Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  I kicked at his fist and yanked on my leg, but he was too strong. He dragged me forward until he could reach my shirt. Gripping my collar, he pulled me upright, off the floorboard and against his chest. He trailed his nose from the shell of my ear down my throat where my neck met my shoulder.

  “I did run.” I gasped as his scent enveloped me. “You’re faster than you look.”

  Coarse laughter vibrated through his chest into mine. “I can be, when I see something I want.”

  My smartass reply stuttered and died on my tongue.

  “Speechless,” he mused, drawing back to peer into my face with eyes gone ravenous.

  Tearing my gaze from his, I stared past his broad shoulders at my endgame, at the soaked flag wringing itself on the pole as winds from the summer storm buffeted the tower and ripped at its hem.

  I let him think he had won, let him hold me against him until I was free of the truck and could see a clear path for my feet. While hunger turned his eyes opaque, I admit it, I played the damsel card.

  Once the toes of my shoes hit dirt, Shaw sank his nails into my hips while searching me for the white handkerchief shoved deep into the rear pocket of my jeans. Once he removed it, I was “dead”. Game over. Exam failed. I shot him a regretful look then slammed the heel of my palm into his nose.

  Cartilage crunched and blood streamed down his chin. Shock widened his eyes. He groped at his face on reflex, releasing his hold on me. His nails sliced furrows into his cheeks. While he was stunned, I whirled out of his reach and ran for it. I cleared three yards before his enraged roar made me jump.

  “Thierry.” His voice boomed.

  I wish I had said something clever, but I’m pretty sure I squeaked like a mouse with a cat hot on her tail. Incubi as a race were passionate, hotheaded. Shaw as a man was competitive, driven. Talk about your explosive combinations. Attributes that made him a great instructor also made him an apex predator.

  And I was feeling hunted.

  It was a new experience for me, and I didn’t like it much.

  Ignoring the snarling on my heels, I pushed until my thighs screamed and my legs were rubber. I ran until the tower was in sight, and I caught a second wind. The growling behind me increased, and so did my speed. Bursting into an open area, I hesitated at the sight of my classmates huddled together.

  A slender woman of Japanese descent stood nude under an umbrella covered in plump cardinals. I guess Shaw had found the fox shifter after all. Damn it. Now she would be stuck retaking the exam. The only thing more competitive than a pissy incubus was a kitsune whose 4.0 GPA had just plummeted.

  “Move your scrawny ass,” Mai screamed at me. “You’re the last woman standing.”

  Our classmates picked up her cries and began cheering for me. I appreciated the support, but the clapping and whistling made it impossible to hear Shaw’s approach. Looking wasn’t an option. I had to watch my footing or risk tripping. He was downwind, so I couldn’t scent him. I was running blind.

  Panting through the last dozen yards, I hit the corroded ladder beneath the tower and hauled my body up toward the hatch in the center. My foot slipped off a rung and hit something. I glanced down to find Shaw squinting up at me through one eye. His other was shut tight under a muddy boot print.

  Crap. I climbed faster, hands slipping on the wet metal. At the top, I groped for a latch but found nothing. I wedged my shoulder against the side opposite the hinges, took another peek at a slavering Shaw, then rammed the hatch until the lock buckled and the narrow door burst open. I swung inside, bouncing the wood off Shaw’s face as he tried to join me. I winced in sympathy. It was a pretty face.

  Wood splintered and metal groaned as Shaw ripped the door from its hinges and hurled it away. There were four open slots about two feet high and six feet wide on each side of the tower. The pole was mounted in the center of the roof, so that’s where I headed. I slid through one gap, careful of my footing on the slippery tin. Grasping the pole with one hand, I used it to haul myself up the tower’s side.

  “Not so fast.” Shaw wrapped his palm around my ankle.

  “Knock it off,” I snarled. “You’re going to make me fall.”

  His other hand clutched my upper thigh. “I’ll catch you.”

  “My hero,” I grated between clenched teeth.

