Visions of Magic

by Regan Hastings

  “Sex. With me. Now.”

  Chapter 21

  The tracker worked perfectly.

  A tiny silver chip in the witch’s gorgeous hide and they could find her anywhere she went. The GPS gave her location and no matter what she did to block it, that signal would continue, leading him right to her. Each witch had a coded signal, so each one could be identified by the frequency her transponder gave off. He had her. Just as he’d known he would.

  Landry tracked witches. And when they escaped, he got them back. Dead or alive.

  He knew his orders. The higher-ups wanted this witch alive. But, he told himself with a small smile, “Accidents happen.”

  He set the scope to his right eye, leaned his weight on his elbows and took a breath, letting half of it slide from his lungs. Then his finger tightened on the trigger and the high-powered rifle jumped in his arms.

  The witch fell and the big man with her covered her with his body before Landry could get off another shot.

  “But one’s enough if you do it right,” he assured himself and slipped down the hillside, losing himself in the high meadow grass.

  Chapter 22

  “Shea!” Torin threw himself on top of her even as his eyes scanned the hillsides, looking for the shooter. Blood poured from a wound high on her shoulder. He stanched the flow with his bare hand, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  They couldn’t risk staying here and they couldn’t leave with her bleeding out. She wasn’t immortal—not yet, anyway—and if she died, the Awakening was finished before it began.

  That thought slammed into his mind and he shoved it right out again. “Screw the Awakening, Shea. I won’t let you die. Do you hear me?”

  “Torin?” Her voice was too soft, too fragile. He’d rather have her shouting at him than the sound of pain coloring her words. “What happened?”

  “You were shot.” Blood continued to seep from her shoulder, trickling through his fingers, running across his hand. In the darkness, the blood looked black, but he knew it was bright red. Knew that she couldn’t stand to lose much more.

  “Shea, you’ve got to trust me,” he said, mouth close to her ear. “Can you do that?”

  She tried to move and gasped at a sharp stab of pain.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. “Just talk. Can you trust me?”

  “Yes, I trust you,” she said, closing her eyes and biting down on her bottom lip. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

  “That’s good enough for now.” He wouldn’t think about the sting of his witch not knowing why she should trust him. Or about the centuries he’d spent at her side. Now it was all about stopping the bleeding so he could get her to safety. “Reach out and take my free hand with yours.”

  She barely moved her arm, whether from pain or fatigue or just plain shock, he didn’t know. Didn’t matter.

  His fingers threaded through hers and he tried not to notice the chill in her skin. How much blood had she lost?

  “Now center yourself, Shea.”

  “What?”

  “Call on your magic.”

  “I can’t.” Her head rocked tiredly from side to side.

  “You can,” he insisted as her blood continued to pour across his hand and into the dirt. Panic like he’d never known before took a vicious bite of his very soul. “You shut down my Viper while we were doing ninety miles an hour. You can do this.”

  “Can’t. Cold.”

  “You’ll be warm soon enough,” he muttered. “Now focus. Pull on your strength, your energy, feel it move into my hand, joining us.”

  He felt a slight sensation of her power, a small trickle of warmth when he needed a tide. Her pain washed over him, staggering him. His connection to her was growing, though, so he took as much of her pain as he could. He had to force her to ignore the rest.

  “That’s it, Shea. Do it. Damn it, forget the pain and focus. Feel my hand in yours, feel me reaching for your power.”

  The trickle increased, linking the two of them with wispy threads of heat. He felt it and nodded, ready now to try to heal her. “I’m going to call on the flames to seal your wound.”

  “Burn me?”

  “It won’t burn you. Remember? The flames are magic. But I can’t heal you on my own.” Even as he concentrated on the woman who meant more to him than his own existence, another part of Torin was aware of their surroundings. The dark, high grasses where any number of enemies might be hidden. The ridge from which the shot had come.

  Was the hunter even now preparing to make another attempt on her life? Would she be taken from him at the very moment they had been destined to join? No. He refused to lose her. Not again. Not in this life.

  Overhead, stars glittered and in the darkness he called on the fire that formed the core of him.

  More of her power moved into him and his fire burned hotter, brighter. “Our energies must be blended, joined. Trust me, Shea. Don’t fight it. Give me your magic and trust me.”

  She nodded, her face pale against the grass. Only yards away, cars flowed along the freeway like fish in a river. Never stopping, never noticing anything around them. But they couldn’t have seen Shea and Torin even if they were looking for them. The magic soaring around them moved like fog, a thick gray mist to conceal and protect.

  The flames rushing through Torin’s body, racing to the hand he held to Shea’s shoulder, were the brightest light in the shadowy world they inhabited.

  “Do it, Torin,” she whispered, eyes locked with his. “I trust you.”

  His heart swelled as his own magic burst forth in a rush. His hand erupted into flames and caressed her injured shoulder with a magical balm that made her sigh and squirm beneath him. Their hands linked, their powers as one, Shea breathed easier, and seemed to gather herself as her body healed.

