Darcy was going to be sick. She pulled open the front door, ignoring the warning beep of the security system, and stumbled outside onto the flagstone. She sucked in a breath of cool air. Her mouth watered and her stomach rolled.
She couldn't outrun the truth. She had seen that mark once before when she had been six years old. She and Joe had snuck in to see the dead man everyone was talking about.
They made it to the viewing room unnoticed.
It smelled like flowers and the wet scent of sad people. She wrinkled her nose. The family of the dead guy sat at the end of the coffin, and several people stood with their backs to Darcy while talking to the family. Joe tugged her to the shiny, brass-handled coffin.
They stood together at the side of the casket. She squeezed Joe's hand and looked in. It was a young man with short hair and a waxy sunken face, but her gaze stuck on his forehead, on the coal-black round mark.
Her head started to spin. The voices in her head made shocked hisses and moans and said, “Oh no. He has the death mark! Get back, Darcy! The demon witch might find you if you touch him!”
“No!” She didn't want a black mark on her head!
Her dad's loud voice boomed, “Darcy MacAlister!”
She turned to look at him. “It's a death mark, Daddy! He has the death mark!”
Her dad's face turned red.
A woman cried out and dissolved into weeping.
People gathered around.
Darcy stared up at all the adults, trying to make them understand. “The death mark killed him!”
Her father grabbed her arm, yanking so hard she yelped in pain …
The memory was so vivid even now. Seeing the pink mark on Hannah brought it all back. That beautiful little girl inside the house was marked for death. She bent over and put her hands on her knees, trying to find her center and think. She wanted to run, but she couldn't leave that child. Some force within her wouldn't let her. She had to … what? What was she that she recognized that death mark?
She knew what her dad had thought …
Someone yanked her arm. She cried out, waking up suddenly and feeling scared.
Her dad pulled her out of bed, holding her up with both hands. The moonlight streamed in and she could see that his eyes were red. His breath smelled bad, too.
“I'm not raising a devil-spawn!” he yelled at her.
“Gerry!” Her mom rushed into the room. “She's just a little girl!”
Darcy started to cry.
Her dad shook her. “There's something wrong with her! She's a freak! You saw her tonight!”
“You're drunk! Put her down, Gerry, or I swear to God, I'll call the police! Do you want the town to find out you're afraid of a little girl?”
His hands dug into her arms. His jaw was tight. “She embarrassed us …”
Her mom took her from him, hugging Darcy tight. “Go sleep it off, Gerry.”
He stormed out.
Someone tugged on her arm, yanking her from the memory, and said, “You can't escape. You set off two silent alarms that alert me just running out the front door. My house is very secure.”
Darcy snapped upright and jerked a step back from him. A wave of dizziness hit her. The cut burned on her back. Ever since that night, Darcy had stopped hearing the voices clearly. She'd stopped being different, weird, freaky unless by accident. She'd tried to be normal so her dad would love her.
Her kidnapper kept talking. “Not that I need electronics. Witch hunters can track you anywhere.”
Pulling herself together, she straightened and ignored the pain from the cut. He'd called himself a witch hunter earlier, and he'd called those two men who attacked her the same thing. She thought of the emails warning her of hunters. But what did it all mean? “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“Axel Locke. I need you to do a spell to remove the death curse from my sister.”
He stood a couple feet from her, and loomed. He was well over six feet, and had sleek black hair that just touched his collar. His face was cut hard. His T-shirt couldn't contain the muscles, sinew and veins ripping through his massive arms. Everything about him was strong and threatening.
“Is this your way of asking? Scaring the crap out of me?” Darcy didn't like the deep fear writhing inside of her. It reminded her of her dad, of the terror that she'd be thrown out of the only family she'd ever had. The fear that her dad was right, that something evil lived inside of her.
“I was too busy saving your life to ask. But if I had, we both know what the answer would be. You witches don't care that a child will die …” He shut his mouth on the word, his jaw bulging with emotion.