  I tried kicking where his face should be, but he wrestled with my foot until he popped off my shoe. I wriggled until the second shoe joined the first. His fingers dug into the denim of my soaked jeans. My fingers tightened on the slick pole. Using his grip to balance me on the lip of the open window, I flung out my other arm, locking both hands around the pole and hoisting myself higher.

  Shaw’s hands crept up to my hips, smoothing over my ass in his search for the pocket where my flag was kept. Two inches lower and he would win. I hated losing, so I brought my knee up hard under his jaw and braced that heel in the window, kicking up and launching myself onto the roof.

  While Shaw cursed at me and threatened to bend me over his knee—kinky—I found my footing. Standing tall and proud, I snatched the limp flag from its hooks with a whoop. Glancing down at the cheering cadets, I spotted Mai’s mile-wide smile and swung my soggy prize over my head with glee.

  In hindsight, the victory dance was overkill. One minute I was shaking what my momma gave me. The next I was crashing through the thin roof and toppling over the jagged edge. Shaw tried to catch me. The ground managed the job for him.

  Some hero he turned out to be.

  Chapter Two

  Awareness seeped in and brought its friends Pain and Agony for a visit. I woke with a groan and a burst of sympathy for piñatas everywhere. My eyelids were sticky, my lashes clumped. I succeeded in opening one eye. Mostly. Vision kicked in a second later, or maybe my brain was the slow starter.

  I swallowed to wet my throat. “Am I dead?”

  Metal scraped over the floor, and the face of an angel floated into soft focus in the vicinity of my feet. His bronzed skin popped against the pallor of the thin bed sheet covering my toes when he gave them a squeeze. Mahogany curls twisted into knots on his head. The roguish glint to his copper eyes was absent. His lush mouth sagged at the corners, his bottom lip chewed ragged by his white teeth.

  “No,” Shaw drawled from his chair at the foot of my bed, “but not for lack of trying.”

  I grinned though it hurt. Shaw was a looker even incubused-out. When he was playing human? Rawr.

  His thumbs slid past the balls of my feet, massaging my arches until a moan eased past my lips.

  Shaw tensed at the sound, his hands falling away. The metal legs of his chair scraped again.

  Familiar distance spread between us. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see it. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the medical ward,” he answered tightly, “on conclave grounds.”

  I figured I either had to be there or the fae clinic on Myer Lane. Human hospitals were a no-no. Fae were in the closet, and the fastest way to fling open the doors would be to watch one regenerate in a public hospital.

  “Here.” Shaw cleared his throat. “I almost forgot.”

  My eyes popped open and zeroed in on the small box in his hands. He must have fished it out of the ever-ready messenger bag of tricks he kept slung across his shoulder at all times.

  He leaned over the bedrail so I didn’t have to stretch. The wrapping paper I shredded into confetti on my lap, but his clumsy bow I twisted into a ring for my finger. After cursing my way through multiple layers of tape, I opened the box with a gasp.

  My gaze swung up to meet his. “Shaw.”

  His cheeks went ruddy, and he rolled his shoulder, which was his answer to most every situation. I traced the tiny enamel seal inset into a black leather wallet. Southwestern Conclave Marshal. “You didn’t have to do this.” The room went fuzzy at the edges while I blinked back a rush of giddy tears.

  He dropped back into his chair. “Look inside.”

  I flipped it open and sucked in a sharp br
eath that fizzled into chuckles. Pinned in the center was a plastic sheriff’s badge that looked like it had gone missing from a kid’s cowboy-themed birthday party.

  “Huh.” I tapped the center. “They sure don’t make these like they used to.”

  “It’s a placeholder,” he said solemnly, “to tide you over until graduation. The magistrates are out of town and can’t officiate for two weeks.”

  The full meaning of the gift bypassed the drugs and slammed into me. “I passed?”

  His lips quirked at the corners.

  I tossed the gift box at his head. “Is that a yes?”

  He set his hand back on my toes. “Yes, that’s a yes.”

  “Yes.” My arm shot up, fist pump thwarted when I tangled my IV line in the strands of a balloon arrangement I hadn’t noticed. I swatted at their goofy latex grins until Shaw took pity and wrangled them for me.

  He passed me a small white card. “They’re from Mable.”

