Sinful Magic: A Wing Slayer Novel

by Jennifer Lyon

  “How can you be so sure?” His voice was soft.

  “Because my mom chose sex and magic over my father, and then over me. She didn’t want me anymore.” Oh Ancestors, she sounded like a child. But she was scared, tired, unsure … nothing made sense. She’d worked so hard to become mortal, to fit somewhere. Belong. She could find a man to love, and sex would be normal. Not about magic and power.

  “You’re mother sounds like a bitch, not a witch.”

  His hard words jerked her gaze to his face. “My father grew to hate her. He was her Awakening, just like you’re mine. He loved her in the beginning, but now he hates her. Hates her magic. I can remember their fights when I was young and they thought I was asleep. We don’t make love, I just screw you until your magic is full! And if we do go out, then I have to deal with all the men swarming around wanting a taste of your sex magic!” She shook her head and dizziness made the room sway.

  “Idiots. Letting a child hear that.” He flicked his wrists, breaking her grip, then took hold of her arms to steady her. “Easy, Roxy. You lost a lot of blood.”

  She held perfectly still and the room righted. The warm steam helped fight off her deep chill. She couldn’t believe she’d told him so much of her past when they needed to focus on now. “What do we do?”

  He reached up and slid her bra straps down her arms and let it fall to the floor. “We’ll figure it out in time. Right now, I’m going to protect you, not hurt you. I won’t try to seduce you or in any way bring out your magic.”

  “But the schema, and your bloodlust, and—” It was so overwhelming.

  He crouched and tugged her panties down. “Your power scent is so light, I can deal with it. And touching you ices it.”

  She looked down at the powerful hunter gently easing off her underwear. “And the attraction?”

  “Hold on to my shoulders for balance,” he said, wrapping one large hand around her ankle.

  Roxy put her hands on him and her schema woke up with hot tingles. They started in the center of the little goddess mark. Kieran got the panties off, then his shoulders tensed. He jerked his head up until he was eye level with the schema. She felt his skin grow hot beneath her hands. “Kieran?”

  “Caramel with a hint of pain. Getting worse.”

  The feel of his shoulders, the sight of him crouched down before her, the touch of his hand on her ankle sent pleasure winging through her. She had the unbearable feeling that being with Kieran would be more intense and intoxicating than anything she’d ever experienced.

  Desperate heat blazed in the goddess mark and spread outward, making her body throb even as her mind shied away. Fear mixed in, and the mark pierced her skin with hunger. “It’s the schema! It’s not real!” Whore magic. Those two words bounced in her head. This wasn’t going to work. “We can’t be near each other.”

  He released her ankle, reached behind him to pull out his knife.

  The sight of the sharp blade made her gasp with memories and terror. The bloodlust! He was going to cut her, hurt her. She turned to run, but dizziness spun the walls and she felt herself falling …

  Kieran caught her around the waist, instantly steadying her. He pulled her back to his chest. “Not going to cut you. Never. I won’t hurt you.” She could feel his heart pounding, sweat and steam coating their skin. “You’re safe with me.”

  Something more than Kieran touched her back, she felt gentling strokes so light she might be imagining it. But it calmed her. She sucked in a breath. “I panicked.” She was naked and felt so damned vulnerable. “What are you going to do?”

  “Lean back, just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

  She sagged against him, against his strength. His arm around her waist held her up. “I’m stronger than this, usually.”

  “You survived. It’s the blood loss and shock making you feel weak, but you’re damned strong. Now I’m going to help you. We’re going to have to be together until my brother is dead and you’re safe. We have to tame the schema.”

  She put her hands on his forearm, borrowing some of his strength. “How?”

  “We’re soul mirrors, and some of your blood got on me, opening a connection between us. I think that’s inflaming your schema even more because the soul-mirror bond requires a blood exchange. I have your blood, you need mine. I’m going to try a drop or two of my blood on the mark. I think it’ll soothe it for a while.”

