Didn’t look back to where Ram had paused on his way through the club beneath one of the archways made up of carved gargoyles, dragons and demons.
One foot in front of the other, she reminded herself. Away from Ram and toward her goal of escaping her father’s clutches.
Hatred for the angel that had sired her gave Ginny the strength to resist. If she caved, if she and Ram gave into the fiery desire that burned between them, Ginny would fall in love with him. And then her father would force her to ascend.
Not this Halfling—she was keeping her feet, body, and soul firmly planted in the mortal realm. And that meant staying away from Ram.
That was how they both played it now. If Ginny was working, Ram didn’t hang out in the club, but just took care of whatever business he had and left. In spite of her determination, she shot a quick look to the spot he where he’d been standing.
Gone. He’d vanished through the door to the warehouse next door.
Damn it, two months and she still felt a jolt of disappointment burn her chest. Ignoring that, she approached her customer’s table, smiled and said, “Here you are, Shane. One Chivas neat.” She set the Scotch glass in front of him.
The man didn’t bother looking at her.
People seldom did as long as she kept her sudden surges of power hidden. Plain as wood paneling, even the witch hunters with their oversized sex drives rarely noticed her. She was as alluring as the chair Shane sprawled in. Brown hair, hazel eyes, on the tall side at five eight, and utterly unremarkable. Just…there. Easy to keep what she truly was hidden when so few actually noticed her at all.
Except for Ram.
Stop. Not going there. Not thinking about how much she missed him coming into the club after closing while she was finishing up. The way he made her feel by just listening to her, like she mattered.
She reminded herself that nothing, not even Ram, was worth being forced to ascend. If she got involved with Ram, she’d fall in love with him and ultimately get her heart broken. Love and heartbreak were the two requirements left that her father had demanded of her before he would take her from this world. And once that happened, her father would then strip away all her emotions, leaving her an empty servant.
“Put it on my tab.”
Shane’s voice jerked her out of the straying thoughts. She slipped the black folder with the tab and pen from her apron pocket and set it on the table. “Sure thing, just sign and—“
The man grabbed her wrist. “I told you to put it on my tab.”
His fingers bit hard into her wrist, but she barely felt the pain. Instead, a sudden buzz began in her head, increasing so rapidly she couldn’t get her breath. Her heart sped up and slammed against her chest wall.
Need.
Pain.
Bloodlust. It seared through her veins. Only the powerful kick of witch blood would cool the burn. Had to have it. Now.
Oh God, it was happening again. Her Halfling magic was surging uncontrollably. Blind panic hit Ginny at her total loss of control.
Witch blood.
Need it.
These weren’t her feelings or thoughts. She was picking up on Shane’s turmoil of emotions. She couldn’t even focus her vision. Instead, everything in the club blurred, then the flashing red and purple strobe lights began to spin in a sickening blur of color.
Alarmed by this new twist to her power, including the inability to jerk her hand back, she squeezed her eyes shut. Ordering herself to calm down, she sucked in a breath and slowly opened her eyes.
Then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t see the club any longer, but a cold cement room with an obscene-looking drain in the floor. A woman wearing only panties was clamped into a set of shackles anchoring her to a wall spattered with dried blood. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. Silent prayers?
Ginny could smell the sweet and spicy scent of power in the blood. It made her own veins twist in need. Her belly cramped, sweat popped out all over her body. Violent nausea roiled in her gut.
She felt herself moving forward.
The woman cringed back against the wall. “Please, no.” A sob broke in her throat. “Ancestors, help me!”
Ginny looked down and saw the knife in her hand. But it wasn’t her hand, it was a man’s hand. No! She screamed but there was no sound.
Understanding blazed through her with sickening clarity. Up until now, she’d occasionally gotten flashes of telepathy when she touched someone. But this time, when Shane had grabbed her wrist, a surge of her uncontrollable Halfling magic buried her deep in his mind. She was feeling his bloodlust for the chained witch.
Anxiety clawed at her, but she couldn’t escape. She had no choice but to ride it out.
