A Bite of Magick

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “What happened to your glasses?” he drawled, low voice no more than a smoky rasp of sound.

  “Um, contacts. I got contacts.”

  Kieran nodded, feeling his muscles clench with keen anticipation, his skin itching to get the feel of her against him—beneath him—as soon as humanly possible.

  He gave a silent laugh at the expression, wishing for the first time ever that it were possible. If he were but a man, something told him that he’d already have Té Hayes on her back, those sweet thighs forced incredibly wide, his cock hammering into her delicate cunt, spearing her with pleasure until she was hoarse from the screams spilling past those glossy, fuckable pink lips.

  “Yeah, you must be Magick,” she said with a soft, sudden laugh, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. “I mean really, how could you possibly be anything else?”

  “Good question,” he agreed, reaching out to run his finger along the curve of her jaw, unable to resist the need to discover if she was as soft as she looked. He could tell his touch, as innocent as it was, unnerved her, but he could no more stop the caress of his fingers than he could control the erratic pounding of his heart. She was calling to the beast in him—and the beast very much wanted a chance to get out and play…to touch and taste and consume.

  The man simply wanted to get those lush limbs wrapped around his body at the nearest possible moment, for the longest possible time, and fuck her ever-loving brains out.

  And hell, it looked like he was back to that again already.

  “So you’re a Witch?” she asked into the heavy pause, voice haltingly breathless.

  A lopsided grin played at one corner of his mouth. “Uh…Warlock, actually. Cailleachs, Witches, are female.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes blinking slowly against the soft morning light streaming in through the window. “I’ve never actually met a Warlock before. What exactly is it that you can do?”

  He took a step closer, the warm scent of virile male and rich leather surrounding her, touching her body like a sexual mist that could easily seep into her pores. A sensual cloud of erotic seduction and sin. He was a perfect mix of beauty and danger, something she knew she should run from while at the same time wanting to melt into him, tempting fate.

  For the first time in her life, she felt an impossible urge to press herself against a man with full, utter abandon, flesh-to-flesh, heat-to-heat, and beg…actually beg him into her body. Not just for sex, though the sex she definitely wanted. But something that went beyond the mere physical union. A deeper, more primitive hunger and need for connection, as if she’d be taking him into her soul. How odd that this would happen with a virtual stranger. Not even Lexi had affected her like this, and Lexi had damn near made her head spin, albeit in a way that had been uncomfortably frightening, as if her will had not been her own.

  “What do you need?” Kieran drawled in answer to her question, and the wicked sound of his deep burr stole into her body, seeking out her tender core until it had settled itself in for a hot, molten burn. Oh Lord, he was actually flirting with her, and her body liked it…a lot. She shifted, just to feel her thighs rub together, and his smile widened, impossibly wicked, outrageously seductive, as if he knew just how needy she was between her trembling legs. She licked her lips, strangely aware that she was losing her footing here, knowing that was a mistake she couldn’t afford to make. Not with this man. Not with any man—damn it—but sure as hell not with this one. He was too much…too much everything.

  But God, wouldn’t she love to be able to take him for a test ride. Just throw him to the ground, rip those faded jeans off that gorgeous body, and sink down onto what would surely have to be the most impressive erection she had ever seen. And considering Carly Simpson’s secret collection of Playgirl back in high school, she’d “seen” quite a few. None, however, that she thought could compare to the bulge behind Kieran McKendrick’s fly.

  It was with a little shock of awareness that she realized she was staring at his fly.

  Yep, right at his crotch.

  And, for some inexplicable reason completely unbeknownst to her, she wasn’t stopping.

  How odd.

  Oh hell, was she really just going to stand here and keep ogling the man’s magnificent jeans-covered penis? She tried to look away, she really did, but her eyes had ideas of their own, so it looked as if she were going to keep on staring.

  That being the case, she seriously hoped she didn’t start to drool.

  Yeah, drooling would definitely be bad.

  So would touching, come to think of it, but if she didn’t look away soon, she was fairly certain her lust was going to get the better of her and she’d find herself reaching out to touch someone.