She couldn't track this conversation. The whole thing was surreal. “What makes you think I can do it anyway? Your sister needs a doctor, not me.” A witch? Her? Was such a thing possible?
“It's early in the curse yet, you should be able to do it.”
More panic dumped into her bloodstream. “Are you drunk? Stupid? Crazy? I am not a witch!” She would know, wouldn't she?
He glared down at her. “Playing dumb won't help you. You're going to do the spell.”
He was blocking the only way off the porch. She could try and run through the house … but to where? Somehow she'd lost her bearings on the way here. The house was practically set into a mountain with only one road out that she could see. Then there was that little girl…. Lifting her head and ignoring the pain searing down the back of her neck, she said, “Playing dumb? You're the one who kidnapped me! Now you're talking witches and hunters and death curses! I can't help you!”
He took a step closer. “You're telling me you don't know you're a witch?”
His voice was thick with disbelief. She had no way of knowing what he'd do next. Or knowing what she should do to save herself. Running the back of her hand over her mouth, she tried to sound calm and firm. “That's exactly what I'm telling you.”
“Unlikely.” Another step brought him even closer. “You made your lip bleed again.”
She backed up into the wall of the house. His voice was a low growl that penetrated her skin. The need to know, to understand what was happening, burned inside of her. He was a single step from her. His green eyes looked feverish, his cedar smell was stronger, and it actually pulled at her. “Stop it! Whatever you're doing, just stop it! I have to think.”
“I can't stop.” In that growl, he added, “I wish to God I could. Your skin smells like lemons. But your blood smells spicy.”
Her stomach fluttered as if a dozen butterflies were inside. She could hear a coyote howl in the distance, then the answering call from its mate. Crickets chirped. A body of water lapped softly against a shore not far off. She tried to process his words, but nothing was making sense. Except the closer he got to her, the bigger the feeling inside of her, the need … “What are you doing?”
His gaze narrowed on her mouth. “You're bleeding.”
Her stomach jiggled. “You already said that.” She was frozen in his intensity, caught in some web winding around the two of them.
“Your blood calls to me.” He lifted his right hand and used the pad of his thumb to wipe the blood trickling down from the cut on her bottom lip.
The shock of him touching her blood vibrated through her right down to her bones. She felt the weirdest tugging deep inside, like parts of her that were closed off wanted to open up to him. She grabbed his wrist to pull his thumb away from her face, but a rush of dizziness caused her to hold on to his strength, keeping his hand against her face like an anchor. Nothing made sense. “How can I be a witch?” It was torn from her soul. If she was a witch, then was she the evil spawn her dad believed? Was that why her biological mother got rid of her?
He tore his gaze from her mouth, looked into her eyes, and said in a rough, claim-staking voice, “My witch now. I've touched your blood, you're mine.”
Her heart thudded. His eyes burned into her, and then they changed, the green becoming mirror-like. She could see her own brown eyes in
their depths, but it felt like a magnet, pulling her closer. Though she held his wrist, he easily slid his thumb over her cut and into her mouth. The voices in her head calmed to white noise. Erotic images mixed in her mind as the taste of his skin seared her tongue. She felt tears of recognition well up. She wanted—needed—to be closer to him.
He slid his thumb out and leaned down to kiss her.
“Axel,” a female voice called from the house.
He made a threatening noise in his chest and slid his hand around the back of Darcy's head to hold her. Then he drew his tongue intimately across her lips. Her muscles softened and she leaned into him, needing him.
“Axel!” The voice was closer this time.
He went still, like a wolf about to attack. He lifted his head and looked down at her with a potent, commanding hunger. In the green reflection of his eyes, Darcy thought she glimpsed the shadow of a hawk, her hawk. Then he jerked his hand from her hair, and looked down at his thumb.
The smear of her blood was vanishing, disappearing into his skin.
