by Hazel Hunter
Still, you couldn’t give advice to a higher ranking officer as a rule, and no one told Jonathan what to do. You didn’t survive five hundred years locked in the war they fought and excelling at it by being indecisive.
Or stupid.
Logan took his scotch and leaned back in his chair at The Club Regent casino. He’d been staying at one of the harbor front hotels for two months while keeping his eye on Caitlin Monroe, one of the Black Jack dealers and a clear uninitiated and untrained, fledgling witch. She was one that his brotherhood wanted desperately. From what he’d gauged of her and what their own empaths had felt from her, she was a divinationist. Right now, she could glimpse the future enough for the next few days or sometimes a huge life event in a decade or so, but with practice and tutoring, they could have the ultimate edge in their constant war. If you could read every move the enemy made years before they even thought of making it?
Game over.
Still, Logan wasn’t ready to approach her yet. He’d sought and trained young witches before, even recaptured more than one rogue in his time. Something about that vivacious redhead with the perfect curves tugged at his heart and, tide-turning gift or not, he wasn’t sure he could drag someone so damaged already into battle. Lately, he wasn’t sure he had any authority to lead anyone in a battle, let alone a novice.
“I don’t think it’s time yet, old friend.”
Jonathan’s eyes went from their usual green to a dark red as his friend gathered his power.
“It wasn’t a request, General. It’s more than time. You’ve established that she has the gift, have even been to some of the party’s she moonlights at. You’ve researched her daily work pattern, and we can both feel the presence of our enemies here. There’s a Knight looking for her too. If we hold off any longer, they’ll take her and kill her.”
“Isn’t that what happens eventually?”
He blinked and forced the Scotch to his lips again. Logan hadn’t meant to be that direct. It was hardly his style, never being the most loquacious under the best of circumstances, and in the last year, the joy and color had seemed just drained from everything. Yes, he and Jonathan were great friends and brothers-in-arms but some things he’d wanted to keep private.
His superior’s eyes blinked back to their normal verdant shade, mollified. “You’re thinking of Adam again. Logan, you did everything you could.”
“I miscalculated. He was trying to save my life and that monster sliced through his neck as if it were butter!”
Drops of scotch spilled onto his hand and Logan realized then his hand was shaking. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated, saying inner prayers to the Goddess, anything to calm himself. After a while, his hands were steady and he set his glass back on the table. Amber liquid still spilled as he did it, staining the polished black granite.
“I mean that I should have been better.”
Jonathan didn’t say anything for a few measured moments. “We’re in a war.”
“I know this speech. I give it to my own lieutenants.”
“Not recently.”
Logan paused and pushed his ponytail back over his shoulder. “I needed time.”
“And we gave you ten months and now you’ve been working on tailing Miss Monroe for us. This is a tamer assignment than most generals would have and you know this. We need you out there in the field again, really in the field. You are one of the best generals I’ve ever had the privilege of serving with. Time’s up.”
“So Adam means that little? Everything he did for us for over a century, his skill as a conjurer, all of it? It’s just one more pawn down and moving on.”
Jonathan’s jaw clenched, and he stroked his long auburn beard.
“You know that’s not true. You know that I miss him too, just like it grieves me with every Wiccan we lose—man or woman—and especially those in the Corps. I’ve had to learn to adjust. I can’t grieve for five hundred years as freshly as if it was the first day after a loss. You used to understand this.”
“And maybe I’m tired of one more loss, old friend. Maybe I’m not made for the Corps anymore.”
“You’re too invaluable to lose. I can’t allow it.”
That spark of purple was in the commandant’s eyes again, but Logan loathed his life. He’d thought he’d succeeded in hardening his heart in three hundred years of battle and loss. But now when he was forced to close his eyes, all he saw was the arc of blood splashing across the night and the glassy stare from what was left of Adam’s head. Maybe even now there were losses too far to recover from. Damned if he wanted to drag Caitlin into this as well.
“I’m tired.”
“We can replace you. I have Eric up in Philadelphia. After he’s done with his novice there, he can come for Miss Monroe,” Jonathan replied, shrugging as if he were discussing nothing more emotional than the positioning of troops for a battle.
That wasn’t this. This was something else, something bigger and more meaningful. Already, even from glimpses from afar, Logan could tell how much Caitlin mattered.
And not just as a weapon of war.
“No, I’ll do it. I just…there has to be a way to leave this life.”
“Five centuries of experience here says otherwise. We are who we are and our mission matters. There’s only one way out.”
“And it isn’t pretty,” Logan rasped, holding up his tumbler and taking a final sip. “To Adam.”
“To Adam,” Jonathan acknowledged clinking his glass in cheer. “And to our newest acquisition.”
Logan tried to ignore how badly the liquor burned his throat on his final swallow.
CHAPTER FIVE
“DEALER HAS EIGHTEEN,” Caitlin said, unveiling her hand.
Logan smirked back at her and flashed her both a grin and his cufflinks, teasing her with the symbol of their shared heritage. He’d been giving Caitlin those little glances since he sat down at her table fifteen minutes ago. The first time he’d done it, he’d noted her reaction closely: the slight gasp, flare of her nostrils, even the way her eyes widened just a bit before she recovered. She might be a novice and untrained, but she knew enough about the craft to know what a pentacle meant to them.