  The joining was strong, rich, and filled him with a sense of rightness that he’d waited several lifetimes for. This was the woman who was his other half. The heart and soul of him. He would never lose her again.

  He watched as the wound closed and the angry red flesh paled and smoothed into unbroken skin beneath his hand. She took a breath and let it sigh from her lungs—and Torin could have sworn he felt her relief as his own.

  At last Torin pulled his hand free, inspected the wound and smiled to himself. “It’s done.”

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she admitted and slowly sat up beside him.

  She looked down at their joined hands and watched, bemused, as Torin’s flames licked at their fingers in wavering bursts of bright orange and yellow.

  Finally, she lifted her gaze to his. Lit by the starlight, she said, “You’re amazing.”

  “Together,” he corrected, “we are amazing.”

  She nodded. “I’m starting to get that. Now what?”

  “Now we discover how these people are tracking you. But not here.”

  “Where, then?”

  “I know a place.” He wrapped his arms around her, called on the flames and in a breath of light and heat, flashed them both away.

  Chapter 23

  It took several jumps to reach their destination. By the time Torin led Shea into the small mountain cabin, he was feeling the drain of magical energy. He’d used too much both on the travel and on healing Shea without allowing his body to recharge. Rest would do it, he knew. But sex would do it quicker.

  And he had no wish to rest.

  His gaze dropped to the curve of Shea’s behind as she walked into the cabin ahead of him. Even in the ugly prison uniform, her beauty couldn’t be hidden. She was the woman who had held his heart for hundreds of years. Her energy, her spirit, her soul remained the same throughout her many incarnations. All that she was called to him on a cellular level.

  He had watched her over the eons, seen her learn and change and been witness to the growth of her soul into the woman she was here. Now. In this lifetime, he had seen her resilience. Felt her determination and courage. Her warmth and humor. And he had loved her more than he ever would
have thought possible.

  “Where are we?”

  “Somewhere above Palm Springs,” he said and she turned to face him.

  The cabin was cold and dark. Shea shivered and he waved one hand at the fireplace, where kindling and logs lay waiting. Instantly, flames erupted on the stacked wood, sending brilliant patterns of light dancing around the small room.

  She sighed. “You do that so easily.”

  “As will you.”

  She walked toward the fire. “I don’t know. I feel . . . as if something inside me is locked down and struggling to get out.”

  “Your power already escaped you once tonight.”

  “I don’t know how, though.” She laughed shortly and shook her head. “Seems like that’s something that would come in handy.”

  “I can help.”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “I hope so.”

  “Trust me.”

  “I guess I am.” Scrubbing her hands up and down her arms, she said, “I’ve never been as scared as I was the last couple of days. I never want to be that scared again. Or that helpless.”

  “You won’t be,” he said, and internally he made a vow. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She gave him a tired smile. “I’m counting on that. But I want to learn how to keep myself safe, too. I won’t be at the mercy of witch hunters again.”

  “Good,” he said and walked to her. His steps were soundless, a big man moving with the stealth learned over centuries of life. “You’re stronger than you know already, Shea. Getting stronger still is the one sure way to ensure your survival.”

  She nodded. “Who shot me? God, I can’t believe I was shot.”

  He reached out one hand to touch the bloodstain at her shoulder. It still felt all too real to him. Hearing her soft cry. Watching her fall. Feeling her blood seep through his fingertips to soak into the earth. Fury roared within him and he fought to keep a tight rein on it. There was no target for his rage—and he couldn’t risk frightening Shea further. One day, though, there would be payment made for what was done to her.

  “I don’t know who shot you. I don’t know how they found you.” That fact was a daunting one. If he didn’t know how they had found her once, how could he prevent it from happening again? Staring into her eyes, he found the only explanation possible. “I can only think that you’ve been tagged.”

  “Tagged?” She frowned. “You mean like the microchips people put in their pets?”

  “Something like that. I have to check you for it and get rid of it. Otherwise, they’ll find us too easily again.”

  “Hell, yes,” she blurted. “Find it. Burn it. Do whatever.” She ran her hands over her body, scraping her palms across the cotton jumpsuit, digging into the collar and hems, but found nothing.

  “Take it off,” he said.

  She lifted her head and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “The uniform. Take it off.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Um, how about you just check it while I wear it?”

  Torin sighed and shook his head. “This is no time for modesty between us, Shea. You can’t wear the damn thing anyway. It’s crusty with dried blood.”

  She blew out a breath, looked around the room and spotted a quilt tossed over a chair back. “Fine. Turn around.”

  “We are mates,” he told her, irritated that she would cling to something so foolishly human as embarrassment. “I will know your body as you will know mine. Nothing will be hidden from us.”

  “Will be,” she repeated, frowning. “We haven’t done the mating thing yet and it’s a little disconcerting to strip down in front of a—”

  “I’m not a stranger.”

  “No, you’re not,” she agreed. “But you’re also not my lover. Not yet, anyway. So turn the heck around.”

  Gritting his teeth, he did, but only because it was faster than arguing with her. He closed his eyes and listened to the fabric rustling, the zipper sliding down as she undid it hastily. His blood pumped thick and hot in response. His instincts roared as he fought for control.

