Magic Flame (Enchanted Book 3)

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  He held his breath until her finger lifted. Their powers blending was like the best sex imaginable and she’d only lightly touched him so far. If they ever did have sex, he’d last about as long as a virgin bridegroom. She looked down at her inked heart and moved her finger to trace the outline. “He drank the second glass.” She tugged the shirt back into place. “He’s dead. He died right in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything about it. And I’m left knowing that I was mostly pissed off not because I couldn’t save him, but that I couldn’t kill him myself.” Lifting her gaze, Allie met his and held it. “We all have wounds. Yours don’t bother me. Don’t wear the patch on my account.”

  “Some girls find it sexy.” His grin was forced.

  “A pirate fantasy, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Hmm,” turning she reached for the door handle, “well, if you have an interest in my booty, we can play that out.” She stepped out of the car while he was still gawking at her. Then, she ducked down and said, “But no parrots. Not anymore.”

  It was a good thing he wasn’t hampered by a peg leg because Allie’s long stride equaled his own, and she didn’t wait for him to gather his bag. She just expected him to keep up. Inside the elevator, she pressed the button for the top floor. “You are not poor.”

  She laughed. “I’m a mediation lawyer, but I started off with money. People in my family have died young, of broken hearts because they didn’t have the equivalent to ‘Who Wants to Date a Demigod?’ available. The inheritance has just rolled on down as their mortal spouses have died off—usually from spending too much time with a demigod. I’m surprised more demigods don’t have that experience.”

  He shrugged. “I’m adopted. I was found abandoned beside a burning building. Maybe that’s exactly what happened in my case.”

  “How did you find out you’re a war demigod?”

  “Demigods pop up in special forces now and again. We’re memorable because we provide our own funeral pyre if we don’t find love—I mean, a love demigod—which most don’t. I found out at boot camp when I was fast-tracked for black ops. The government knows about some types of us. I’m surprised the Slone demigod I met in Vegas wasn’t yanked in. Pain can be a powerful tool.”

  “You’re not a tool,” she said.

  He gave her a flat look.

  “No, I mean it, and not the way it sounds. You’re more than your abilities, Donovan.” It was the first time she’d said his name, and he liked it. He liked a lot about being with her. Allie soothed the persistent restlessness that nearly defined him—the anger that held him captive. He was still too abrupt, too ragged around the edges… too much, but she gave him something he’d never felt before: hope.

  He shouldn’t get too used to it. There was that other demigod, and she could always change her mind after she’d spent time with him.

  “Weird that the government knows about us,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Well, not you. I’m not sure they could use your abilities to get what they need.”

  “Then they are vastly underestimating the power of love.” The elevator opened, revealing one door. A single door. She lived in the penthouse of this building.

  “Are they?”

  “Hell yeah. You know the song.” And she sang “The Power of Love” as she opened up her condo.

  They walked in and Donovan dropped his bag and his jaw. Holy—this was bigger than most houses he’d been in. What the hell was a single woman doing with this much room?

  She turned and looked back at him. “What’s wrong, Tiger? Didn’t realize you have a sugar mama?”

  He shook his head slowly back and forth. “This is…” He kept shaking his head. One whole side was windows overlooking Portland.

  “It’s actually three bedrooms but I converted the third bedroom into a workout room.”

  “Free weights?”

  “Both. I vary it up.”

  “Treadmill?”

  “Yes, and a rowing machine. You never know when you’ll need to escape in a canoe, and I like to be prepared.” She lifted her arms and flexed, showing off her biceps. Not huge, but not bad. They were cut. That was sexy as hell. “But, more importantly, I have mats down for a sparring ring.”

  “You have mats in there? Who were you sparring with before?” The white-hot streak of jealousy that shot through him was unfamiliar but strong despite that. He shouldn’t be jealous. Donovan shouldn’t invest in her.

  “No one,” Allie said. “I had them put in this week.”

  Right after he’d emailed her. “You’re moving sort of fast,” he said again.

  “Honey, I don’t know any other way to move with you. So, who makes breakfast in the morning or should we wrestle for it?”

  To see her muscled warrior insecure and a little terrified was amusing. He still didn’t quite know how to handle her aggressive attention.

  “I’ve heard that the uhh kinetic type of our energy can make you… more…”

  “Horny?” she suggested.

  And he blushed! He actually blushed. “Intense,” he substituted. “And hyper. I think once we’re around each other for a longer time, it won’t be as strong.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, I wouldn’t embroider that on a pillow. Every time you think it’s just your presence remember I had a sparring ring put in before you arrived.”

  It was cute how that stymied him. She should back off and give him time to regroup so he wouldn’t run on her. It’s possible she shouldn’t have told him about the other war demigod. Donovan might view that as an out. It wasn’t a lie though. And something was wrong with that other guy. Allie had worked with enough battered women to trust her instincts.

  “What?” he asked. “You looked worried. I can go stay in a hotel.” His eagerness to leave was deflating. She should definitely back off and give him something to think about.