His mother stood a couple feet away. “Axel, you touched her blood! Leave! Get in the truck and go. Get away from her. She'll destroy you.”
He kept his intense stare on her. “Can't.”
Eve moved to Darcy's side. “Let me take her inside. She's hurt and needs—”
“Don't,” Axel barked. “Don't get between us.”
She'd destroy him? He was destroying her! Forcing her to acknowledge something she didn't want to. Couldn't. His mom obviously recognized the danger inside of her, and thought it would destroy Axel. “I am not a witch!”
They both ignored her. Eve said, “We need her to spell the curse off Hannah.”
Axel didn't move, just kept watching Darcy like some kind of feral beast. “She'll do it.”
Darcy wasn't getting through to them. Taking control of herself, she remembered that she had skills of her own. Lowering her voice, she said, “I can't help you. I'm no use to you. Just let me go.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Don't try to charm me with your voice. It won't work. The only chance you have of staying alive is to do exactly what I tell you.”
“Axel …” Eve's voice broke in.
He cut her off. “Go inside, Mom. Now.”
His mom turned and went in the house.
He grabbed Darcy's arm.
“No!” She tried to plant her feet and resist him. Why hadn't she run when she had the chance? “Don't touch me.” She couldn't think when he touched her.
He dropped her arm and scooped her up. Without saying a word, he walked into the house, turned right into the hallway, and then left into a huge master bedroom. There was a heavy teak bed in the middle of the room and bunch of computer equipment set up against one wall. That was all she saw before he turned again and went through a big bathroom with a monster tub and took her into a walk-in closet.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping you alive.” His voice was rough and cold as he slapped his hand against a mirror hung deep in the corner of the closet.
A doorway-size piece of the closet wall opened up. They walked through and started down some stairs. The wall slid closed behind them.
Real panic shot through her. Visions of torture and rape and … Darcy struggled, trying to get out of his arms.
He tightened his grip, trapping her hands between her side and his chest. “Easy, I'm not going to hurt you. I need you too much.”
Like she believed him! Furious and scared, energy welled up inside of her. She thought of the two men who attacked and cut her. Of Axel threatening her with his knife.
The knife! She'd seen him stick it in the holster at his back. Her heart rate shot up to high-speed terror. The knife. She concentrated on the knife, felt the energy form into a ball in her chest, then escape.
Axel stopped walking in the hallway with a look of surprise on his face.
His knife had slipped out of the holster and was flying around him in a circle. Shocked, she watched, feeling a weird connection to the knife. The hallway was so small that Axel would have to drop her to dodge the knife. She could get away. That's all she wanted, just to escape.
But instead of dropping her, he stayed still until the last second then he suddenly turned right and jerked his head to avoid the blade. Only the hilt of the knife glanced off his left cheekbone. He barely let out a grunt.
But a mere second later, pain slammed into Darcy's left cheekbone, making her head snap back with the force of it. Like she'd been hit by the knife. Her entire body bowed with shock. Pain radiated outward in hot waves. Her ears rang and a tear slid down her face. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Jesus Christ, what did you expect?” Axel roared, his voice a thundering echo in the hallway. He lifted her closer to his face and said more gently, “Breathe. The pain will stop in a minute. Just breathe through it.”
She struggled to do what he told her. Breathe in and out. Finally the pain began to dull enough to think. Had she made the knife do that? But it hit Axel not her, so what happened to her face? Finally she looked at him. There was a mild red mark on the left side of his face that was disappearing even as she watched. He must heal fast. Confused, she asked, “What happened?”
His nostrils flared. “You got emotional and stupid, forgot about witch karma, and used your powers to try to stab me with my knife. I barely felt it. But magnified three times, you gave yourself a black eye.”
“Hey, I'm the one that got bitch-slapped by witch karma, what are you yelling at me for?” The pain settled down to a steady throb. Something sure as hell had slammed into the side of her face. She had most definitely felt the energy inside of her gather, then act.
