He slammed something on the counter that sounded like the empty water bottles. “You can’t possibly deny it. You felt it.”

  “I did.” She wasn’t going to lie, but she couldn’t afford to be stupid, either. “Not denying it. I need to check it out. And besides, assuming it’s true, it can’t be that easy.”

  His voice shifted, going harder. “There are complications.”

  There it was. Again. The derision in his voice. Even suspicion. She kept her reaction flat, focused. “Because I’m handfasted to a demon.”

  “Yes.” He walked around her, going to the table, then moved back to the kitchen. “That’s one problem. Another is that your power is stirring up trouble, possibly driving rogues to slaughter even more witches.”

  She heard him open the cupboard under the sink, dumping in trash, but her stomach clenched at his words. “You don’t trust me. You think I might be doing it on purpose.”

  He moved fast, stopping in front of her. “You handfasted with a demon, Ailish. You were willing to deal in dark magic once.”

  She was a fool. An idiot for forgetting how much he distrusted her. Softly, she answered him. “I was never willing.”

  He paused, lifting an arm, maybe to drag his hand through his hair. “If that’s true, then you’ll help us fight against whatever is happening. Don’t use your voice power until we can figure this out.”

  He was trying to manipulate her. “So I’m supposed to just sit here and wait for the demon to win?” But she couldn’t allow her power to harm others, either. It felt like a trap that was closing around her tighter and tighter.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said tightly. “Don’t use your voice power, and we’ll try to help you find a way to break the handfast.”

  Now they were making deals? “We? How can witch hunters—”

  “A couple of the hunters are mated to earth witches. They are connected to the Circle Witches, who are a group of witches that meet on the Internet to—”

  Oh no, she wasn’t going that route again. She’d asked, she’d all but begged those self-anointed witches for help. “I know who they are. They are a group of pretentious, self-righteous, judgmental prigs. I went to them a couple times and they turned their bitch backs on me. They won’t help. They see this handfast binding and they close ranks.”

  The air between them nearly crackled. “What the hell do you expect, Ailish? You handfasted with a demon. Why would they trust you?”

  She sucked in a breath, and her voice dropped to ice. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what it’s been like.…” She felt the cut of his distrust, his disgust. She was trying to break the handfast and become a real earth witch. But no one believed her, believed in her. “Save your judgments for someone who cares.”

  He nearly vibrated with some internal force. “Ailish, damn it, I’m trying to help both you and the innocents out there, like the earth witch I managed to save today. All I’m asking is that you don’t use your voice power.”

  Oh well, if that’s all. Just don’t use her last hope. She stayed quiet, fought down all the years of rage and anger.

  He reached out, touched her face while softening his voice. “Don’t forget, I’m your soul mirror. The answer to breaking your handfast might be in that. We just have to find out more.”

  Ailish pushed his hand from her. He was using this possi
ble soul-mirror connection between them to control her. “I’m not promising you or your group anything. But I won’t use the power unless I have to.” It was all she could give him. She didn’t want to hurt innocents, didn’t want to hurt anybody. She just wanted to live … but short of that, she meant to protect those who were suffering because of her.

  Like Kyle.

  “We haven’t found one.” Phoenix slammed his palm against the dash of the truck. He couldn’t sit still in the passenger seat as rage boiled inside him. “Not one! Where are the witches?” Darcy, Carla, and Sutton had set up a reporting system for missing witches. Tonight, all the hunters were out except Ram, who was coordinating from the warehouse.

  “Gonna beat the info out of my truck?” Key turned a corner, and they moved through the sleek night.

  “Truck fights better than you with all your I’m-a-tortured-artist bullshit.”

  “Can’t help it if I’m getting laid and you’re getting nada. Women like me. Probably because I’m not an asshole,” he announced cheerfully.

  He mimicked, “Let me draw you naked … oh, I work better if I draw you with my cock inside you.”

  “See, that right there is classic asshole behavior.”

  He was so tied up, so tense, so supremely horny, it felt as if his brain were going to explode. “I could get laid if I didn’t keep getting interrupted.” He’d had a hot woman with lonely eyes halfway up the stairs at the club earlier tonight when Ram tagged him about a missing witch.

  “Your voice jealous? Keeping you all for herself? Maybe you can have voice sex in your head?”

  “Maybe I can rip out your voice box and shove it up your ass. Then you can talk out of your ass for real.” The cold truth was that he couldn’t get the feel, scent, and taste of Ailish out of his memory. He’d told himself sex with the woman at the club would help.…

  But he’d been partially relieved by the call from Ram.

  He was walking a dangerous line here. Feeding the sex part of the curse helped them battle back the bloodlust. By not doing that, he was letting the curse get too deep a hold on him. The craving for witch blood was slithering through him, just ready to explode. A mere splash of witch blood would send him over the edge.

  He had just leaned his head back on the headrest when he heard the first scream. Jerking his head up, he heard a second scream and knew it was coming from his right. “Stop!” He shoved open the truck and jumped out while Key was still braking.

  He smelled witch blood. “I got this!” he shouted, then turned and raced around the corner, one block over. The scent was stronger, filling his nostrils and throat. His veins warmed and swelled in anticipation. He ran faster.

  Another scream came from the church up ahead. The streets in this section of Glassbreakers were barren this late at night. The church, school, and surrounding businesses were closed.

  As he raced across the parking lot of the church, the smell of live witch blood was so potent that his skin began to itch in response.

  “No!”

  The choked cry jerked his head up. The witch stumbled out of the church and around the building. She trailed blood from multiple cuts, soaking her clothes.

  Witch blood! His veins twisted in searing, agonizing demand. He wanted it, needed it. He changed his path, passing the church and running toward—

  A man burst out of the church seconds later, chasing her, just as Key caught up. “Check inside, I’ll get this!” he told Key.