  “What if it makes it worse?”

  “Then I’ll take care of you.” His voice thickened and she felt the ridge of his erection pressing against her spine. “I’ll ease your lust without sealing our bond. As long as I don’t enter you, the bond won’t complete. We’ll keep trying until we find what works together.” She felt him swallow, then he added, “Okay? Trust me?”

  Her schema burned and hurt. And she began to have real sympathy for her mother. Was this what she endured, over and over? “Yes.”

  He pressed his face next to hers. “Trusting me after what my brother did to you … that’s bravery.” He released her waist, switched the knife to his right hand and pressed the tip against his left palm.

  A bubble of blood welled up.

  “Show me the mark. Hurry,” it came out a growl.

  Fighting embarrassment, she turned her left leg and exposed the goddess marking on the high inside of her thigh. The emerald green outline was darker, clearer, and the blue coloring filled more area than before.

  He lowered his hand.

  She arched toward him, desperate for his touch. “Kieran …” Shame fought with desire, with aching need.

  He caught her hip with his other hand, his fingers firm as he held her. Then he curved his hand over her thigh, his thumb brushing her pubic hair. That touch shuddered through her center.

  But the hungry pain began to ease. The pounding, mindless need notched down as a languid feeling softened her muscles. A fluttering along her spine where her chakras were surprised her. It was a sweet sensation. A hum soothed her mind, almost forming into words, but she couldn’t quite hear them. Yet the gentle rhythm of the hummed words comforted her. “It’s working.” She felt a bit stronger, less dizzy.

  “Good.” He pulled his hand away. “Get in the shower.”

  She turned and stepped in, grateful for the warm spray of water. She reached to pull the door closed, thankful for a minute to herself when Kieran stepped in.

  Naked.

  Oh-my-stars-naked. Holy-hot-naked. Roxy pressed herself against the marble wall as he filled the oversized stall. Water sprayed on his head, running over those shoulders, finding the ridges and valleys of his muscles, over his dragon-inked chest, the ridges of his abdomen, and down into the dark blond pubic hair and …

  She jerked her eyes up. “You’re hard. Huge!”

  He snorted. “Thanks,” he said as he reached for a bottle of shampoo and poured some into his palm. “It’s not going away anytime soon with you standing there looking like a sex goddess.” He stepped toward her.

  She pressed herself back. “But the schema! It’s calm now! Why are you aroused?”

  Key sank his fingers into her hair and started lathering. “This attraction is real, my green-eyed witch.” He took hold of her arms and moved her to the stream of water. “Close your eyes.”

  He really desired her, it wasn’t just the schema forcing it? Real. With the steamy water cascading over her hair and body, Kieran’s hands on her, helping her, she wondered if it would be so bad to make love with him.

  But what would happen to his attraction to her after her magic took hold? When sex became a burden?

  He’d leave. Even if they were soul mirrors, he’d walk out, just like her father had.

  And she’d be left with nothing but her magic.

  Sweat poured down Key’s back, his hand and fingers ached, his shoulder burned, but he kept drawing with a fierce urgency. He shoved a dresser out of his way to give himself more room and kept going. The only thing in that room he was aware of was Roxy, each breath she took. Each ti
me she moved in the big king-sized bed where she slept, he and the dragon knew it.

  He was in a frenzy, the violence writhing in him, fury rising. He had to draw, kill, or have sex. Touching her blood and her schema had inflamed him. He wanted sex. Wanted Roxy. Craved her. Her scent was imprinted on him.

  Stripping off her panties, seeing her revealed to him, her scent … he shuddered, his cock rigid in the sweatpants he’d found on the bed after they’d come out of the shower. For Roxy, there’d been a pair of black yoga pants and tank top she slept in now.

  His witch, he thought, yet she didn’t want to bond with him. She didn’t want her magic, feared its power, and he was the one bringing it out in her. How the hell was he going to keep her safe without destroying her? His brother had already hurt her, and that made Key insane with rage.