  Hmm…grabbing an arrogant Warlock’s cock…now that was something she sure as hell didn’t do everyday. Maybe she was more beat from the flight than she’d thought. Huh—and she should probably stop, starting right about now, before she did something she was really going to regret. It was a fabulous idea, if only someone would explain the finer points of it to her greedy eyes…and even needier sex organs.

  She swallowed the lump of Kieran-flavored lust clogging her throat, mesmerized by the way the heavy bulge was beginning to grow—thickening within the soft denim—right before her eyes, and then the spell was broken as he reached out to tip her face up, his strong fingers warm beneath her chin.

  His deep burr was a rough stroke of sound, gritty with suppressed need, and his eyes blazed, the opalescent black swirling around the nearly invisible pupils as he stared down at her. “You’d best be careful, because you’re playin’ with fire, lass.”

  She held his stare, surprised by the husky sound of her own voice as she all but croaked, “I don’t play with men.” She had the strangest compulsion to keep challenging him, though for the life of her she couldn’t explain why. But it was a burning impulse in her gut, and one she had no power to deny.

  He broke their staring match, his black eyes dropping a scant distance to settle on the pouting lower lip she was suddenly trying very hard to keep from trembling. “So it’s like that, is it?”

  “From where I stand, it’s not particularly like anything.”

  “It could be like anything you wanted it to be,” he promised in a silky rasp, moving closer still, until her aroused nipples were nearly grazing the soft leather of his jacket. Kieran didn’t know why he was pushing her, except that it infuriated a place deep within that she was trying to act uninterested in him. God knew he couldn’t do anything about his outrageous attraction to her, but he was damned if he was going to let her act as if it didn’t bloody exist!

  One look at her and he’d been ready to take her. Hell, he’d been rock-hard and ready at the first whiff of her lush, intoxicating scent. It’d called to him, even though there was something elusive about it—something buried within that triggered his internal alarm. Something that wasn’t quite mortal, and yet, not entirely Magick. And the animal in him wanted it gone. Wanted to obliterate what smelled like the lingering scent of another man and replace it entirely with his own.

  And he was ready to do just that. Ready to simply slam her up against the nearest wall and bury his aching dick as far up into her as he could possibly get it. He wanted her tender cunt open and wet, the sleek muscles kissing the heavy head of his cock, milking his blunt tip, begging to have him speared into her, crammed deep until he’d nailed her to the wall and hammered her into an endless stream of orgasms that coated him in her cum and made him feel like a part of her.

  He wanted it—all of it—every single sight, sound, and taste so bad he could practically feel the need shaking through his starved system, like he’d been craving her for years instead of mere minutes.

  And he couldn’t fucking have it.

  It was so wonderfully ironic, after the way he’d manipulated the situation between Lach and Evan. Not that it wouldn’t have eventually happened on its own, but he’d been so certain they were meant to be that he’d taken i
t upon himself to make it happen, giving Evan his cousin’s address and sending her after the stubborn ass. From the devilish look he’d seen in Lach’s light green gaze since Té’s arrival, Kieran could only guess at what he was planning, but this was different. Saephus, how he wished it weren’t, but there was no denying the danger he now posed to Magick and gnach alike.

  As much as he wanted the little spitfire standing before him, he couldn’t fucking have her.

  “Powers,” she finally managed to murmur, her chest rising and falling in an agitated rhythm, though she tried to keep her expression calm. “I was asking about what you can do with your powers. I assume you have them.”

  “Aye, but you know what they say about assuming things, lass.”

  “Yeah, but from what I can see, you’re already an ass.”

  He smiled, telling himself to keep his damn eager hands off of her, but he couldn’t help but trace the feminine curve of her cheekbone, noting the incredibly silky texture of her skin, the way she flushed…trembled, at his touch. “And here I thought you didn’t know me at all.”

  She would have responded, but the argument between her sister and new brother-in–law suddenly erupted, snagging their attention. It’d have worried her, if not for Kieran’s lazy smile as his cousin exploded with frustration.