Since then, he’d been enjoying taunting her with the symbol as well as cleaning up at her table. They’d played four hands in a row and so far he’d manipulated his luck to have a perfect twenty-one combination each and every time. By now, the other two players had left, leaving her and him alone. Just the way Logan preferred it.
“Well, lass, looks like I won again,” he said, playing up the Scottish accent he’d long ago let be buried by his acculturation across the pond.
He’d grown up in the 1700s in the Scottish Highlands but been in the United States since the Civil War. He only poured the accent on when he needed to, and he’d been able to seduce more than one woman with his guttural pronunciations. Maybe he owed Sean Connery for that. He definitely felt like James Bond tonight with his two-thousand dollar tux and the Armani silk shirt. Small trinkets compared to his actual accumulation of wealth, but enough to let her and everyone else know he was a whale of a high roller.
“So, fancy another round?” he asked.
Eat your heart out 007.
Despite the flush of red coloring her cheeks, Caitlin leaned over and collected the cards to begin a new shuffle, a flirty smile playing on full, pouty lips.
“You need to show me the rabbit’s foot you’re using. This is quite a run you’re having.”
He shrugged as she gave him the first two cards. He checked the bottom one and then looked at the three. So far he had a twelve.
“Hit me again, lass.”
She rolled her eyes. “You ever heard of the expression quitting while you’re ahead. I know that you’ve had an epic roll but that always changes. They mean it about gambling. Sometimes people do fine when they walk away but a house like The Club Regent? We are always going to win.”
“Do you care?” he asked, nodding again at the five of clubs pla
ced before him.
A four of whichever suit would invariably be next. Idly, Logan swept the sweat back from his brow. Each witch or warlock had their own special area of expertise. Jonathan harnessed lightning almost like a god of old. Caitlin was an augur and reader futures. His own gift was luck. With enough concentration, he could manipulate it for a time to bend to his will. He was the most dangerous man the lottery or a casino had ever met. The only problem was that using any of their abilities took extreme amounts of energy. A healing ritual based around enough herbs or communing with nature could reinvigorate them. The preferred method was a shared sensual experience with another Wiccan, the ultimate sharing and renewing of life energy.
That wasn’t always possible.
Still, Caitlin wasn’t wrong about his hot streak, but it wasn’t for the reasons she assumed. Luck was fickle for humans, a cruel bitch that much was sure. For him, she was a lover but like a vampiress or succubus that took as much as she ever gave. Even after a few hands of manipulating the odds, he was beginning to sweat. Soon, he’d be breathing in shallow breaths and after that the lightheadedness would set in. It was all that cosmic balance that they learned to work with via training. They couldn’t draw on power forever. It was why he hadn’t simply lucked their way into winning the war or Jonathan couldn’t create the largest lightning bolt in history to eliminate all of the Knights at once.
Limits.
Like Adam who had paid for both Logan’s limited visions and plans in war as well as his lucky streak running out in blood. Logan flinched at the memory assaulting him—the splatter of bright crimson and the thick smell of copper. It broke his concentration.
“Hit me again.”
“Twenty-three,” Caitlin replied, winking. “And our debonair Irishmen busts.”
“I’m not a Mick,” he groused. “I was born only a few hours from Edinburgh.” Granted the city was barely cobble stoned back then. “But I see you have twenty. Good round, la–”
She reached out her hand and shook his. Then they both froze. The power emanating from her was more than he’d bargained for and far more than he’d experienced before from a fledgling witch. No wonder Jonathan had wanted her so badly. He felt everything flash through him, a warmth in his stomach and a stirring lower down. He wanted her. Logan wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted any woman or witch in three centuries. That much need frightened and confused him, felt like a well he was about to plummet down, but that wasn’t all. Reaching up, he noticed that the sweat had dried and he was no longer clammy.
Hell, he felt like he could run the damn New York Marathon right then.
She was gaping back at him, her breath ragged, and she pulled back as quickly as if she’d been scalded. “I have to go.”
CHAPTER SIX
CAITLIN ADMITTED IT had been fun flirting with the James Bond wannabe who’d started playing at her table about an hour ago. Basically, the only men in her life were either Schnapps or sometimes bumping into Darren coming home from work. While Darren was hot, he had nothing on the Scotsman, who was every woman’s damn fantasy come to life. He was tall, maybe close to 6’6” with shoulders broad enough to have made Arnold Schwarzenegger in his glory days jealous. Not overly muscled, though. He wasn’t some gym rat who’d pumped steroids into himself. No, he was just tall, broad and gorgeous with eyes the color of winter ice and long black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. It was oddly outdated and made her think of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast or someone from Revolutionary War history.
It looked amazing on him.
The biggest regret she’d had so far was that the casino had a dress code and that the tuxedo, while it hugged his frame admirably, wasn’t something skin tight or a Speedo. She needed to maybe move to Vegas and deal for a place with a pool. God, she really was pathetic. Still, Mr. MacCulloch was funny, engaging, and always deferred to her. Of course, he was also kicking her butt at the table, which never happened. They worked hard to make sure that the odds favored the House. She’d never seen someone hit a perfect twenty-one four times in a row. The odds on that were astronomical. It was almost a relief when he’d gone bust, proven that he wasn’t perfect. She’d noticed the beads of sweat starting to shine at his temples.