  “No, I was just thinking about that other demigod. People backed into a corner can do scary things. Aster and his cousin are working on vetting demigods before they give them access to the main site, but I think they might miss some questionable characters now and again. Especially if they don’t have a criminal record and have flown beneath the radar.”

  “If you don’t trust this guy, maybe you shouldn’t respond to his email.”

  She held out her hands. “I could be totally wrong about him. And my incorrect assumption might kill him.”

  “What if you discover he’s on the level and he’s close to flaming out?”

  She tilted her head. If he was looking for an escape option, he wasn’t getting one. “Have him over for dinner now and again, enough to keep him stable until the Slones can find him a match.”

  “What if he needed to stay with you? When you’re close to hitting peak…”

  “The floor mat in the third bedroom isn’t bad or there’s the couch. Though, admittedly, I bought the couch because I have this thing for black leather, and I didn’t realize that crashing out on a leather couch leads to face creases in the morning that are epic.”

  Donovan sighed. “He might be better for you than me.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “I don’t have to. I know what I like.” Did he really not get it? Sure, there was that kinetic pull of his that made her want him sharing her giant king bed which she’d swapped out last week after seeing his height on his profile. But, there was also the click—the click of a latch engaging between their souls. She’d never bought into soulmates, not for her anyway. And she’d seen too many of the wrong sort of guys in her lifetime to think Prince Charming would arrive at her door and sweep her off her feet. Cinderella was all wrong for her. She was the one living in this sterile castle that was her refuge from the sloppy emotions she drew out in others. Beauty and the Beast though…

  Of course that would make her the beast.

  Well, she was. She basically had chained Donovan to her side. He was in her castle and staying here. And he was about to
find out how beastly she could be. Allie wanted him. And didn’t she deserve nice things once in a while? He was her nice thing… that was scowling and not so nice.

  “Maybe I’d prefer if you switched to him.”

  Okay. Enough was enough. It was on, and the gloves were off. She’d tried giving him space and, hell, that wasn’t her style anyway. He was used to war—she’d give him a war. Allie stepped right up to him, toe-to-toe. Even as tall as she was, she was still chin-height to her not-quite-civilized match. “You wanna fight? Okay, let’s fight, but let’s make one thing clear: you think you’ve got an edge because you’re ruthless and you’ve spent your life proving that you don’t have to be loved to feel complete. Well, look around, Rowe, there aren’t any throw pillows or afghans. There’s leather and steel. Unbreakable and unbendable steel. And you know the thing that’s more brutal and responsible for more deaths than war? Passion.”

  His eyebrows drew together, his expression skeptical.

  “There’s overlap because most war is, at its heart, about passion.”

  “You’re equating passion and violence.”

  “Passion can be violent, even if it’s not physical, and not everyone can channel it like I can. Most people’s blood heats up and they can’t see straight. They’re not used to the obsessive need that blinds them. My blood runs cold, and I’ve lived my whole life in that space where most people only rush through before they kill or kiss someone.”

  “I still think that maybe…”

  She pressed her finger against his mouth. “No, you damn well don’t get to decide what’s best for me. I decide that. If you want to walk out that’s on you, but don’t pretend you’re doing it for me. I want you here.” She stepped back and strode down the hall to go shower for real this time. “Your move, Rowe. Your room is the first one on the right. The master is at the end of the hall.” She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “Hopefully we’re clear on who’s the master.”

  Her door hadn’t quite closed when he growled, and it sounded like he threw something against the wall. Ha! Nothing in her place was breakable because she did that all the time.

  How could he feel so content and discontented at the same time? And did nothing in her house actually break when you bounced it off a wall? He’d thrown two statues and a vase. What the hell was the vase made out of that it just deflected right back and hit him square in the face? His remaining eye would have a shiner tomorrow. Then he’d opened up her cupboards looking for satisfying ammunition only to find that all her dishes were stainless steel. Stainless freaking steel.

  Oh sure, Donovan had considered storming out and finding a place where he could get in that fight he was spoiling for, but it’d be humiliating to have to knock on her door in the middle of the night and beg to be let in.

  He couldn’t leave her. He had too much honor to let her die… and, truthfully, he rather liked her. He settled deeper into the bed and tried not to find the expensive sheets and pillow-top mattress comfortable. The thread count of these sheets was probably higher than what he had in his savings account.

  He heard her steps before she arrived in his doorway. He’d left the door open but preferred not to think about why that was. She was wearing a black silk nightie that had ribbon straps and fell mid-thigh. He clapped a hand over his exposed, missing eye. He shouldn’t have taken the patch off.

  Rolling her eyes, Allie stalked into the room and yanked Donovan’s hand from his face. “We’re survivors, Rowe. We don’t hide our medals.” Then she jutted out a hip, crossing her arms. “I just got an email that I’m needed in an extraction tomorrow for the women’s shelter I work with so I’ll need to take a raincheck on fighting over who makes French toast. I’ll leave a key on the counter. It’s got a chip in it that’ll give you access to this floor in the elevator, and security already knows you’re living here.”

  “An extraction? Is that dangerous?” Donovan focused on that and put off thinking about how much she was entangling him in her life.