  “Och, it’s a simple power, woman. You trust me with your heart, why canna you trust me in this?”

  Evan smiled sweetly from her sprawled position on the leather loveseat, completely unfazed by the threatening note of aggravation in her husband’s deep burr. “No.”

  “Damn it, I dinna want some man putting his bloody hands on what’s mine,” Lach gritted through his teeth. “Especially when I can heal you better than he can.”

  His wife rolled her sparkling gray eyes. “You know, I seriously doubt the doctor will get a hard-on looking at my ankles, no matter how Scottish he is.”

  Lach snorted with derision. “Yeah, well, I get hard looking at them. Why the hell wouldn’t he?”

  “You get hard when the wind blows!”

  Té was trying very hard not to strangle on a swallowed laugh when the man nodded his head, as if confirming her sister’s accusation. “Aye, if it carries your sweet scent, you can bet your little ass I do. But only for you. I dinna get hard for anyone but my wife, and I damn well dinna want some other man putting his hands on what’s mine!”

  Evan’s silvery gray gaze narrowed and Té recognized the look. Oh man, her gorgeous brother-in-law was in trouble now.

  “You keep referring to a him. Are you implying that a woman couldn’t do the job, McKendrick?”

  Lach stiffened, clearly understanding the blatant fact that he was suddenly treading on some dangerous, shaky ground. Té assumed he’d be smart enough to play it safe and backpedal…fast, ‘til she heard him mutter, “No bloody doctor is laying his hands on my woman.”

  Té shook her head sadly. Poor guy. Maybe he wasn’t as bright as he looked. Then again, it didn’t really matter how intelligent they were—sometimes they could just slip into pure idiot mode as involuntarily as they breathed. It was one of those male things that women would never be able to comprehend, like beer for breakfast and The Man Show.

  She watched with a small grin as Evan poked a delicate finger into her husband’s broad chest. “Don’t sound like such a chauvinist, Lach! I’m sure there are female doctors at that hospital just as talented and as highly qualified as the male ones—if not more so.”

  He growled in the back of his throat, and Té couldn’t help but stare in fascination. These McKendrick men were a marvel of arrogance and beauty and mesmerizing dominance. And her sister obviously had this one wrapped so tightly around her little finger, it couldn’t help but make Té proud.

  “You know what I mean, Evan,” he muttered. “This is a simple skill—”

  “Well, I’m not buying it,” she huffed, the tone of her voice warning that she meant business. “You don’t go fixing your own injuries with your hocus-pocus, damn it. If it’s so freaking simple, then why did you have stitches in your leg when we first—”

  Evan broke off as her eyes cut to Kieran’s and Té’s engrossed expressions, the two of them clearly enjoying her and Lach’s little battle of wills. Her jaw ground down and she arched her brow. “Do you mind?”

  Kieran snorted, his black eyes sparking with mischief. “No, no, I dinna mind a’tall, sugar. You just keep laying into his worthless hide and I’ll stand here minding my own sweet business.” He had no intention of telling her that because Lach had been injured by another Magick, the wound couldn’t be healed with Magick, or that he would heal more slowly as a result.

  “Kieran, in case you’ve never noticed, there isn’t a single sweet thing about you.”

  A low, male laugh rumbled deep within his chest, and Té shivered beside him, clearly following his wicked thoughts. “Och, now, Evie,” he drawled, rubbing the side of his nose with his finger. “There may be one or two—but none that brute you call a mate would ever let me get near ya.”

  “Kieran—” Lach warned beneath his breath, and Té couldn’t quite catch her very soft, feminine burst of laughter at their crazy bantering.

  Evan gave her a look that clearly said Hey, you’re supposed to be helping here, not making it worse!

  “Sorry, Sis,” she chuckled around a sly grin, shrugging her shoulders. “They’re just too funny. All this male posturing and snarling. I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of a cockfight.”

