Magic Unchained

by Jessica Andersen

  Dear gods in the sky, he kissed her. And she had her answer.

  As a teenager, she had kissed him and felt sparks. Now, as an adult, there were fireworks, lightning, and more. The sensations seared through her, making her head spin and forcing her to clutch at his arms to keep her balance in a world gone suddenly off-kilter.

  She had kissed plenty of guys, slept with a few, and had enjoyed herself just fine, but where before she had wondered why some of her friends put up with bad relationships to get good loving, now she understood. Because as he pulled her into his body so they were touching from hip to brow, curled together as if they truly fit, desire overran her thinking like it never had before.

  She reveled in the press of his muscles and the hard ridge of his erection through the soft, yielding fleece of his sweats, and ran her hands over him, kneading as he kissed slowly, deeply, thoroughly. He didn’t ask; he took. He didn’t seduce; he demanded. And she went weak and pliant against him. Heat thrummed, coalescing in her core, wetting her and making her want. Her breasts were heavy and aching, demanding that she rub against him, and a moan rolled from the back of her throat when he reached to cup one of them and stroke his thumb across a peaked nipple. Gods.

  She dragged her teeth along his lower lip, nipped his chin, and he growled and reclaimed her mouth in a dark, hot kiss that had her swaying against him, needing him. Their breathing synched, their flavors mingled, and what little coherent thought remained inside her centered on a single word: more. She wanted more of the kiss, more of his touch on her body, more of his skin against hers. She reached for the zipper of his sweatshirt, wanting to touch his skin, taste it, and—

  Zzziip. The sound was loud and shocking in a room gone silent except for their breathing, and it jolted her back to reality. She jerked away. Oh, gods. She had been kissing Sven. Devouring him. Another few minutes—or a quieter zipper—and she might’ve been naked with him.

  Naked. With Sven.

  A sharp burst of desire lashed through her, but then turned to a flush of something that wasn’t quite horror, but was close. And in his eyes, she saw the same progression, the same endpoint of, What in the hell are we doing?

  They let go of each other, opening their hands in mirrored moves of not touching you, and she backed away. Her heart thundered in her ears; her breath rasped in her lungs, quick with excitement and a burgeoning fight-or-flight response that said to run, to get the hell out of there and not look back.

  But that would be admitting that she couldn’t handle herself—couldn’t handle him—and she wasn’t about to do that. So she exhaled softly and said, “Well. That answers that question with a resounding, ‘Yes, it really can feel that good.’ Now I just need to find that kind of chemistry with a guy who isn’t allergic to boundaries.”

  His eyes darkened. “Cara—”

  “Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Please.” She didn’t want to know that what they had just felt was more than good chemistry, more than sparks on steroids. “Just leave it, okay? What happened here… it didn’t mean anything, doesn’t change anything. Besides, a hundred bucks says you’ll be out of here in a few days.” She forced a thin-feeling smile. “Dez isn’t going to let you and Mac lounge around here for long.”

  He didn’t return the smile. “What if we stayed put?”

  Back in the day, she would’ve given anything for the offer. Now she couldn’t let it matter. “Don’t, at least not on my account, not thinking that something could happen between us.”

  “I’m pretty sure it just did.” His low words threatened to send a zing of renewed excitement through her bloodstream. She was highly conscious of the way his unzipped shirt hung open, baring his torso. The play of light and shadow on that warm-toned skin, along with the burn in her blood and the taste of him on her lips, made her want to touch him, lick him, pick up where they had left off and never stop.

  Bad idea.

  “Maybe, but it’s not going to happen again.” She backed away a couple more steps, putting herself closer to the door and far enough from him that she couldn’t feel the warmth of his body against her skin. “Even if we were any good for each other, the last thing I want to do is give the winikin another reason to dislike me. Which means staying away from you for the next three months.”

  “And after that?”