  The dragon shifted restlessly, tapping a claw against his skin. Our treasure. Key blinked. He’d just written the words beneath the first panel he’d drawn; the scene of the dragon carrying a woman.

  Dragons were notorious for guarding their treasure. His dragon considered Roxy his treasure.

  The thought slipped away as he dropped a piece of sidewalk chalk Ailish had conjured for him, got out another color, and went back to work on the last panel.

  Revealing.

  Something hit his shoulder. “Key—”

  He turned, grabbed the man and threw him into the wall, then crouched between the bed where Roxy was and the intruder. He’d kill—

  “Key, goddammit, it’s me.” The voice was whisper-soft and furious.

  Snapping up to his full height, Key blinked. Phoenix. He stood close to where Key had shoved the dresser out of the way, his dark eyes angry, and his arms bulging in his leather vest. As the seconds ticked by, his awareness radiated out from where Roxy lay sleeping. Turning his head, he saw Axel standing just inside the door. He had his arms crossed over his bare chest, a sign that he’d used his wings to get to Vegas. It was impossible to get a shirt over wings.

  It took him another few seconds to bank the violence, to fully understand that they weren’t going to harm Roxy. He’d always been protective, but the intensity of this rocked him.

  “Kieran?” Roxy said behind him. “What’s going on?”

  Her voice, the sheer confusion and slight edge ripped through him. He turned to her and felt the dragon sigh. Her eyes were sleepy, her hair a mass of soft waves, and she looked so damned sensual tucked in the bed. His hand twitched around the chalk, he wanted to draw her, capture this look that was uniquely hers. “Axel is here. You go back to sleep, I’ll just be downstairs.”

  “You’re leaving?” She sat up, threw back the cream colored covers, and stood up. “I—” her mouth hung open as she caught sight of the walls. Starting from the left, she tracked the images to the last one he’d been working on. “You did this? All this? How long have I been asleep?”

  “Three hours.”

  She walked around the bed, past him, her sleep-warmed scent hitting him in his gut. No magic, just honey-almond mixed with shampoo and soap. His blood heated, his cock testing the seam of his sweats. Ignoring his erection, he watched Roxy glance at the two other hunters, then back to the first panel. She stopped in front of it, her red hair spilling over her shoulders, her face absorbed with the drawing. A few seconds later, her skin took on a soft glow.

  “It’s Dyfyr. Just like your tattoo.”

  Key felt the dragon’s chest swell with pride. He had drawn four panels reaching from the floor to seven feet in height in places, the first two on the wall where Roxy stood, and two more on the adjacent wall. Roxy was studying the first panel where Dyfyr flew across the skies, his wings majestic, his ruby eyes gleaming as he carefully cradled a woman in his arms. Key had drawn variations of this as long as he could remember, but he didn’t know why.

  She moved to the second panel and her shoulders hunched. “He’s crying. Where’s his lover?”

  Chills went down his back, while his chest was warm. He caught a whiff of dark chocolate. Her magic! Did she realize? She was using magic. A shimmer rose to her skin. Only witch hunters could see the shimmer on a witch; mortals couldn’t. “How do you know the woman is the dragon’s lover?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Because his heart beats, and he holds her like a treasure.”

  Key couldn’t stop himself and walked closer until he stood by her left shoulder. He looked into her eyes. “How do you know his heart beats?”

  She closed her eyes for a second.

  Her scent swirled around him, the chocolate sliding into his veins, firing his bloodlust.

  Then she opened them and said, “I feel him.”

  Stunned, he realized that she was magically connecting with the dragon in him, with Dyfyr, through the drawings.

  She turned back to the wall. “But now he’s crying, curling up in this remote, barren place, his tears crystallizing with his grief. Oh,” she lifted her hand, placing it on the chalk dragon’s head, “I hear him. Earlier it was just a hum … but now I can hear him.”