She felt her own hand shake, but it was his hand that held the knife. Ginny could do nothing to stop what was going to happen. Or what had already happened—this was his memory. She felt it.
She saw him lift the knife. Horror racked her but she couldn’t escape.
Then Shane jerked to a stop. His hand holding the knife trembled. For one hopeful second, he stared at the witch.
Tears poured down her face. “Fight it,” she begged. “You’ll lose control and kill me if you keep doing this.”
He seemed to hang there for a second longer. Then he doubled over, his fingers around the knife turning white. “Can’t. Have to have a hit.” He straightened and moved in a blur, covering the space between them. Before Ginny could process it, the gleaming silver blade flashed in the overhead light as he cut the witch with three vicious strokes.
Pain-filled screams ricocheted off the cement walls.
Then Shane ripped off his shirt, pressed his body to hers. In seconds, hot pleasure and power from her blood ripped through him. His entire body lit up, and he shuddered beneath the onslaught. A deep groan rumbled up his chest.
It was the most addictive feeling ever.
As the high took over, Ginny got a barrage of images from Shane’s head. She saw that there were three different witches chained in this place. Their bodies had healing cuts and open wounds, while their eyes screamed terror.
Worse, she heard Shane telling a friend about the witches, that they were being held as blood slaves. Hunters could pay for hits of their witch blood. If the witch died, they were charged a killing fee. She even saw the route Shane took to get to the place where the blood slaves were held.
Her mind stretched like a rubber band as she writhed under the terrible realization of what the witches were enduring. Suddenly, she felt an internal snap. In the next instant, she was back inside her own head, staring at Shane’s fingers wrapped around her wrist.
The same hand that had held the knife and cut the witch.
Repulsed, Ginny jerked her hand back, breaking his hold way too easily with her supernatural strength she usually kept carefully hidden.
Red rage roared through her. She wanted to kill him. Wanted to take her serving tray and beat him bloody for what he’d done.
But she was forbidden. She could not interfere, nor could she ever reveal what she was. Because she’d been told, that doing so would cause unintended consequences in the world order of things. She could only observe, experience and feel. If she did manage to break that rule before her father could stop her, then she was made to suffer for it. She’d endured his brutal punishments enough times to learn the lesson.
Ginny panted with helpless fury, sickness and hatred as she glared at Shane.
His brown eyes widened as he saw something frightening in hers. “What are you staring at? Get me another drink.”
The vileness of what he had done to that witch killed her ability to censor her words. “You’re an animal. A sick, twisted fuck.”
Shane shot up out of his chair, his face blazing with fury. His entire body shook.
Ginny hoped he’d come after her. She wouldn’t need to do a thing…her brother was in the club and he would kill Shane before the man took his next breath.
Shane looked around, his dark gaze burning wit
h rage. His mouth tightened.
She knew then that he’d spotted her brother.
He jerked his gaze back to her. “Be careful with that mouth of yours, bitch. Or I’ll shut you up for good.” He turned and stormed out.
As he brushed by her, the contact seared her brain with images of those three chained witches covered in gaping wounds and blood. He was going back. Oh God, he wasn’t going to stop.
Her stomach heaved and tears filled her eyes. She turned and ran for the bathroom.
***
The glare of the harsh lights spilled over the dead witch hunter. Ram Virtos kept his fury on a tight leash as he wiped off his knife, sheathed it, and looked around the convenience store parking lot. The young witch, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, sat on the dirty curb, holding her hand over the bleeding wound on her arm.
Her blood smelled like the snickerdoodle cookies from The Cookie Witch Bakery that he loved. He could see it squeezing between her fingers, tracking a glistening red trail of raw power. Vibrant pleasure.
Her magic rose and punched him in the chest with pure bloodlust.
Shit. He hated the dark need that urged him to attack the helpless witch. Hated the violent desire slicing through him, ripping apart his every belief until all he could think about was the blood.
Witch blood swimming with pure power.