  She shrugged. “It can be. Her husband works in construction so we’ll wait until he leaves, and then I’ll help her and her two kids get out and over to the shelter to stay for however long it takes. We’ll file a restraining order and for divorce right away, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t get robbed or accused of kidnapping. There’s documentation of abuse and domestic calls so this shouldn’t be difficult from a legal standpoint, but he also might see it coming because he’s threatened her against leaving him.”

  “Who else will be there with you?”

  “Just me.”

  “Nuh uh. I’ll be there.”

  Allie raised her eyebrows. “You don’t necessarily give off the ‘you’re safe and cuddly’ vibe to anyone but me, Tiger.”

  “I can tone it down.” He could try. Donovan normally put off an aggressive energy that emboldened anyone around him and had been known to start fights in bars and at sporting events, but he could control it, especially with exposure to Allie.

  “Really?” Her tone was doubtful. “You also got a way to make all two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle you’re sporting not scream ‘bouncer with a rap sheet’? And you know I don’t mind the eye patch or what’s beneath it, but… well, pirate isn’t as much of a stretch as I led you to believe.”

  “You can let me out before you arrive. I can watch from a distance to make sure it’s nothing you can’t handle and catch a cab back.”

  A long, slow smile curved Allie’s lips. “Actually, I have an idea.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

  She waved a hand at him. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow so you won’t lose sleep.” Allie blew him a kiss as she left the room.

  Not comforting at all.

  It didn’t help that Allie’s nightie was so sheer that Donovan could see all that he was missing by not sleeping in the master bedroom. This was for the best though. She could change her mind at any time. It was one thing you learned when you grew up in the system—never get too attached because people get taken away just as much as toys.

  Rolling onto his side, he punched the pillow and closed his eye. How bad could tomorrow be, really?

  Chapter Three

  “You adore me,” Allie said, flipping on her turn signal. They’d left early to swap out her Mustang for a van the shelter used. It’d been paid for by an anonymous benefactor—an anonymous benefactor whose Mustang didn’t seat enough people. Also, one run-in with a bat-wielding boyfriend had convinced Allie you didn’t bring a classic to what could turn into a rumble. Her salary with the women’s shelter was also paid for by said anonymous benefactor. Said benefactor had been forced to be stingy there. You didn’t pay exorbitant rates to a lawyer surrounded by women who’d had to run with nothing. They took in high risk cases after all.

  “I adore you,” Donovan repeated slowly. It’s a shame it didn’t sound less suspicious and more sincere.

  “You’re my devoted slave of a lover. Women aren’t intimidated by men who are hopelessly in love. So, if you just look longingly after me, and we hold hands when we arrive, it might be enough to throw shade on your badass image.”

  “Maybe we should just do what I suggested, and you let me off on the corner.”

  She lifted up her sleeve and pointed to a scar. “Angry ex-boyfriend of a woman. I was carrying out luggage when he snuck up with a knife.” Actually, she’d clipped a car mirror when racing Harleys in law school, but all was fair in love and war. And it could happen the way she’d suggested. It was a legitimate concern. “The woman I’m extracting today has two kids so there’s bound to be stuff to carry. We’ll be in and out faster with you.”

  “You were going to do this alone?”

  “When needs must, the devil drives… and there’s not a lot of staff at the shelter.” She’d tried. But when she’d donated more money, they’d taken in more women. There were always more women to take in so Allie couldn’t fault that, but it did mean the staff was stretched thin.


  “Speaking of the devil driving, are we trying to break records for a van on city streets? You took that last corner on one wheel.”

  “Ahh, sweetie, are you carsick? That’s so adorable.” Allie glanced at the GPS. “Okay, princess, are you in or are you out? If you’re not up for acting like you care about me for five minutes, I can let you off here.” She’d had a long night, filled with sexual frustration, and Donovan’s energy was keeping that spiked. It was a tough love sort of morning. It was tough that she was getting no love and it was making her uptight.

  “You’re a brat, you know that? I can dredge up some adoration.”

  She looked over at him. He had a death grip on the door handle and one hand planted on the dashboard. She wasn’t going that fast. “You’re not quite as much of an adrenaline junkie as I’d expected of a war demigod.”

  “You’re different from what I was expecting too. I expected you to be all sweet and tender, maybe a bit slutty,” he said.

  “Maybe you haven’t put me in the right mood.”

  “Maybe you’re not a love demigoddess.”

  “Oh, c’mon. I love things. My car. Going fast. Chili-cheese fries. Purses that cost more than a private island. Silk. Leather. Shiny metal. Lots of things. And, you’re growing on me.”

  “Growing on you? I’m already practically part of this van. Can you slow down so we’ll both survive and we can see if you’re ever sweet?”

  She slowed down. “Well, when you put it like that…” She stopped in front of the house where a window twitched as someone peeked out. “You ready for your close-up, Rowe?”

  “I once took out a target at 1000 meters in a blinding windstorm. I think I can convince a woman and a couple kids I don’t hate you.” He unclenched the handle and stretched his hand experimentally.