Caged Magic

by Jennifer Lyon

  The man’s eyes fluttered open, and he rasped out, “Hellfire.”

  Cold sweat broke out on Linc’s back. All the fires, then the scent of sulfur and flesh…. “He’s shooting hellfire? From the Underworld?” That explained the black-edged flames on the Mystique Hotel.

  The rogue snapped his mouth closed, his muscles locked in pain, just before a violent seizure ripped through him.

  Linc tried to hold him—they needed more information—but the rogue stilled, his eyes going wide, then the blankness of death settled over his gaze.

  “Shit,” Ram said. “The seizure forced my knife into his heart. He’s done.”

  After releasing the dead rogue, Linc strode to the car where he’d seen the hybrid and the dark-haired witch. The scent grew stronger as he approached the light blue Nissan Maxima. Linc crouched down and eyed the red smear over the front wheel well. The blood browned at the edges as it dried.

  Buzzing filled his ears, drowning out the noise of shouts, flames and general mayhem around them. Beneath his torn shirt, his tattoo itched violently. That four-inch smear of blood drew him. Tempted him.

  Don’t touch it! He knew better. He’d been blooded before. If he touched the blood, even this small amount, it would be enough to send him to full bloodlust.

  Want it.

  Need her, the witch with the cinnamon-scented blood.

  More brown crept in at the edges of the blood smear, eating away at the rich red that held the power of a witch. He vibrated with the compelling urge for that blood.

  He lifted his hand.

  Can’t stop.

  Don’t want to.

  The thin scent still clinging to the blood cells reached deep inside Linc, and he saw the witch in his mind. Long black hair around a face that even unconscious had been tight with wariness. Her lithe body cradling that child. Desire to touch her snapped and burned his muscles. Losing control, he pressed his hand flat to the smear. Felt the metal of the car warmed from the fires and the slight crust on the drier edges of the blood.

  But the wet center of it adhered to his palm and locked his hand in place.

  Time stopped as that insignificant spot of blood took hold of him. Fire lashed into his brain. His groin throbbed, and the all-too-familiar hunger for witch blood ripped open the pores on his skin. Sweat slicked his chest, arms and neck with the hunger for her blood. The words find her thumped in his head.

  “Linc.” Ram’s hand clamped around his wrist. “I smell witch blood.”

  Shooting to his feet, he shoved the other man back. Vicious fury reddened his brain. Wait, it’s Ram. Stop. Bloodlust. “Don’t.” He held up his hand, nearly panting as he fought the dual cravings for witch blood and sex battling in him.

  Anger iced Ram’s eyes, and he got up in Linc’s face. “You fucking moron. You touched witch blood?”

  Shame and disgust tangled in an agitated dance in his belly. “Had to. The itch on my back…” He blinked. Even as flames snapped into the hellish night, people rushed in panic, and bloodlust tore through his veins, a fresh sense of wonder and hope eased his chest. “It stopped.”

  “What?”

  “The itching in the falcon tattoo. It went from a one to a ten, and now it’s gone. A second or two after I touched the blood, the itch vanished. There’s just a feathery sensation.” He studied his palm where the smear of blood had vanished. “The bird is waking. This witch, she’s my soul mirror.” Right? She had to be. Hope surged.

  Ram’s jaw hardened. “Could be the bloodlust screwing with you. You were batshit crazy when you were blooded.”

  Could be, except the itch had stopped. “Her blood is too powerful and…” How did he explain it? “There’s a connection. Different from other witches’ blood. I can feel her magic in the bird.” That was what was creating the faint feathery sensation. “She’s mine. I have to find her.”

  Skepticism lowered Ram’s brows. “We have bigger shit to deal with. You heard that rogue we killed. The hybrid chose to be a demon. That means he’s dangerous as fuck. He’s shooting hellfire. Asmodeus didn’t give his spawn hellfire to shoot for shits and giggles. This is a demon attack.”

  All the wonder vanished as reality slammed home. “Exactly. And that spawn took the witch. My witch, and that baby she was holding.”

  “A baby witch. Fuck, let’s go. We’ll track them, then wait for Sutton to get here. He’s mated. The witch blood won’t bother him.”

  Linc turned, catching the fading scent of the witch’s magic, and jogged up the boulevard. He kept seeing the witch and baby in his head. Had to be her kid, right? Hell, that complicated things. What if she was in a relationship with someone else? Dark, possessive rage simmered.

  Stop. Just keep your shit together long enough to find her. Then he’d worry about whether or not she was free.

  One way or another, she was his.

  * * *

  Risa woke to a sizzling sound. In the next instant fiery pain lashed around her neck, sending streaks of agony through her nerve endings.

  When it stopped, she curled on her side. Cold metal pressed into her cheek. Her head pounded, her neck and shoulders cramped, and just breathing hurt. But something nagged at her mind, poking and prodding. It wouldn’t let her slide back into the soft darkness. Something important…

  Blythe! Oh Ancestors, Blythe had been murdered and Kendall taken. Forcing her eyes open, Risa slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. Vertigo made the room spin, and she swayed like she was on a rope swing. Swallowing a wave of nausea, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed the movement to stop.

  Once it calmed, she looked around carefully to keep from aggravating the nausea.

  Oh God. Surrounded by metal bars of a four-by-four cage, Risa swung a good six or eight feet off the ground. Where was she? It only took a second to focus her vision in the low light provided by several lanterns. Below, to her left, stretched a stage with a pole going up to the ceiling.

  Strip club.

  And she wasn’t alone. Metallic fear shot up her throat as the severity of her situation set in. Across the room, a cluster of hulking men gathered around a long, mirrored bar. A couple lanterns revealed eight to ten, all with bulging muscles, too-soft faces and hairless arms.