  The need for her blood ate through his veins, cramped his gut. But he couldn’t look away, captivated by the way she stood there, her gaze on the dragon, drawing in her lower lip, her body loosening and filling with magic. “What’s he saying?”

  Her eyes slid closed and she said,

  The dragon soars across the skies

  And sees below all those lives

  He wonders anew why they go on

  Lives so fragile and time so short

  They cannot see him

  In his fiery glory

  Not his eyes of gleaming rubies

  Or his scales of timeless beauty

  A strange sensation, what is this?

  Looking down, he is captivated

  Gold of hair and fair of skin

  With eyes that truly see him.

  His silent heart begins to beat

  To know a want he can’t resist

  He swoops down low to claim his love

  They soar along in tremendous passion

  Time is cruel and takes his woman

  But his heart beats on

  Each strike more brutal

  And wishes that he, too, was mortal

  He falls to the land and cries the tears

  His heart stops beating and to stone he turns

  Leaving his tears as a gift

  Of mortality to the wounded souls

  Stone he will stay

  No life beating in his chest

  Until the woman bearing the fertile mark

  Wakes his heart with her touch

  Key had to touch her before he burst into flames from dual cravings for her blood and sex. The growing need to finish their bond felt like a pressure on his soul. He settled his hands on her bare shoulders and felt the gentle stirring of her magic. All his life, he’d been suspicious of fertility magic, but this felt like a sweet and sensual kiss over his skin. And he wanted more.

  She leaned back against him. “He stopped his heart and turned to stone, rather than feel the loss. He loved her, truly loved her.”

  The contact, the feel of her body against his, calmed the burn swelling his veins. He knew she was so caught up in the dragon she didn’t realize she was leaning against him. He focused on her story. “So that’s where the Dragon Tear came from.”

  Roxy looked at him. “The same Tear Liam was going on about?”

  He clenched his jaw at the memory of what Liam had done to her. “Yes. My mother gave it to me when she died. She said it was the only remaining Tear—”

  “The other dragons must have used all the other tears to become mortal, leaving only the one,” Roxy filled in.

  He rubbed his thumbs over the skin of her shoulders. “Guess so. And I became the guardian of the last Tear. My mother wore it until it killed her. Drained the life out of her.”

  She frowned. “Why didn’t she tell you more? Liam says I can wake the dragon. Did she tell you that? Did she know?”

&
nbsp; “No.” Blood-deep anger simmered and threatened. He took a breath and felt Roxy’s skin beneath his hands. What would she think if she knew what he was? A real live Frankenstein, a magic monster. He added, “I was only thirteen, and she refused to believe she was going to die until the very end.” And then she was mad at him for it. He shook his head. “It was a powerful delusion, maybe from wearing the Tear.”

  Phoenix broke in, “Now we know why it strips immortality. Dragons are extinct … the tears destroyed an entire species.”

  “Except for one,” Key said. “Dyfyr is alive and sleeping in me.”

  “Apparently, that Tear has quite a history,” Axel said. “Phoenix, come look at this.”

  Key turned with Roxy to see the two remaining panels. The first panel had a large man, large by mortal standards, climbing treacherous cliffs over a churning sea. His gold-colored hair blew in a harsh wind, and from his closed fist, a rainbow of colors arced outward.

  Key’s chest tightened. He knew what was in the mortal’s fist—the Dragon Tear. It was the size of the end of Key’s little finger, shaped in a perfect teardrop. The extremely hard, almost unbreakable outer shell changed colors as the liquid sealed inside moved and shifted, catching the light and reflecting stunning rainbow shades. The Dragon Tear was the ultimate prism.

  The next frame showed the man burying the Tear in the side of the cliff, and as he placed it in the hole and let go, massive gold wings sprang out on his back, and he grew larger, stronger, more powerful. And not human, or mortal. His gold eyes burned red, and his face was stamped with fury.

  Phoenix strode to the wall and said, “That’s Wing Slayer. The first panel has to be when he disguised himself as mortal when he lived on earth centuries ago.”