  “If we make it past the zero date, I’m cutting ties and getting out of here. I’m going to give myself a fresh start”—she met his eyes—“maybe even a new identity.” She didn’t think she could make it any plainer than that. She didn’t want to be a winikin, didn’t want to stay in touch with the Nightkeepers, didn’t even want the last two members of her crumpled family to be able to find her. She would be alone, adrift… and, for the first time in her life, entirely free. And, gods, it sounded glorious.

  At the same time, though, sadness struck her as she looked at him, knowing that when they said good-bye after the war, it would be for good. Always before, he’d been the one taking off. Soon it would be her turn, gods willing.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “You deserve to be happy, Cara. If starting over is what it’s going to take, then do it.” There was an echo of grief in his voice, banked resignation in his eyes. Those two emotions were so foreign to the guy he used to be that she almost reached out to comfort him.

  She didn’t, though, because this wasn’t about her being a winikin. It was about being her own person, damn it. So she met his eyes and refused to acknowledge the ache. “I won’t be starting over. I’ll be learning how to be me for the first time in my life.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and the silence tightened the air between them. For a crazy second that was as much a teenage flashback as anything, she imagined him crossing to her and going to one knee as he begged her to reconsider, to give him a chance. He didn’t move, though, except to glance in the direction of the spare room as if he’d heard something. “Go,” he said softly. “If you leave now, we can both pretend nothing happened.”

  “Sven, I—”

  “Just go.”

  She swallowed hard, then nodded and headed for the door, feeling as if she were being carried there by someone else’s feet. Pausing on the threshold, she said without looking back, “You guys be careful out there, okay?”

  “You too. Take care.” It was as much of a dismissal as a good-bye would’ve been.

  Which was for the best, she told herself as she pushed through into the hallway. But as the door closed behind her, she had to swallow past panic and blink away tears. And when she headed for the shortcut leading through the winikin’s wing, she felt like she was leaving a part of herself behind.

  As the door thunked shut, a low whine sounded from behind Sven.

  “It’s okay, buddy.” He turned as Mac slunk in. He had been aware that the coyote had returned; he’d felt the change in the bond strength, and had caught a mental whiff of concern. Now, though, while Mac had his ears flat in sympathy, his pale green eyes were accusatory, seeming to say, Well, that didn’t go the way you planned, did it?

  Okay, that was a stretch—Sven’s familiar communicated more in impressions and emotions than actual words—but the question hung in his mind as Mac came up beside him and nudged his hand. The coyote’s fur carried the scent of open air and high plateaus, and stirred something hungry and restless inside Sven even beyond the now-draining buzz of sex magic.

  Hunkering down, he dug his fingers into Mac’s ruff for a good scratching, needing the contact as much as his familiar did right then, because, yeah, that hadn’t gone at all the way he had planned. My fault, he thought. He had put off talking to Carlos because he was still thinking over Dez’s request, and there was no way he could apologize on the one hand and spy on the other. But because he’d been stalling—on both making a decision and facing the difficult conversations—Cara had gotten the drop on him, and he had fumbled. Badly.

  And then he’d kissed her.

  A low growl rumbled
in Mac’s chest, though Sven wasn’t sure if the coyote was picking up on the vibes or trying to get him to scratch harder.

  He dug into the spot as he said, “That shouldn’t have happened. Seriously. What kind of a jackass am I? I apologize to her and then go right back and do it again.” Granted, he believed her when she said the kiss hadn’t scarred her for life—he’d been reaching on that one, had known it pretty much all along. And, yes, she had wanted the kiss, had asked for it, even… which was why he’d done it, really. Not because he’d wanted to help her out with her future comparisons, but because it had pissed him off. He didn’t want to imagine her with other men, hated the image of her walking away from Skywatch—from him—and not looking back.

  Mac flinched and flashed his teeth, warning Sven that he was holding on way too hard.

