Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  “He’ll move, if instructed by me.”

  “Then do that.”

  The stretch of silence led to me pushing Asher’s name through clenched teeth to get a response.

  “Yesterday someone attempted to assassinate you,” he said.

  “I know, I was there.” I made an unsuccessful attempt at keeping my voice tepid and even.

  “I like having you around, so I plan to make sure you are.” Then there was silence. Not a pause. Silence from him disconnecting as if the conversation was over.

  The second time, he got a video call because I wanted him to see my scowl.

  “Hello again.” The airiness of his tone just added fodder to the flames of exasperation. The dichotomy of my feelings didn’t help. It was hard not to appreciate his caring, but he was doing it wrong. He was Alpha-ing it up and I wasn’t sure he knew any other way to do it.

  “Asher. I appreciate your concern, and if you weren’t with me yesterday, things would have been bad for me.”

  “You would have been dead. Things would have been bad for the people you left behind,” he rebutted.

  Seeing the anger pass over his face, I blew out a breath.

  “I know. What’s your plan? For me to be holed up in my home forever? I have magic I need to explore, and I need to see Mephisto.”

  His teeth gripped the bottom of his lip. “Why him? What is he? I’ve been curious about him and I suspect you know.”

  Holding his intense gaze became a struggle with each beat of time. “The secrets that we have will always stay between us. I know it’s difficult, but you need to extend the same consideration for others’ secrets as you have for your pack.”

  Asher’s face relaxed. “I guess I should ask him.”

  “Probably.” Good luck getting an answer.

  Asher raised his voice just a few decibels and told Daniel he could leave. I gave him a smile of appreciation and a thanks as my parting remarks. Despite knowing how sensitive shifter hearing was, it was still hard to imagine Daniel had heard.

  He was trotting away by the time I made it to the door. He had the good manners to have his back to me as he slipped on his pants. When you live in a city heavily populated with shifters, seeing a naked ass was as common as seeing a bare arm. You learn that you’re more embarrassed by it than they are.

  Pulling out of the driveway, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to have a tail. It was more surprising that it was only one.

  Pick your battles, Erin, I encouraged myself. It was the only thing that kept me from calling Asher again.

  My shifter escort followed me to Mephisto’s gate, and once I drove through it, out of my rearview mirror, I saw them turn around and leave.

  Walking to the door, too many thoughts and questions ran through my mind. Was I immortal now, despite being a demigod? What were my magical limitations? The previous night, instead of sleeping, I’d performed almost all the spells in my spell books, and shifted to a cat using a transformation spell. My transformation ability seemed to be just cats. I spent an hour unsuccessfully trying to transform into a hawk.

  I’d also discovered I couldn’t Wynd, and I was positive I didn’t have Kai’s ability to fly. Two hours and nearly passing out from trying to sprout wings proved that.

  The many nuances and differences in magic were so vast. Cory wasn’t able to Wynd, even with magic-boosting charms, but there were very few spells he couldn’t cast.

  For a person with cameras in his home, a space secluded from most of his neighbors, and a “Benton,” I always found it odd that Mephisto left his door open so often. Met with silence when I entered the home, I called his name. The room where I usually found Benton was empty. I called for Mephisto again.

  “You’ve seen your father.” His voice came from behind me, startling me.

  Hand to my chest, I spun around. “What?” I managed through my rapid breaths.

  Moving in with the eerie speed that I decidedly would never get used to, his attentive eyes slowly roved over me.

  “You’ve met your father,” he repeated, his attention uncompromising.

  I had no idea how he deduced that. “How do you know?”

  A slow, easy smile lifted his lips. “You have magic. I can feel it coming off you.”

  I wondered if my magic felt the same as his did to me. Did it have a distinct allure? It felt different being around him without the ache to get closer and draw in his magic. But there was still an undeniable lure that I ignored because it had nothing to do with his magic.

  “Yeah, I met my father,” I confirmed.