  I fingered the rectangle of paper, chuckling when I recognized her looping scrawl. “You lack the sense God gave chickens,” I read aloud. “Even they have the sense to know they can’t fly. See you soon. Love, Mable.”

  I passed it back to him, and he leaned the card against the weighted base of the arrangement.

  “If it makes you feel any better—” he retreated to his chair, “—Mable whacked me with that hot-pink monstrosity of hers for orchestrating your near-death event. I heard and saw actual tweeting birds.”

  I winced. Mable’s purse was the neon-pink love child of shag carpeting and a carry-on suitcase as near as I could tell. I leaned back to inspect the bandage on my forearm. “So…what’s the damage?”

  He ticked off my injuries on his fingertips. “Shattered hip, broken ankles, snapped—”

  “Okay, okay, you can stop.” I dragged a hand down my face. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

  “Dr. Row said you’ll be tender for a few days,” he continued, “but all the bones have mended.”

  All mended? All that damage healed? I faked like his response hadn’t stunned me. My powers had manifested at puberty. I hit the big one-eight last week. Cuts and bruises, yeah, they vanished in minutes, but broken bones?

  Picking at the front of my gown, I kept my voice level. “How long have I been here?”

  He checked his watch. “Thirty-six hours, give or take.”

  When he poured me a glass of water over chipped ice and passed it up to me, I figured my voice sounded rougher than I meant it to. I was grateful for the prop to keep my hands occupied. “Thanks.”

  The doorknob to my room rattled. Two loud knocks followed.

  Shaw cracked a smile. “Someone must have locked the door.”

  “If you wanted to be alone with me,” I teased, “all you had to do was ask.”

  His grin slipped, his bright eyes eclipsed by the white void of his hunger.

  I swallowed hard, suddenly nervous about the locked-door situation. “I didn’t mean to…”

  He pushed to his feet and started pacing the length of the room. “Do you feel up to visitors?”

  “I—I guess.” I set the water aside and pushed up higher on the bed. “Where are you going?”

  Regret thickened his voice. “Out.”

  Out, the place he went to feed.

  Out, the destination always the farthest he could get from me.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of raised voices brought my head up and reminded me Shaw had asked if I felt up to having company. I wasn’t sure I did, now, but he admitted my visitors before leaving.

  A short woman swept into the room looking every bit like Mrs. Claus’s twin sister gone country. The tips of her magenta cowgirl boots peeked out from under a flowing bohemian skirt made from patchwork bandanas in shades from white to blush to holy Moses pass me some sunglasses. A dainty pink bee pendant provided the accent for her white blouse, last year’s birthday gift from yours truly.

  Mable was a bean-tighe, a gentle spirit bound to a building for the duration of its existence. Her home was the marshal’s office. She was also the receptionist there, and the pusher of my papers, which is how we met.

  “Oh, Thierry.” She dabbed at her eyes with a coordinating hankie. “What have you done now?”

  I held up the gift from Shaw. “I made conclave marshal.”

  “For real?” a familiar voice squealed from the hall.

  Mai burst into the room and planted herself at the foot of my bed. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a stringy ponytail, and her academy issued T-shirt was drenched in sweat. She leaned over, swiped the cup of water Shaw had poured me and downed the contents before she noticed me staring at her.

  She rattled the ice chips together. “Were you not done with this?”

  “I don’t know what that man was thinking.” Mable came to the bed and poured me a fresh drink in a clean cup before pressing it into my hand. “I’m just amazed that no one else was seriously injured.”

  “The class voted. The conditions were our choice.” I took a sip. “It’s not Shaw’s fault.”

  Mable’s eyes narrowed.

  “It’s not Mr. Shaw’s fault,” I corrected.

  Mai’s snickering earned her a kick in the hip. Ow. They weren’t kidding about my ankles.

  “You could be a vampire and him a stake through your heart, and you would still defend him.”

  I rolled my eyes at Mai. “Someone has read one too many vampire romance novels.”

  “I’ll forgive that remark this once.” She curled her lip. “You do have a head injury after all.”