  Kieran cut her a warm look, his deliciously big body crowding her once again, herding her right back into the far corner of the small office. His scent hit her harder this time, warm and male, like a sinful invader stealing into her blood, robbing her of free will. The man was that intoxicating—made her that hungry, that tempted, as if she’d been craving him for years, rather than an insignificant flash of time. There was no logical explanation. How could something like this happen so suddenly? Hell, it’d taken Lexi four weeks of asking her out before she’d finally agreed to go on a date with him, though things had gone lightning speed from that point on. But this man was a stranger, one she’d known no more than a handful of minutes, and yet he smelled like a part of her. Hot and sexy and completely irresistible, the curve of his lips and the wicked gleam of sensual knowledge in his gaze capturing her breath—refusing to give it back.

  Those dark, glittering eyes moved over her—her throat, where her pulse beat a pounding tempo, her collarbone, swollen nipples, down to the quivering, melting apex of her thighs—every surface they touched tingling as if he’d boldly stroked her with one of those big, delicious hands. “Tell me,” he murmured, his husky voice pitched low, for her ears alone. “Any cock you’d like to fight with in particular, lass?”

  “N-no,” she whispered. “I just enjoy watching your little show.” She hated the telltale quiver in her breathless voice, having never met a man who could put it there before. What was it about this gorgeous ass that had her so turned inside out? It must be stress. God knows she’d had her share of it lately. But hadn’t she learned enough in the past few months to know that sexy studs were soooo not her style? Especially the kind that screamed Alpha male and exuded the kind of sexual magnetism that made her just want to shove him up against the nearest wall, rip his monstrous cock out, drop down to her knees, and swallow his burning flesh right down her throat.

  Not her style? Hah! Tell that to her unbearably empty, weeping pussy. That traitorous body part was drenching her panties until she began to worry she’d actually get a wet spot on her jeans.

  His gaze blazed into hers, the black pupils lost in the ebony brilliance of his stare, the flame of desire leaping outrageously high, and she had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

  Oh my God, did he read my mind?

  One black brow arched in arrogant humor, but he only said, “When I give you a show, there’ll be nothing little about it, love.”

  Kieran pressed toward her, closer and closer, almost forgetting they didn�
��t have the room to themselves as his hands raised to the wall at her shoulders, caging her in. “And you’re welcome to fight with it anytime, beautiful.”

  She opened her mouth, another sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue, her pulse beating wildly at the strange fun she was enjoying by baiting the gorgeous stranger, but then Lach’s frustrated growl jerked their attention back to the other side of the room for a second time.

  Evan was apparently trying to gain her feet, while her husband had ideas of his own. “Damn it, Evie, I’ll handle this myself! No fucking doctors!”

  “Yeah?” Evan threw back, clearly furious, struggling to rise so she could look her husband squarely in his handsome face as he leaned over her. “And when the time comes, who’s going to deliver the baby, you ass? You?”

  “What bloody baby?” he muttered, trying to push her back down onto the small sofa without hurting her as she fought him to get up.

  Evan glared up at the giant, pointing one rigid finger at her flat abdomen. “This bloody baby!”

  There was an absolute moment of stillness, and then Lach jerked straight up to his full height as if he’d been struck by a jarring bolt of electricity. He quickly stumbled back a step…then two, his expression one of pure awe, utterly dumbstruck.

  “Sweet Carnissa and Saephus at once,” he croaked, staring at his wife’s belly. “Oh, Jesus.” He swayed, and Kieran lurched forward, catching him by his shoulders before he slumped to the unforgiving hardwood floor.

  Supporting Lach beneath his arms, Kieran flashed Evan a boyish grin, while Té rushed forward, smiling, and leaned down to whisper in her sister’s ear. Evan giggled while Kieran said, “Congratulations, beautiful.” He looked down at Lach’s pale face and gave a wicked chuckle, shaking his head of black hair. “Look at the poor wreck. You’re no’ going to faint on us, are ya, man?”

  Lach grunted and jerked in his cousin’s grasp, regaining his feet, though he still seemed somewhat unsteady. Staring down at his wife with an expression caught somewhere between bliss and terror, he whispered, “Are ya certain, lass?”