  Key didn’t answer, just raced into the church.

  Phoenix sprinted around the side of the building, followed the blood trail of the witch to a ladder on the side of the church, and started climbing.

  It was an A-line roof two stories up. Damn, he wasn’t a fan of heights. Why couldn’t people do their business on the ground? Hell. He grabbed the edge of the roof and silently hauled himself up to the wickedly slanted top. The tiles were slick, and he had to lie flat on the slope to keep from sliding off. He looked around while digging his fingers into the raised edges of the tiles. The witch was standing and clinging to the cross that stood proudly at the front tip of the roof. The scent of her blood was stronger. His gut cramped with need while the pores of his skin opened up, desperate to feel the warm relief of her blood. It made his skin so sensitive, every scrape hurt like a burn.

  The man chasing her was directly between them, belly-inching his way closer and closer to his prey. Seeing that set off his fury. Oh hell, no.

  The rogue was so crazed with the need to get to the witch’s power-laced blood that he wasn’t paying attention to what was coming up behind him.

  The tile under Phoenix’s left hand creaked and pulled up, causing him to lose his grip. Swearing silently, he slid down an inch, got another hold, and steadied himself. The copper-stinking rogue was a foot closer to the witch. Phoenix had had enough of this shit. He slipped his knife from the holster at his back and put the blade between his teeth. Then he army-crawled a few more feet, dug in his left hand for a strong hold on the tiles, and grabbed the rogue’s calf.

  Swear to all the gods and demons, he’d better not fall off this roof. It wasn’t the heights he hated, but falling. Anytime he fell, he had a horrible feeling he was going to burst into flames. Plus landings were always a bitch. He yanked the rogue down so the bastard started sliding and scrabbling to catch himself.

  Phoenix let go, and in a fast move, he took the knife from his mouth and stabbed it in the rogue’s back as the man fought to keep from falling off the roof.

  The witch belted out a piercing scream. He looked up, and the rogue slammed his elbow into Phoenix’s face.

  Grunting in pain, Phoenix twisted the knife in the other hunter’s back, shredding the bastard’s heart. Finally, the damned rogue quit fighting and had the decency to die.

  He pulled out his knife, cleaned it on the back of the dead man’s shirt, and holstered it. Then, after checking his hold on the roof, he rolled the body off to the ground below. He heard a satisfying thunk.

  The witch was his. All that blood … all his. It smelled more alluring than ever! Using his boots, he pushed himself up a few more inches and hooked his hand over the top of the roof.

  “No!” the witch screamed from her perch at the cross. “Stay back!”

  Her piercing fear hit him and cleared the haze of lust. Sick disgust churned in his gut at what he’d been thinking. Yet his blood sizzled with need, and he realized the truth—Ailish’s voice power was enhancing even the scent of the witch’s blood, driving rogues to madness and testing hunters’ willpower. But he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d just get her down, then get his ass to the club and find some mortal woman to take to his bed.

  “Easy there,” he said soothingly as he pulled himself toward her. Women tended to respond to him, trust him. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to get you down.” He threw one leathered leg over the arch of the roof.

  “Don’t come any closer!” She had dark blond hair that had been torn loose from a clip, terrified brown eyes, and a death grip on the cross. She was bleeding from three places, her right arm, her left thigh, and a cut to her side. Crosscutting like that usually caused so much pain, a witch couldn’t reach her powers.

  He eased up to his feet, balancing where the sides of the roof sloped up to form a two-inch-wide edge. He focused on her pinched face and breathed through his mouth to avoid smelling her blood. “I can’t leave you up here clinging to the cross.” He took another step, intending to get close enough to show her the lifelines on his palm. Rogues had smooth, lineless palms, a sign that their souls were gone forever. “I’m going to—”

  She lashed out with her foot.

  The blow caught him behind his left knee, and he teetered on the edge, throwing out his arms to catch his balance.

  The voice exploded in his head, and he had to listen. Needed to listen. Her voice was everything.…

  Breath of life

  In my cry

  From the flames

  Wings shall rise
>
  Aching in beauty

  Tears of healing

  Wings of my soul

  Soar to my call

  Just as that last line filled his head, the witch kicked him again and he went ass over teakettle down the slope and flying off the edge of the roof.

  He slammed into the ground, the impact rattling every cell in his body. But what hurt the most, what made him ache, was the absence of the voice. It felt as if he were missing some vital part of his chest now that it had stopped.

  A shadow fell over him, and Key said, “Why are you on the ground again?”

  He rolled to his feet, yanked his BlackBerry out of his pocket, and checked on Ailish. She was at her house, hadn’t moved.

  But she had sung!

  A shadow swept across the sky, then landed next to him and Key.

  Axel had arrived. His brown-and-gold hawk wings lifted behind him as he asked, “Status?”

  Key said, “Looks like a rogue snatched the witch and took her into this church. Another rogue found them and there was a fight, and the witch ran. One killed the other, then chased the witch up onto the roof. Phoenix killed that rogue, then the witch kicked Phoenix off the roof.”

  Axel looked up at the witch with the death grip on the cross, then lowered his stare to him. “Ailish?”

  He could barely stand in one place. His muscles twitched with the need to get moving, to go to that voice.

  To Ailish and her utterly compelling voice.

  “Yes. Key, need your truck.”

  The hunter dug out his keys and tossed them. “You know what you’re doing?”

  Phoenix snatched them out of the air. “No.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up to Ailish’s house. From the front, it looked quiet and dark. He got out of the truck and circled the house, jumping the fence in silence, but Ailish wasn’t in the backyard.