  “I do?” I reached up to touch my scalp. “You know what, I don’t need the details.”

  Mable pulled the chair Shaw had occupied to my bedside and sat. “Where is Shaw by the way?”

  “He stepped out.” I hadn’t realized I was still clutching the wallet until something snapped. One of the points from the sheriff badge fell onto my sheet. “I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”

  The topic of Shaw was dropped so hard it made a sound. There was a definite ringing in my ears.

  Mable cleared her throat. “Have you spoken to your mother?”

  “She doesn’t know I got hurt.” I exhaled. “Now that it’s over, I don’t know if I should tell her.”

  “Surely her number is in your file…” Her voice trailed into silence.

  I picked at the broken plastic triangle. “I had her contact information removed.”

  “Thierry.” Mable made it sound like I had drowned a bagful of kittens. “She’s your mother.”

  “Tee doesn’t want her mom to worry.” Mai stuck up for me. “You know how her mom gets.”

  I flinched when Mable didn’t disagree.

  My mom loved me. I never doubted that for a minute. But when her baby girl’s thirteenth birthday party morphed into a teenage horror show, it broke some fundamental thing neither of us knew how to fix. So we faked it, pretended I hadn’t killed five of my best friends with a touch of my left hand the night my fae magic kindled, acted like she hadn’t given up her home, her job, her life to move us from Galveston, Texas to a speck of a town named Wink so the conclave could protect me.

  Her fling with my father, Macsen Sullivan, the Black Dog of the Faerie High Court, had left her saddled with a daughter whose gifts terrified her. It wasn’t like she could turn to Mac for help, either. He ditched his human lover the instant a second blue line formed on her pregnancy test. At least Mac scrawled the conclave’s phone number on an envelope on his way out the door. Nice foresight there, Dad.

  Next time, use a condom.

  “Here.” Mable hefted her bag onto her lap and tugged a package wrapped in festive pink paper from its depths. “This is for you.”

  Bracing for a pinksplosion, I gingerly unwrapped a white gift box. So far, so good. “Wow.” I lifted a brown leather messenger bag from its tissue paper bed and traced the delicate swoops and swirls stamped into the flap. “It’s beautiful.”

  She shook a fi
nger at me. “A marshal must be prepared for any situation.”

  Lifting the bag to my nose, I inhaled the fresh leather scent.

  Mable delved into her purse again and presented me with an envelope. “This is also for you.” She took my gift and hooked it on the bathroom doorknob.

  “What is it?” The conclave seal was printed on the front. So was my name. Very official-like.

  “Open it.” Mai grabbed for it.

  I stopped her with a palm to her forehead. “Get back.”

  “Girls,” Mable sighed.

  “She started it,” we said together.

  Smothering a grin, Mable folded her arms. “Open the letter.”

  I tore into it, read it once, read it twice and then my jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

  Tiny bubbles of excitement fizzled in my chest until I couldn’t breathe.

  Mai snatched the paper, leaving me holding the torn corners mashed between my fingertips.

  “Marshal Thackeray is to report to Marshal Shaw at the Southwestern Conclave Main Office on Monday at eight a.m. to start on-the-job training.” Mai hummed the opening bars of “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” by The Police. “That’s hot. Six weeks just you, him and a set of restraining Words…”

  Heat licked up my neck to sizzle in my cheeks. “This is serious, Mai.”

  The magistrates would tear a strip off my hide if I got kinky with the spelled Words we used for restraining suspects. Most fae had iron allergies, but their metal sensitivities ran the gamut. Better to detain them with magic now than risk a lawsuit later.

  “This is your career,” Mable agreed. “I respect Shaw as a marshal. I respect him as an instructor, and I believe his years of experience in the field can help you to become the marshal you want to be. But there are reasons why you two are paired so often…” she hesitated, “…despite concerns about the appropriateness of your relationship raised last year, and you should keep those reasons in mind.”

  Reasons like he was the only marshal in the state of Texas resistant to my brand of magic, which volunteered him for all things Thierry. There had been talk of bringing in a transfer to alleviate some of the concerns over how much time we spent together, but the whispers never amounted to anything.