BLOOD MAGIC

by Jennifer Lyon

  She'd been wrong, and any innocence she'd held on to had been shattered as she fought to keep her son from the same fate.

  Axel forced himself to stand still and to stay in control.

  Tears welled up in her brown eyes. “It's on her forehead. She woke up with a pink dot this morning and I thought it was a bug bite. Then this afternoon, it was a perfect round circle. Oh God, Axel, I don't know what to do. I can't let my baby die.” She shuddered, her entire body trembling.

  His mom's pain added to the compulsion burning like fire ants deep in his veins. No matter how much he wanted to hold on to his soul, he had no choice. He had to hunt down the demon witch and kill her. It would destroy him, but it would free Hannah from the curse. The death curse started as a pink dot, and within hours it became a dime-size pink circle. The victim would sicken and die at the full moon. It was a new moon, which meant he had about fourteen days until the curse would kill Hannah. Keeping his hands loose at his sides, he looked into his mom's eyes. “I won't let her die. I'll find the witch who cursed Hannah and kill her.”

  “Axel …” Her voice was thick and tight.

  He understood it. She loved him. So much so that she had stayed with his dad, even after he'd turned, because she knew Myles would kill her before he'd let her take Axel. Then when things had gotten too dangerous for Axel, the two of them went on the run until Axel had been old enough to handle his dad. Their complicated history—including the period of time when his dad had found his mom again and used his witch-hunter magnetism to seduce Eve and get her pregnant—changed nothing. She was being forced to sacrifice one of her children to save the other.

  “You can't kill a witch. Just one witch kill will turn you.” She looked over to make sure Hannah was busy with Key, then she added, “I'll do it. I want you all to find the witch, then I'll kill her.”

  Sutton shifted uneasily next to him. Phoenix growled low in his throat. “Eve, be careful,” Ram warned.

  Axel held himself still. The very idea of his mother encountering a demon witch made his head ring with rage. Hunters were born to both protect and kill. In spite of the blood curse, both drives still ran deep until they went rogue.

  But Eve had her own powerful instincts—those of a mother trying to save both her children. He closed the space between them and put his arm around her shoulders. He loved her enough to take the decision from her. “Mom, only a witch who has given up her soul for demonic powers can cast a death curse. You would be too easy for her to kill. You have to take care of Hannah. I'll find the witch who cursed her.”

  He let go of his mom and walked across the warehouse, following the baby giggles and low male tones. Hannah and Key were sprawled on the floor with a six-foot-long piece of butcher paper and about a million crayons. Hannah had dark blond hair held back in two clips, with bangs that fell over her forehead. She was on her stomach, her legs bent at the knees, kicking her pink-tennis-shoed feet back and forth. She stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth while coloring with a pink crayon and wearing an intense look of concentration.

  His chest hurt just looking at her. She and Key were working on one of their “projects,” which was some kind of ongoing cartoon.

  He hunkered down by Hannah. “What are you drawing?”

  She looked up at him with a baby-teeth grin. “A story about flying puppies. Wanna help?”

  He casually reached out to brush her bangs back and saw it—the perfectly round, dime-size pink mark. The compulsion to find the witch who'd cursed Hannah and spill her blood hissed in his bloodstream. His heart pounded, and his muscles twitched. He carefully pulled his hand away from his sister.

  Key's gray eyes hardened with sheer hatred, but his voice was gentle. “You're stuck with me, Hannah. Your brother has business to take care of.” Then he shifted his gaze to Axel. “Go take care of it.”

  Axel nodded. He knew exactly how Hannah had been cursed: His dad had tangled with a demon witch and she had cast a death curse on him. But witch hunters were immune to death curses, so the curse went down the bloodline, passing Axel and settling on Hannah.