Ram pulled on his discipline and jerked his gaze away just as he saw twin shadows streak across the darkened sky. They banked a turn and came in for a landing. Then the two split up.
Phoenix Torq folded up the brightly colored wings of his phoenix and they disappeared beneath his skin. He strode to the witch that Ram was keeping a careful distance from. The hardass hunter had a way with women, even witches, and would calm her. Not like Ram. Her blood would light the fuse of his dark cravings, but it wouldn’t bother Phoenix as he had mated and broken the curse. If she needed more help than her magic could provide, Phoenix would get it for her.
Axel Locke headed straight for Ram. He folded up his hawk wings and they vanished into the tattoo on his back. The huge leader of the Wing Slayer Hunters was shirtless, clad only in jeans and boots. His green eyes were hard with anger. “Update me.”
Ram could feel the witch using her magic to heal her wound as Phoenix talked to her in a low voice. He focused on Axel and said, “Shane was too tense and sweaty at the club tonight.” Yeah, he managed to notice that, in spite of Ginny…shit. For two months they’d done their best to avoid each other. And tonight, he’d lingered for a full minute, staring at her like a starving man. Disgusted with his weakness, he’d finally turned away and gone into the warehouse.
But Shane’s demeanor nagged at him, so he’d strapped on his balls to go take care of business and talk to the man. He and Ginny were adults, they could be in the same room for a few fucking minutes.
Pulling his thoughts back to his report, he went on, “Shane stormed by me on his way out of the club, and I caught the smell of witch blood on him. Followed him. He attacked the witch.” He gestured to the woman. “He managed to slash her once before I reached him.” Cold anger iced his veins. He didn’t do failure, and that witch suffering was his failure.
Axel toed the dead man’s wrist, flipping his hand over, palm up. “Lifelines are there; he’s not rogue.” He lifted his gaze to Ram. “What the fuck?”
Adrenaline and need coursed through Ram, making it difficult to stand still. Their god, Wing Slayer, took their souls if they killed an innocent witch. When that happened their lifelines vanished. “He hasn’t killed a witch yet, but he has been getting hits of their blood somehow.” He tilted his head to where Phoenix hovered with the woman. “He would have killed this witch. I could see he’d lost all control. He wanted her blood, all of it.” Ram locked his jaw against a wave of cramping need for the same blood. Never. He’d never give in to the blood and sex curse that made all witch hunters crave the power in witch blood.
Hearing a faint sizzle-popping sound, and feeling the live-wire sensation run down his arms, Ram lifted his hands, but he didn’t see any sparks coming from his fingers. Realizing what he was doing, that he’d broken off in the middle of a report to his leader to stare at his hands like some kind of junkie, he dropped his arms.
Axel watched him with his too-sharp gaze, and said, “The witches are worried about you. Darcy is worried. She believes this rising electricity in you is going to keep getting worse. You need to find Shayla. Make her understand she has to mate with you.”
Right. He was going to hunt down and beg a woman to mate with him for life. A woman, a witch, who didn’t want him. That was going to happen like Never. His life was beginning to feel like one big kick in the nuts from Irony. He couldn’t have the woman he wanted, and the woman he needed rabbited to avoid him.
Not feeling the need to clue Axel in to his internal freak show, he said, “Let’s just deal with this situation here. I’ve shifted the short-term memories of the clerk and customer in the store. They think this guy is drunk, the witch is his girlfriend, and I’m her brother. They’re staying out of it.”
Axel took his hand back. “Impressive.”
Ram shrugged. After seeing what careless memory shifting had done to his mother, he’d made a point to master the witch hunter ability. “Had to do something. They wanted to call the police and an ambulance for her.” A burn began moving through his veins. He could almost feel sparks leaping from his skin. His thunderbird tattoo was waking; for anyone else, no big deal. But the markings on Ram’s body weren’t like the other witch hunters’. Every hunter had a tattoo of a legendary winged creature. But only Ram’s shot electrical impulses through his body when things got tense.
Axel’s gaze locked on him. “You’re done. Fried. Go find a woman. Now. Phoenix and I got this.”