  “Sorry.” He eased up, scratched the spot on the big coyote’s shoulder where he’d dug in, and then stood. He was suddenly restless, feeling caged by the room and the situation—hell, by his own damn clothes. He wanted to pace and growl, wanted to race naked through the afternoon heat, wanted to snap his fingers and be on a beautiful beach with an uncomplicated hookup. That was how he was supposed to do things: no regrets, always looking forward to the next wave, the next port, the next adventure.

  And now… shit, he didn’t know what was next.

  Mac whined and shifted, picking up on Sven’s urges. Hell, maybe he was even contributing to them—he’d been restless and frustrated lately, constantly on the lookout for a female of his kind. Sven hadn’t been able to find others; heck he wasn’t even sure where Mac had come from. So, for the moment, at least, the coyote was riding the celibacy train. Which probably explained his fascination with Cara, and why he squirmed like an idiot puppy whenever he saw her.

  “She brought you weiners,” Sven said, plucking the Skittles off the couch and jiggling the bag in his hand. The candies shifted and clinked like little stones, bringing memories of a wide-eyed girl who had hustled him out of his allowance and into doing her chores. That same girl—now a grown woman—had faced down hellspawn with nothing more than a MAC-10 and a ’tude. And then she had kissed him and walked away. Just like he needed to do.

  “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?” he said to Mac, then repeated the order in thought-glyphs. The coyote wouldn’t be able to relay a detailed report or anything, but if she got herself in trouble, Mac would sound the alarm and hold off the attack… or die trying.

  Whuffing as if to say, Finally! the coyote wheeled away and bounded out through the spare room. His mental touch faded with distance until it was just the thin tendril of background awareness, leaving Sven alone with his body still vibrating from Cara’s kiss.

  He hadn’t remembered it being like that before; or maybe he’d locked the memory away with the other half-forgotten goals and dreams that had fallen by the wayside. He had a feeling there wouldn’t be any option of locking away these memories, though, not when he could still taste her on his lips and smell her on his skin. And what was he going to do about that?

  “Not a damn thing,” he said aloud, hearing the words echo in his suite, which was bigger than he needed, yet still felt cramped.

  And that was the problem—he needed his space and the freedom to roam… but he couldn’t have that and Cara too. Did he want her? Heck, yes, he wanted her; that was why he’d sent her away from Skywatch and why he’d made himself scarce when she came back. Only the distance thing hadn’t worked this time, because he’d still thought about her. Hell, he’d done more than think about her; he’d used her to beat back the shadows and clear his mind of the things he had seen and done, and to remind himself what he was fighting for. He had never planned on doing anything about it, though. And, damn it, he couldn’t do anything about it now, either, because he wasn’t any more likely to stick around than ever before… and if anyone deserved a man who would make her his absolute priority, it was Cara.

  Which meant he needed to keep his hands—and his lips—to himself. Starting now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cara plastered a neutral expression on her face as she hurried down the corridor of the mages’ wing. Don’t let it show, she told herself. Don’t give anybody a reason to guess what just happened.

  “Sparks don’t change anything,” she said under her breath as she powered through an archway and along the polished wood riser that led around the outside of the mansion’s sunken great room, beelining for her quarters. It didn’t matter whether his inability to stick around was a bloodline trait or a personality flaw; it was a deal breaker. She didn’t want to chase him around the globe, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him to come home. Not that he’d asked her to. He hadn’t, and that should’ve been a relief. The fact that it wasn’t coupled with the tears that stung her eyes as she stalked the perimeter of the great room were proof enough that she needed to pull it together. Please, gods, just let me get back to my quarters without running into anybody. Especially not Zane or—

  “Cara Liu,” a peremptory voice said from behind her, bringing her up short with an inner, Oh, shit.

  Hello, worst-case scenario.

  She turned back as her father stepped through the doorway leading to the winikin’s wing. He was wearing his funeral clothes and a dark frown, and at the sight of his thunderous expression all she could think was, Oh, gods. He knows. Some guilty-child instinct nearly had her blurting that it was just a onetime thing and would never happen again. She bit back the words, though, annoyed with herself because her father’s disapproval really should’ve lost its power by now. Can I get a cleanup crew in the great room, please? There’s been a daddy-issues spill.