He dropped his gaze to her and a grin twitched on his lips. “Point taken.” Then his expression hardened and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. He turned into a room the size of an average bedroom. It had a tile floor, bare walls, and overhead lighting. He set her down.
Without a word, he stalked out into the hallway, retrieved his knife from the ground, then returned to fill up the small room with his massive size. Sliding the knife into the holster, he said, “Get started. This counter used to be a wet bar that we converted into work space for you. My mom stocked everything she could think of in here. If you need anything, we'll get it.”
She glanced at the dark granite counter, the sink, and the cupboards, but she still didn't understand; what exactly did they expect her to do? “Start what? I don't know …”
He sucked in a breath. “Stop. You just demonstrated your witchcraft by trying to stab me with my own knife. Get started on the spell. That death curse will kill Hannah at the full moon. We don't have much time.” He left, closing the door behind him.
She looked around, ignoring the ache in her left eye and cheekbone, to take it all in. The wall behind the counter was lined with neatly labeled drawers that contained dried herbs and assorted other items like salt, incense, candles, gemstones, and pieces of silver. She turned, catching sight of a twin bed in one corner.
This room was her prison. She was in deep trouble.
Once he was back in his room, Axel paced like an animal. He had a vicious hard-on for the witch. And nothing was making sense. As far as he knew, the curse made them crave the witch's blood, not sex. The sex part of the curse was just an increased sex drive, not this … painful yearning. He went to his computer, and keyed in.
Sutton appeared on the screen. “Yeah?”
Axel looked at the man's ice blue eyes and sharp bone structure. “What do you have on Darcy MacAlister?” They had the kill sheet that told Axel where she lived, worked, banked … all the places to track her.
Sutton frowned. “Did you get her?”
“She's in the room now. But she's claiming she doesn't know what she is.” Are you drunk? Stupid? Crazy? I am not a witch! He'd heard the desperation in her voice, felt it, and he'd seen the shock on her face when she saw the mark on Hannah. Then she'd used her powers to try to
stab him. Either she was incredibly stupid, or she hadn't known about witch karma. What witch didn't know that?
“You couldn't feel her power?” Sutton asked.
Oh, yeah, he felt it. He had smelled it in her blood, and felt the sizzle and kick of it when he touched her blood. Saw it with her attempt to stab him. But it was his reaction that was unusual. He hadn't wanted to kill her, he'd wanted to fuck her. He'd wanted to possess her.
Even her pain from the witch karma bothered him. “Felt it. She's a witch. But does she know she's a witch?”
He turned to look at the second monitor and all the blood drained from his brain. Darcy. She'd taken off her shirt, bra and bandage, and she stood at the counter with her back to the camera mounted in the corner. She had a white cloth and was trying to clean the blood off herself. Her skin was pale gold, stretching over her shoulder blades. She'd pulled her long auburn hair over her uninjured shoulder, and tried to dab at the weeping cut.
He saw her back contract with pain.
Damn it, there were herbs in the room she could use to ease the pain if she … shit, he was beginning to believe her.
“Axel.”
Tearing his gaze away, he looked at Sutton on the screen. “What've you got?”
“One emergency-room admit for a deep cut to her left arm. She had a severe reaction to the meds and almost died. Nothing since. Her birth records indicate … oh shit.”
“Give it to me.”
“Darcy's adopted. Her adoptive mother had had a hysterectomy and couldn't have children. Darcy's mom has no allergy to meds.”
He lifted his gaze to the witch. “Her adoptive mom's not a witch.” While he stared, Darcy turned around with the bloody cloth in her hand. Her face was creased with pain and desperation. His eyes slid to an intricate silver necklace dangling between her breasts, and his lust ramped up to ball-squeezing need. “She doesn't know she's a witch.” He believed her. “She won't know how to remove the curse. I'm so screwed.”
“She can still undo the curse. There's time. We can help her,” Sutton said.
BLOOD MAGIC Page 5