  “You have your magic,” he said, stepping back to take me in as if being presented with a new person of interest.

  I told him about meeting Nolan, giving him the unedited version, including why Elizabeth told them who I was and her theft of the Amber Crocus. His only response was an extended blink and an unreadable expression. His lack of denial didn’t go unnoticed. He would have handled the situation differently if it were anyone other than me.

  “Did he show you how to do defensive moirus? They’re stronger than even a Klipsen or Omni ward, or the adligatura. I believe that’s what they used to restrict your magic.”

  I shook my head as he peppered me with more questions about spells and depths of my elven magic that I hadn’t explored with Nolan. His disappointment flashed enough for me to get a glimpse of it before it faded. A look of impassivity claimed his face, but his flat dark eyes showed something different.

  “Did he share any of their spells with you? Erin, there haven’t been sightings of elves in over fifty years. Knowledge of their magic isn’t an opportunity that most will get. Because their magic is so different, they can cast spells similar to fae, witches, and mages, but infinitely different and they can’t be countered. It gives you an advantage over most, even us.”

  I knew that, and for us on this side of the Veil, it had been longer than that. Elves were considered extinct.

  “You’ve had a sighting of at least one. Elizabeth. She’s a fae/elf hybrid and my father’s sister.”

  The new information only caused him to blink once. What caused the blink, that my aunt approached them with the information about who I was? Or that she was an elf?

  “She told you about The Raven, didn’t she?”

  He gave me a small nod.

  “Are you aware of what her intentions were when she told you that?”

  “She is aware of my disdain for Malific.” His tone was as neutral as his face.

  I moved closer to him. His long fingers stroked along the contours of my cheek.

  “Malific is evil. I didn’t want her to ever get out. If a person existed who had the power to release her, I would do what was necessary to prevent that,” he said. “Or at least I thought I would.” The dejection in his voice made me wonder if he felt he’d compromised himself by not following through.

  His phone buzzing prevented further conversation. Glancing down at the phone before answering it, his expression mirrored the one Asher gave me earlier.

  “Asher.” Mephisto’s voice was brusque and cool. “How may I help you?” Insincerity and forced politeness rang in his words. Mephisto’s eyes met mine and remained there as he moved closer to me. His head bent down, the phone to his ear but positioned so I could hear. Cedar, spice, and his scent drifted under my nose.

  “What are you?” Asher asked.

  “I’m sorry?” Mephisto’s lips brushed my skin as he spoke.

  “Sorry about what? Pretending you didn’t hear me the first time or that you’re using your question to give you more time to make up an answer?” Asher asked coolly.

  “No to either.”

  “I’m just curious as to why Erin had to see you. She’s there now, isn’t she?”

  Mephisto’s voice was a low husky rumble. “Yes, Erin is right here.” I didn’t like the implication or the innuendo in his tone.

  “She told me this morning she’d be visiting you.” I didn’t care for it in Asher’s, e
ither.

  Why don’t they just shout out the length and see who wins?

  Slipping away from Mephisto, I glared at him and then the phone. The phone received the glower meant for Asher. “Erin is half god, half elf and after discovering this, she comes to you. Is it safe to speculate—”

  “You’re welcome to speculate whatever you wish. Have a good day, Asher.” Mephisto ended the call, silenced the phone, and placed it on the table.

  That’s not going to go over well.

  He shelved the conversation with Asher with the same ease he’d discarded his phone. It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that Asher commanded hundreds and, thanks to me, they were immune to magic, including his.

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him very much after he removed the restriction.” I felt irked by my outburst at Nolan and Elizabeth. But I had cause. I must not have hidden it well, because Mephisto looked sympathetic.

  “Since you are here, perhaps you should show me your skills with the sword.” He inched closer and extended his hand. I guessed that was my cue to give him Kai’s blade. I took it from the sheath at my waist and handed it to him.

  “Thank you. Kai will be delighted to have the set now.”