  A half hour later, he pulled up to the compound where his dad lived in the town of Glassbreakers; one of the odd little seaside towns in Los Angeles County. The compound used to be a veterinarian's house with an office and a kennel behind the house. He knew his dad had renovated the house, but he didn't know what he'd done with the veterinarian's office and kennel. The place was actually owned by the Rogue Cadre, but they gave Myles whatever he wanted for being a loyal witch killer. The idea of becoming a slave to anyone twisted Axel's balls, but he shook it off. He wasn't one of them yet, and the Wing Slayer Hunters would kill him if that day ever came.

  With the death curse on Hannah, that day looked like a sure thing.

  He left his truck on the street, leapt easily over the fence, and stalked up the driveway toward the sprawling house. He knew cameras were following him, but he didn't care. He wanted Myles to know he was there.

  He reached the entry and pounded on the thick oak double doors.

  The door opened and Axel blinked in surprise as recognition dawned on him. “Holden? That you?” It was Holden Mackenzie, the kid he'd played with until he was fourteen. He caught the copper scent and saw that his bulging arms were hairless. Rogue. That realization felt like a kick in the gut—his childhood buddy was rogue. “Christ, Holden, you're one of them?”

  “Cut the shit, Axel. We're not kids and this isn't a game. The witches destroyed us. It's time we fought back and reclaimed our rightful heritage.”

  Axel thought of the rogues he'd killed when he worked private security on the club circuit. He hadn't singled them out, but when they came into the club and caused trouble of the deadly kind, he'd ended it. He'd always felt a tug of remorse, of pity for the witch hunter who had lost the battle with the curse. But this—seeing the man he'd known as a boy, the boy he'd played games of hunting demon witches with—it sickened and infuriated him. “You dumb fuck, you sold out our heritage.”

  Holden's nose flared with rage. His jaw was tight as he said, “Myles is upstairs.”

  He'd had years to deal with the fact that his dad was rogue, but Holden … that put the reality that he was only one witch kill from going that way, too, right in his face.

  And that witch kill would happen to save Hannah's life.

  Was he really any better than Holden? Or Myles?

  He shook it off and strode into the tiled entryway. Another rogue stood at the bottom of the stairs holding a Glock. Now his dad had guards. What exactly was he doing that required guards? Not his problem, he reminded himself. He was here about Hannah. He took the stairs three at a time.

  He found him in the master bedroom, lying on blue satin sheets, drinking Scotch, and watching a porn flick on the big-screen TV.

  Myles looked over at him. “Is the witch dead?”

  He knew he wasn't asking about the witch that had cursed Hannah, but the one he had ordered Axel to kill. “Hell if I know.” Myles was wearing a pair of boxers and there was an angry burn along his left side. It was from a fire-spell. They healed very fast, but a burn that bad would take a couple days. It looked like his dad had tangled with the wrong witch last night.

  “Do you want to die? Young knows you've killed rogues, and that you've marked yourself in allegiance to a dead god. If you don't join us, you'll be killed.”

  Axel pulled out his gun and pointed it at his dad's heart. “I'm not interested in your threats, or Young's delusions of power. Did the witch that did this to you survive?”

  Myles set the glass of Scotch on his bedside table. Ignoring the gun pointed at him, he answered darkly, “What do you care?”

  “Hannah has been death-cursed.”

  He shrugged, then winced in pain. “So?”

  Hate raced through Axel, from his heart to his trigger finger. It took everything he had not to kill him then and there. The only reason he didn't kill his father that very second was that he needed to know who the wit
ch was. And killing him would bring down the guards in the house, and the wrath of the entire Rogue Cadre on him. Axel didn't need the headache while he tracked the witch who had cursed Hannah. “Who's the witch? What did you do to make her so angry?”

  Myles picked up his glass and tossed back the remaining Scotch, then glared at Axel. “I did my duty. Exterminating all the witches is the only way to end this curse and get our souls back. How was I supposed to know her mother would show up?”

  Axel's blood ran cold. He knew his dad was a monster, but … “You killed a kid?”

  He snorted. “Not a kid; probably in her twenties. Fought like a hellcat until I cut her enough …” He shuddered with pleasure at the memory.