  In moments, she’d tossed the uniform at his feet. “There. Check.”

  He did, and couldn’t find a thing. Which could mean only one thing. “They’ve implanted it somewhere on your body.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  He turned around and stared at her. She looked every inch a pagan goddess: her long, dark red hair hanging about her shoulders, her creamy skin glowing in the firelight and the faded quilt held to her body like a battle shield. His body stirred again and a burning ache settled in his dick. If he didn’t have her soon, the agony of wanting her was going to kill him.

  Shaking his head, he asked, “Did they examine you?”

  She squirmed a little in memory. “They did everything to me. Even a strip search, which is just as much fun as it sounds.”

  He blew past that. “Did they give you a shot? An inoculation?”

  “Yes,” she said, thinking back, “they gave me some antibiotic. Said there was flu in the prison and it was to keep me from contracting it. Because they cared so much about their prisoners,” she added with a sneer.

  “Where did they give you this injection?”

  “Oddly, in my neck. Hurt like a bitch, too.” Her voice trailed off. “You think?”

  “I do. Show me.” He stepped closer and she lifted her hair out of his way. She leaned her head to one side and Torin bent to examine the smooth skin at the base of her skull. He spotted it immediately.

  “There’s something there,” he whispered, his mouth so close to her skin that he could almost taste her.

  The scent of her drove him mad. That intriguing blend of earth and ocean that clung to the skin of a witch—while at the same time smelling different on each of them. Shea’s scent was powerful and subtle. Like the witch herself.

  “Well, get it out,” she yelped, reaching around to drag her fingernails across the back of her neck.

  “I will, but it’s going to hurt.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care. Just do it.”

  The pride he felt for her rose up and did battle with the lust that was damn near choking him. He wanted her and admired her and tonight, he was going to have her. He would feel her writhing beneath him. Feel her body take him inside, accepting him and their mating and all that it entailed. But first . . .

  Reaching to the sheath at his side, he pulled out a knife with a wicked silver blade. One edge was razor sharp, the other jagged with silver teeth designed to rip and tear.

  “Holy crap,” she murmured and backed away a step.

  “Be still. This must come out or our enemies will be able to track us.”

  “Right. Enemies. Track.” Her gaze was locked on the knife blade. Her eyes looked enormous and glittered with the shifting shadows of the fire.

  “Trust me, Shea,” he said, his voice compelling her to look up into his eyes.

  She did, meeting his gaze squarely, with a courage that obviously cost her. “You keep saying that and I keep doing it, despite being terrified. Why is that?”

  “Because we belong to each other.” He looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe. “Now turn and let me take care of this.”

  With a long, deep breath, she did.

  “I’ll take as much of your pain as I can.”

  “I’m fine. Just do it and be done, okay?”

  He lifted her thick, silky hair and bunched it in one fist as he laid the tip of the knife to the tiny scar on her neck. At the base of her skull, nearly hidden by her hair, it was so small, he knew it had to be a microchip.

  Silver, of course, so it wouldn’t be a constant drain on her powers and thus tip her off to its existence. Silver for witches was a conduit to other elements. It focused their powers, channeled their energies—and the fact that their enemies had used that element against her fried his ass.

  Torin edged the tip of the knife into her skin and winced as blood welled and trickled down her back. She jerked a li
ttle at the pain, but then held steady, the only sign of her distress her heavy, uneven breathing.

  “Almost,” he whispered, then dug the chip free of her body and caught it in his hand. “Hold on to me, Shea.”

  She automatically reached back and laid one hand on his side. He felt the fire of their joined energies and carefully fed them onto the bleeding cut on her neck. Instantly, the cut healed and he used his thumb to wipe away the blood.

  “Did you get it?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned and looked down at his palm. “It’s so small.”

  “Microchips.” He walked to the fireplace, set the chip on the mantel and slammed the knife handle down onto it. When it was splintered, he gathered the pieces and tossed them into the flames.

  “Thank you.”

  He slanted a look at her. “You don’t have to thank me for caring for you,” he said. “It is what I will always do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are mine as I am yours.”

  Her voice was soft, her eyes flaring with a hunger they had shared over the centuries. “I don’t even know you.”

  “You do. You just don’t remember.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Stubborn witch,” he said with a shake of his head. Digging into the pocket of his black jeans, he tugged out a cell phone and flipped it open.

  Her eyes widened. “Seriously? A magical guy uses a cell phone?”

  “Satellite phone. We can use technology, too. We live in the modern world, Shea, and fashion it to suit our purposes.” He waited. Rune answered on the second ring.

  “The woman’s safe,” Rune said with a tinge of disgust. “She and her mother and daughter are packing, for chrissakes. What is it with women? They’re on the run, with crazies after them, and they want to take time to pack? What is that?”

  Torin smiled at the image of three mortal females driving his friend insane. “Before you go to Sanctuary, check Terri’s neck.”

  “Why?” Instantly Rune was serious.