Ram stiffened. He was military trained, and in this Axel was his commander and chief, but every fiber of his being rebelled at the idea of leaving a job unfinished even when ordered to do so. He’d run on a broken foot, fought with bullet holes spurting blood; he had once pulled a knife out of his own gut and killed his attacker with it.
He did not walk away from a mission unfinished.
Doing the job, saving witches and killing rogues, that was all he had. The only things about him that was right, real, and worth anything.
“I don’t need a woman, I need to do my job,” he told Axel, his voice matching his will in cold determination. “I have to track the source, find out where Shane got the witch blood.” He sucked in a breath to cool the burn eating through him. Then he added, “He was one of my recruits.” That made him Ram’s mistake to clean up. Recruits were picked to train in the hopes of becoming a Wing Slayer Hunter accepted by their god.
“Find a woman.” Axel’s jaw flexed and his eyes hardened. “That’s an order. You’re walking the edge, Ram. The curse is riding you hard. Get control.”
Once upon a time, sex had done the job and tamed the curse. But that was before he’d unknowingly run into Shayla Banfield and woken the electrically charged thunderbird inside him. But now? He fired out the words, “Not an option.”
He could hurt a woman with the untamed electricity snapping through him and periodically escaping from the tips of his fingers.
He’d never allow that to happen. As a teenager, before he’d known what he was, he nearly killed a young woman. She was a witch, but back then Ram had known nothing of witches. His grandfather had pulled him off the girl. Neither of them had known what kind of monster lived in Ram, but his grandfather knew about duty and discipline and he’d taught Ram. The old man had given him the tools to get control of the monster inside him. Discipline and self control. That was why he’d chosen the military—discipline. He lived by it and he would die by it. But he would never go rogue.
Axel tilted his head down, giving Ram a stare. “Why is sex not an option?”
“Whatever this shit is in me, I can’t control it. Sometimes when I touch someone with my fingers nothing happens. Other times…” Ram
reached out and laid his hand on Axel’s shoulder.
A quick series of tiny pops sounded.
Axel frowned. “So? Barely felt it. Like static electricity from your fingertips.”
Jerking his hand back, Ram snapped, “Don’t be an ass. You’re a witch hunter; I could hit you with a fully charged stun and you’d barely feel it. We don’t feel pain like humans or witches.” He sucked in a breath to ice the anxiety roiling in his guts. “The shocking thing is new and random. Sometimes it happens, then it stops. But the next time it happens, the shock seems stronger.”
“Sounds like an easy enough fix,” Axel shot back. “Drain the shock shit by touching one of us until it runs out, then have sex.”
“It’s not that simple, I haven’t been able to predict it like that.” He forced himself to stand still and explain, when he really wanted to go out and do his damned job. Find the witch Shane had been harvesting blood from; and then find some rogues to kill. “I won’t lose control, A. Too risky.” Not that he ever had. Even in sex, he had always been in control. Some might call him dominant. But now he wasn’t sure if sexual energy would ramp up the electrical impulses enough to hurt the woman he was with.
The control that he’d mastered, that he always counted on to keep the curse locked down tight, had started to melt like a sunbaked glacier. It felt like his willpower was unraveling, like he was beginning to come apart.
He caught another whiff of the wounded witch and the need clawed through him. He fisted his hands at his sides.
Axel stared him down. “Find a way. Go, Ram or I swear I’ll drag your ass to a room, chain you up and send in Roxy to unleash her sex magic on you. Then find you a willing woman.”
Ram shuddered at the thought. They’d all been slapped by the ball-squeezing magic of Key DeMicca’s mate. Roxy Banfield was a fertility witch, and she wielded sex magic with as much impact as Ram used his knife. She could bring any man to his knees and make him beg.
And they all loved her. She’d saved Key with their soul mirror bond. Key was a lucky man, and now he and Roxy had a child on the way. Good for them, but Ram’s destiny seemed headed for a big-ass explosion, not a happy ending.
Forbidden Magic Page 2