  Looking at his dad, he once again saw his own future. A cold-blooded, murderous animal. But Hannah … Myles didn't care that his daughter would die from a life-sucking curse, but Axel did. He shoved the gun into the raw burn on his father's side. “Who is the demon witch that cursed Hannah?”

  “Don't know.” Sweat rolled down the old man's face.

  “Goddamn it, I won't let Hannah die.”

  Myles, half laughing, half grunting in pain, shook his head. “You think I give a rat's ass about that girl? You want the death curse lifted, go find a witch and force her to undo the curse.”

  “You make me sick.” He wanted so desperately to kill the bastard, to watch his eyes drain of life, his body grow cold. He could do it with just one twitch of his finger … but he didn't. Not yet. He couldn't risk the rogue hunters getting in his way of saving Hannah. Or worse, going after his mom and Hannah in retaliation for his dad's death. “One day, I'll end your miserable life.” He left the room before he gave in to the urge.

  But he wasn't leaving empty-handed. Without meaning to, Myles had given Axel a possible solution. A way that might allow him to save Hannah and keep his soul at the same time. He would find another witch and force her to cast a spell to undo the curse. Earth witches were in hiding from rogues, and even if he found one, she would most likely refuse to help him since they had no protection from a pissed off demon witch. Casting a spell to undo a demon witch's curse would most definitely piss her off. But he would force the witch to do it. All he needed was the witch—and his dad had given him all the information he needed on one last night in his club.

  Darcy MacAlister.

  MONDAY: DAY THREE OF THE DEATH MARK

  “We'll take good care of your mother,” Darcy said to end the consultation and stood up in the conference room.

  The four others in the room stood up. The deceased's two children and their respective spouses.

  “Thank you,” the daughter said.

  Smiling gently, she took the woman's hand. “Don't worry about a thing. But if you have any questions or concerns, call me. I'm here to help you any way I can.”

  The daughter's husband nodded his thanks, then put his arm around his wife as they left.

  Darcy steeled herself and turned to the son, Bryce Walker. She held out her hand and said, “Bryce, I'm very sorry about your mother. She was a lovely woman and we'll make sure she has a service that will honor her memory.”

  After a second of hesitation, he took her hand and muttered, “Thanks,” while refusing to look her in the eyes. He dropped her hand quickly, took his wife's arm, and headed out of the conference room.

  “What the hell was that?” Joe asked, coming in from the casket-display room.

  Darcy fought back the tide of memories. “We dated,” she said tightly, then picked up a folder from the conference table.

  Joe moved up beside her, his blue gaze catching hers. “Did he do something to you? Hurt you?”

  She sighed. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Explain.”

  “No.” She wasn't going to get into her sex life with Joe. Or lack of sex life now. She rarely dated anymore.

  He touched her shoulder. “Darcy, you either tell me or I'm going to find out from Bryce himself.”

  She could feel Joe's concern in the warmth of his hand. “We weren't sexually compatible, among other things.” When they'd had sex, Darcy had felt his spooky thoughts wash over her.

  Then he'd broken up with her by text message.

  Bryce wasn't the only one, but he had been the last. So she hadn't dated in a while, hadn't opened herself to that kind of pain and rejection.

  Joe brought her back to the moment by gently squeezing her shoulder and saying, “He wasn't good enough for you.”

  “Yeah, I know. He found a woman that was right for him. Cindy. She seems nice.” So many people were getting married, finding mates; life partners. It made her feel lonely, frustrated, and out of place. But as much as she wanted to find a place she belonged, she didn't want to open herself to more rejection.

  “You're tired and you just lost your mother. You shouldn't even be working this week.”

  “I want to work.” What was she going to do? Sit home and feel sorry for herself? Her mom was better off now, no longer struggling for each breath. She was at peace. Darcy would not begrudge her that. To reassure Joe, she added, “I'm going to Carla's tonight. That'll be fun.”