  Pressing her lips together to keep from saying something she would regret, she held her ground as he approached. She didn’t miss the way his eyes went to her unmarked right wrist. He was the one who had given her the original marks, after all, ambushing her beneath the big Montana sky. He had cut her palm and recited the spell that was one of the very few the winikin could use. And then, after it was done, he’d told her that the old family stories were real, the Nightkeepers were real, and they needed her help. At first she had thought he was saying she was one of the magi, a magic-using superhero destined to save the world… until he’d told her that she wasn’t a superhero at all. She was a member of their support staff. A sidekick at best. And he’d been bone-deep insulted by her disappointment.

  That had been the beginning of the end for the shaky relationship they had built in the years after her mom died.

  “Did you need me for something?” she asked, telling herself that he shouldn’t be able to hurt her anymore and doing her damnedest not to look just-kissed.

  “I saw Dez a little while ago, and he mentioned wanting us to do a training run in the next day or so. I thought you’d want to know.”

  The training runs—mock battles staged at a set of cement-and-rebar ruins the Nightkeepers had built beyond the firing range—had proven invaluable at getting the winikin up to speed on the fighting front. Or as up to speed as they were going to get, anyway. Given that the equinox was less than a week away and Dez wanted the entire team ready to go, it stood to reason he would want to make sure they were ready to fight, especially after everything that had happened today.

  It took an effort to shift her mental gears into leadership mode, but she managed it, filed the info, and nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll get with Zane and make sure we’re ready.” Thinking—hoping—that was all he’d wanted to say, she started to turn away, sketching a “gotta go” wave in his direction.

  “About Zane…”

  She nearly groaned. She was too stirred up and strung out to think about Zane right now, never mind discuss him with Carlos. “What about him?”

  “Did you see his mark?”

  “I…” She frowned, realizing that it hadn’t come up. “No. Why?”

  Her father tapped his wrist. “He’s one of us.”

  “Of course he’s a winiki
n.” But then she saw how Carlos’s fingers rested on his bloodline glyph, and a low-grade shock ran through her. “He’s a coyote winikin? But I thought… Why didn’t you recognize him?”

  “The coyote winikin were spread thin. When I saw his mark I asked him who his parents were.” He named two people she had never heard of, would never meet. “They were both mage-bound,” he said, emphasizing the last two words.

  “Okay.” She shook her head. “So?”

  He shifted on his feet, squaring off as if ready to fight. “You should give him a chance, you know. He’s a good man from a good family.”

  Under any other circumstance, she might’ve laughed at the idea of her father acting as a go-between, might’ve screamed. As it was, all she could do was sigh in heartsore exhaustion. “Did he put you up to this?”

  “No. My conscience did… because as much as I hate to say it, you need to keep yourself entirely separate from the Nightkeepers if you hope to lead the winikin.” He paused. “Do you understand me, Cara Liu? If we’re going to survive the war, you need to be their leader first and foremost. Nothing else can matter.”

  A chill trickled through her, not because he was wrong, but because he was the last person she wanted to talk to about this. “You saw me coming out of Sven’s suite.”

  He winced, but shook his head. “I saw you with him earlier, out on the ball court. And I remember how it used to be between you two.”

  “There was nothing between us back then, and there’s nothing now.”

  His look didn’t quite call her a liar, but it was close. “If you took up with Zane—”

  “You want me to sleep with my second in command to prove my loyalty to the winikin?” She wasn’t sure which was worse—the suggestion, or the fact that it didn’t surprise her that it would come from him.

  He hesitated, then said softly, “I want you not to be alone anymore, sweetheart.”

  “You don’t get to call me—” She bit it off as her eyes threatened to fill in earnest. “Damn it. That was a low blow.” It was what her mother had called her. Never him, though. Never him. And she was too damn raw to keep it from hurting.