Then he’d touched her hand and everything had gone nuts.
Maybe Caitlin should have been more suspicious sooner, both with his luck and the fact that she hadn’t been able to read him in the cards, almost as if it had been deliberately blocked from her. Still, that one touch had sent electricity flowing all over her, deep into her core, and left her breathless.
But that wasn’t all of it.
That touch had brought out the most all-encompassing vision she’d ever had. For a few brief moments, she wasn’t in The Club Regent any longer. No. She was in a hotel room with sheets that clearly cost as much as a week’s salary, the finest thread count silk, that smoothly ran over her skin. They tickled every part of her, naked as she was, and Mr. MacCulloch. No, not like that. It was Logan. She was being held by him. His rugged scent was a mix of potent aftershave but also of some kind of metal, something like steel or copper. It was odd and confusing but nothing was confounding her about the way he held her. His lips were heaven on hers and she fell easily into the kiss, feeling the wetness spreading over her core.
It was the most intimate encounter she’d ever had.
Blinking back the vision, Caitlin stumbled back instantly.
No that hadn’t happened…yet.
It was hard to swallow, and all she could do was blink back dumbly at Logan, feeling her confusion grow. He was eyeing her carefully, his brows furrowed, but he hadn’t reacted too much to her own confusion. God, she was some kind of pervert. It had to be a fantasy. She saw the future, but she certainly didn’t feel it, not with sounds and smells swirling through it. It was all a mistake. She’d been up into the early morning going over questions with Lt. O'Healy, and now she was just hard-up and desperate. Add in a hot guy and a nice exchange, and Caitlin had slipped into seeing and feeling things that just weren’t there.
“I’m sorry.”
“Caitlin?” he asked, reaching out for her.
She froze, scared another touch would set off a second Skinemax vision. Caitlin pulled back fast and avoided him. At the roulette table, her friend and fellow dealer, Morris, was eyeing both of them. Shaking her head, she pulled out her cell and called the floor manager.
“Alice, I’m sick. I need a substitute to come in. I just…”
There were words exchanged, and she was just relieved to have permission to go. After all, it was only Logan still at her table. Besides, even if her vision hadn’t been real, it was clear to Caitlin that the newcomer wasn’t here for some winnings. That man hardly needed it. Not with the Rolex on his wrist or the expensive tuxedo. No.
He’d come for her.
As the next dealer started taking up her slot, Caitlin rushed out of the casino and toward the back loading dock. It was cold in the Baltimore winter and a few chunks of ice were still caked onto the sidewalk from their latest snow storm. Still, it was what she needed. She clutched her purse tight to her and let her lungs take in frigid gasps, the cold her remedy for the disorientation from her vision. It was working; slowly she felt as if she was coming back to herself.
That was when Logan showed back up and set his tuxedo jacket over her shaking shoulders.
“You ran out so fast. I needed to make sure that you were still okay.”
“You’re a guest. You can’t be out here.”
“I doubt you’re supposed to be here either. You’re not a teamster, Caitlin.”
“Stop,” she said, shoving the jacket off and back into his arms.
“What?” he asked, inching toward her, and she’d been right about the scent, not just of some aftershave that probably cost a pretty penny per ounce but something of metal, something visceral beneath it. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do. How were you able to get four twenty-ones in a row? Are y
ou a cheat?”
“Hardly, darling.”
She shook her head. “I’m not your anything. I just…I came out here to get away from you.”
“You seemed afraid, and it’s not like a gentleman to leave a lady out in the lurch like this. Someone like you,” he added, reaching out and stroking her hair back from her face. “Deserves protection.”
Caitlin shuddered and forced herself not to lean into the touch. As confused and scared as she was, a large part of her was more than ready to put her cheek on the palm of his large hand, to feel all that small caress had to offer. Shaking her head, she pulled her neck back and glared at him.
“I don’t need anyone. I haven’t since my parents died. I take care of me and my sister, and the last thing I need is some scammer–”
“You know that’s not what I am.”
“I know you have incredible luck and something happened when you touched me.”
“That I can’t deny. There’s something special about you, Caitlin,” and with that he leaned down and kissed her lips.
She whimpered beneath his embrace and reached out to grip granite-like shoulders. Goddess, she warred with herself. A small part of her screaming she needed to end whatever this was as soon as she could, that this whole attraction was dangerous and playing with her sanity. Most of her, though, was screaming a different message and just hoping that he’d add a bit of tongue, really make her feel it.
Neither of these extremes happened, not quite.
Logan pulled back and stroked her face again.
“It’s not time for so much yet, but I want you to contact me. We need to be some place more discreet for everything we need to talk about.”
The card was in her hand before she knew it: Logan MacCulloch of Magus Corps.
“Wait, is this the weirdest job offer ever?”
“Not exactly, but it’s far more important. You know you’re special, don’t you.”