  “He’s very particular, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” A fleeting look of concern skimmed over his face. The same disquieting look they all shared when it came to Kai.

  He moved down the hall and I followed him to the gym where he’d sparred with Kai. He shrugged off his jacket and placed it on a hook on the other side of the room. Should I be impressed by his skills or insulted by his confidence that he could test my skills without difficulty while wearing slacks and a shirt?

  I looked down at my slip-on running shoes, leggings, fitted t-shirt and then to him dressed in slate-gray pants and a button-down shirt that he’d uncuffed and rolled to his forearms.

  “I feel underdressed,” I mocked, giving his attire a derisive sneer.

  “Ah, Ms. Jensen, is that a proposition? Shall we do this in less clothing?”

  Why would he want his jiggly bits out with a sword around?

  Not taking his bait, I remained silent as he walked to the wall of weapons.

  “Practice sword?” he asked, fighting the smirk that played at his lips. It wasn’t ego or his thinly veiled mocking. Even the best practice sword didn’t replicate a sword, often being too light and not balanced enough. The recoil from hard contact with another was an odd feeling that I couldn’t get used to. I’d rather practice with a blunt sword or the real thing.

  “No waster swords. The real thing, or are you afraid?” I asked.

  “This will be interesting.”

  Taking a longsword from the wall, he handed it to me. It didn’t have any markings like the Obitus blade but was similarly shaped. Mephisto picked up another.

  I warmed up, sweeping the sword in smooth figure eights, thrusts, and overhead diagonals to test my defense, counters, and strikes.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  His strikes were fast but not blurs of movement as they were with Kai. He was holding back and I didn’t want that. Malific wouldn’t hold back.

  Each of his strikes, he pulled, giving me a chance to block. Each thrust was preceded by a slow-foot advance, alerting me of his intended move. It was barely a step above novice techniques.

  Countering his strike with a block, I spun out of reach until I was behind him, then swept his foot. He crashed to the ground. A quick roll and he was back on his feet with my sword pointing at him. A dark look eclipsed his face, hints of menace rolling over his features as he stepped closer until the tip of my sword pressed into his skin. Then he moved forward slightly and it pierced his skin. As quickly as the injury occurred, it disappeared, leaving behind the blood that had welled from it, which he quickly wiped away.

  “What are you, a masochist? Why did you do that?”

  His weapon was in his hand and thrust at me. I shuffled back without the grace I’d demonstrated before. The thrust, which he’d pulled, stopped just short of my chest and demonstrated his mastery of skills and control. I looked down at his weapon and its location and took a step back, locking my eyes on his as I moved.

  “You have to learn to use your magic to heal yourself as you fight,” he said. “It won’t take away the pain, but it’ll stop your injuries being a disadvantage.” Again I was treated to his quick movements and him just inches from me. “I suppose in some way I am a masochist… How else would I explain us? I can assure you, the last thing I want is to be in my basement just sparring with you.” His eyes held undeniable yearning as he stepped away.

  “How do I do that? Heal while fighting,” I clarified, dragging my eyes to the wall behind him because I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t get his wish if I didn’t.

  He said several words and instructed me to repeat them. A heavy cloak of magic, uncomfortable and cumbersome, covered me, making each movement seem like I was wading through thick mud.

  “You’ll get used to it. But you want the ability to heal during a fight. Your deity magic will protect you, but your magical ability will be limited. It’s best to learn to engage it when needed.” It was a complicated process that I’m sure wasn’t easily mastered.

  He placed his sword against the wall, grabbed a blade from the cabinet, and returned to me.

  “Let’s try it,” he directed.

  I lowered my sword to the ground and extended my hand.

  The blade barely pressed into my skin, just a nick.

  I looked at my hand and scoffed. “What’s that? I’ve gotten worse from a paper cut. I don’t need magic to heal that. I give it a stern look and it might heal on its own. I need a bigger cut.”