  “Going dancing? Out to meet men?”

  She shook her head. “Staying in.” She wondered what Carla wanted to talk to her about.

  He narrowed his gaze. “I've been home for months and I don't think I've seen you date once. What's up? Did you switch sides while I was gone?”

  “Switch … Oh!” His meaning startled her into a huge laugh. She set down the folder and laughed harder. “God, Joe, I've missed you.”

  “That's because you had to run this place by yourself. Now you have me to boss around.”

  Her laughter died away. “I'm not your boss, Joe. This place is yours.”

  “Don't start with that shit. You pulled this mortuary back from the brink of bankruptcy. You saved your dad's ass, and he thanked you by leaving the mortuary to me. I wasn't even here, and he had the gall to order you to keep it running until I got out of the service.”

  Darcy had thought that her father would finally be proud of her. Finally see that she was worth his respect, if not his love. It seemed stupid now. But she didn't regret saving the mortuary. She felt like she was doing something important here, helping people in their times of grief. She waved off Joe's anger by saying, “Water under the bridge.”

  “I'm not taking this place from you. We're partners. Our fathers started the mortuary and you and I own it equally. And for now, you've earned the right to be the boss.”

  She picked up her files and walked out of the conference room into the lobby.

  Joe fell into step beside her.

  Grinning at him, she said, “Since I'm the boss, you're on call tonight.” Glassbreakers was a small town, so they didn't get that many calls for a body pickup that couldn't wait until morning. But it was fun to give Joe the grunt work.

  Joe ignored her, his gaze fixed on Morgan moving across the taupe carpet toward them. She wore tan slacks with a yellow sweater and a heavy silence that seemed to weigh down her every step. There was none of the cheerleader bounce that she'd had in high school.

  Darcy watched the woman, remembering the confidence she'd had in school, the way she had known exactly where she belonged and where she was going. No one had been surprised when Morgan moved to San Diego and became an on-air journalist. It had always seemed like Morgan knew her course, understood her purpose in life. Darcy had envied that.

  Morgan stopped a few feet away and said, “I've finished for the day. I was wondering if I could talk to you, Darcy.”

  “Sure,” she said, and walked past Morgan into her office. Setting down the plans for the Walker viewing and funeral she took a seat and gestured to the chair facing her desk. “Sit down.”

  While Morgan settled into the chair, Joe stood in the doorway, hovering. When it came to Morgan, Joe always hovered. The two of them had flirted in high school, but they'd never gone out as far as Darcy knew.

  Since Joe was half own
er, Darcy decided he had every right to listen in. She looked at Morgan's pinched face. “Is something wrong?”

  She took a breath and brushed her shoulder-length blond hair back. “No. Well, yes. It's complicated.”

  Darcy waited, but Morgan seemed to be uncertain, so she asked, “Is it a problem here? Morgan, you're an excellent employee. I don't know why you wanted a job here, but I was desperate when my last assistant quit while I was taking care of my mother. You stepped in and have proved yourself. If something happened, I, well Joe and I, will back you up.” She meant that. Morgan was Joe's age, two years older than Darcy, and back in high school, she'd run with the cool cheerleader/jock crowd. But when those kids tormented Darcy—taunting her with names like Dark Mac—Morgan told them to stop, or managed to turn their attention to something else. She and Darcy hadn't been friends, but Morgan hadn't been cruel. And the one time Darcy had been in real trouble, it had been Morgan that led Joe to her.

  Morgan looked down at her hands.

  “If it's some other kind of trouble, I'll try to help.” She didn't have to look to see Joe straighten up and tense.

  She clenched her hands. “I need to tell you something.” She absently rubbed at her right temple. “It's about my husband, Eric …”

  “Your husband?” Darcy prompted. She had heard that Morgan had married, but nothing else about her husband or where he was now. “Are you divorced?”

  She shook her head, then raised her other hand so that she was rubbing both temples. She squinted as if the light was hurting her eyes. “No, I …”