  I closed my eyes and waited and nothing happened. Just him staring at me with a vacant look. He handed me the knife and stepped away.

  “You do it,” he suggested, putting several inches of space between us.

  It was the first time I’d seen him without his bold self-assurance. Unable to hold my stare, his eyes dropped to the floor as I closed my hand around the blade, hissing from the pain. When I opened my hand I could see the stain but no visible cut.

  “Like I said, it doesn’t take the pain away.”

  I shrugged. “I’m going to go with the ‘don’t get injured’ option and save myself the trouble,” I said.

  His throaty laughter filled the room, and within beats, he’d devoured the distance between us, taking the hand I’d cut. He ran his hand over it, removing the light crimson stains that remained. Then he kissed the palm of my hand.

  “You are so undeniably Erin,” he whispered against my ear.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “But you do,” he replied in a low raspy growl.

  The heat of his lips warmed me. I should have stepped away, but my body didn’t want to. I stayed, rooted in the spot.

  My fingers grasped the soft fabric of his shirt, grazing against the hardness of his abs.

  His eyes trailed from my hand on his waist, over my arm, to the contours of my face, lips, and back up to meet my eyes.

  “What will you use now?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

  “For what?” My voice was breathy and jagged. I inhaled, taking in his masculine scent that was laced with hints of the cedar scent of his magic. It lingered and taunted my senses.

  “You have magic now and no longer need to borrow mine. What will you use to justify what exists between us?” He pressed soft kisses on my lips, imploring an answer I couldn’t give. It made me question too many things and dive too hard into feelings and raw attraction to this enigmatic man who had chosen the name Mephisto as his moniker, that I wasn’t ready to address.

  Moving my hands from his waist, I took several large steps back. He did the same but with a faster pace and a greater distance.

  “How do I disengage the healing magic?”

  He told me the words. I quickly repeated them, appreciating the new feeling of weightlessness I felt when
I picked up my sword. “Ready?”

  Seconds later, he was at the wall, weapon in hand.

  “How do I move like that?” I asked, again looking at the wall behind him. He responded to my inability to look at him with a faint chuckle.

  “It’s not a spell, you just do it.”

  “Okay, Nike, what do you mean, I just do it?”

  “That I can’t explain. It’s the way you move. Like walking, except you force your body to move faster. Try it.”

  “I will.” It was definitely not something I wanted to do in front of an audience. I imagined me looking like a fawn learning to walk, but not nearly as adorable.

  Assuming ready position, this time Mephisto didn’t hold back. The clink of metal on metal filled the room. And the whoosh of our breath being pushed once our weapons had been discarded and we started to spar. He blocked a front kick directed at his chest. Grabbing my leg, he gave it a jerk, causing me to crash to the ground. Retreating back just beats, I swiped his leg again. Rolling to my feet, fatigue had set in, but I refused to give up. The pleasure of seeing signs of fatigue on him, too, tugged a smile to my lips.

  Being a better defensive fighter than offensive, I waved him forward.

  The shift in his appearance caught me off guard and I stopped mid-movement to take in the subtle changes. It was the reason Elizabeth questioned their identity. His short midnight hair with hues of blue was the same. His nose longer, aquiline. Lips fuller and a little wider. The lines of his jaw sharper, his cheeks broader and winged. The person in front of me looked like a distant relative of the man I knew, and if I hadn’t seen the glamour fall, I would have questioned his identity as well.

  With the ease and efficiency that he’d dropped it, he donned it again. Mephisto.

  That moment of shock he used to his advantage. It was a sphere of magic zooming at me that caused me to erect a magical protective wall. His magic hit it and disintegrated in a puff. He moved to the wall that I’d surrounded myself with. Studying it, his mouth moved. The wall wavered but held. For several minutes he tried to disable it. Walking around it, he examined my wall, thrusting his magic into it.

  “You didn’t fall for the distraction. Very good,” he acknowledged, his fingers gliding lightly over the barrier that separated us.