  Rogues. In a strip club.

  She’d hit the mother lode of trouble. How had she ended up here all packaged up in a cage like a rogue Happy Meal? Where was Archer? Struggling to climb to her feet, she noticed something heavy around her neck. Reaching up, she touched a collar. A wave of panic curled her fingers around it, desperate to get it off. It didn’t budge. Remembering the searing pain that had forced her to consciousness, she guessed what it was—a shock collar.

  “It’s not coming off, sleeping beauty.” A man rose from the shadows. He’d been sitting at the tables spread at the base of the stage. Dark-haired, wearing slacks, no shirt and a gold chain slithering around his thick neck, he held up the remote control. “For the shock collar.”

  Cold fear dripped down her spine. Blasts of electricity from the collar would disable her magic. After setting the remote on the table, he leaped up on the stage and crossed to the opposite end by the curtains. Grasping a handle, he rotated the wheel.

  Her cage began descending. Risa grabbed the bars, struggling to keep her panic controlled and think. Finally the cage touched down on the end of the stage.

  “Seems you really pissed Archer off.” The man shook his head. “So he gave you to me, with the stipulation that I make your death long and agonizing.”

  Her stomach turned over sickeningly, and bile rose in her throat. How the hell would she get out of this? She had to save Kendall from Archer. On top of promising Blythe, Risa couldn’t let that baby stay in the hands of a demon madman.

  Just thinking Blythe’s name made her eyes burn, and thick, harsh grief twisted in her chest. Why even go on? She’d failed her best friend, her only real friend.

  Kendall. That’s why. You have to find the baby and save her. Focus.

 
Renewed determination pushed back her grief. Blythe had loved Kendall more than anything. For Blythe, Risa would find a way to survive and rescue Kendall from her demonic father. What Archer had become…no child should be subjected to that. Risa knew what it was like to be raised by a monster, and she couldn’t let that happen to Kendall. “Where’s the baby?”

  “Not your problem. But I am. You can call me Cyrus when you beg for your life.”

  “Don’t kill her before I get my hit of her blood.” One of the goons at the bar set down his glass and strode toward the stage.

  More followed.

  Fear and anger sharpened her senses. Carefully she looked over the others. Excitement flared their nostrils and dilated their pupils. When she looked lower, many had erections straining their pants.

  “Time for the show. Strip and show us what you’ve got.” Cyrus slid a knife from a holster strapped to his thigh. The black handle and curved blade caught the low lantern light. “Make it good, cupcake. Or I’m coming in there to get the real party started.”

  A wave of dizziness nearly dropped her to her knees. Breathe and think. How did she fight these huge men with no gun? She didn’t have any other weapons—not even her protective shield, since the shock collar would prevent her from using magic. “You need to remove the shock collar so I can get my shirt off.”

  Cyrus set the knife down and shoved his pants off, leaving him in black briefs that did nothing to disguise his thick thighs or rock-hard erection. Retrieving his weapon, he arched a brow at her. “Not happening. Archer warned me that you have some special magic you can use as a shield.” After punching in a code on the lock, he swung open the door and stepped into her cage, reeking of copper and excitement. The door clanged shut.

  Risa retreated until her back hit the bars. Cyrus stood over six feet in height, his eyes dark and soulless.

  Panic squeezed her chest. “I’ll do what you want. Strip. Get out and I’ll—”

  Behind her, hands gripped her wrists where she held the bars. Whipping her head around, she got a close-up view of a blond man with light eyes that gleamed in excitement. “You smell good, like a scared little witch ready to beg.”

  A second later, fire sliced a few inches up her belly. Jerking her gaze back to Cyrus, she bit down on a scream.

  Grabbing the edges of her shirt, he ripped it open, shoved it back and slammed his body against hers. A sensual groan spilled from him as he ground against her cut belly. “Oh yeah, the slut’s got magic.”

  “I want my turn, Cyrus.”

  She thrashed, but her hands pinned against the bars left her helpless. Red pain swam in her mind. Desperately she tried to reach her magic, but nothing happened. God, when would it stop? Five years ago she’d thought she’d escaped, and here she was being used and hurt again.

  You deserve it. What about all those you didn’t save? Like Blythe?

  Cyrus moaned, his beer-scented breath making her recoil. His skin slid against hers, thick cock rubbing over the cut. Too many memories exploded. Other men hurting her. Risa twisted, slamming her head into his jaw.

  He jerked back, grabbed a handful of her hair and smashed her skull into the bars.

  Pain exploded in a violent starburst. She squeezed her eyes shut as tiny bursts of lights popped against her eyelids. Nausea boiled in her stomach.

  “She’s a fighter. So fucking good,” Cyrus growled, dragging a hand across her cut.

  More pain. Risa panted and concentrated on not screaming or begging as she forced her eyes open.

  “I paid you,” the man behind her gripping her wrists snarled at Cyrus.

  Cyrus sighed and pushed back with a smile twitching his mouth. “They all paid me for a hit of you, but in the end, I get the kill.”

  She glared at him, breathing through the agony, from the cut, fear and the clawing knowledge that Kendall was out there somewhere. She had to live to find that child. Think! How could she get out of this?

  A man strode into the club. “I want in on this action.”

  Cyrus spun, his massive shoulders tensing. “Well, now, look who we have here. Linc Dillinger. The man who killed one of my friends earlier tonight.”

  Risa strained against the hands holding her to see around Cyrus. On the stage stood a man who had to be six-and-a-half-feet tall, over two hundred pounds, brown tousled hair with expensive highlights. He wore a stained and torn silk shirt, dark slacks and shoes that cost more than her trailer.

  Who was he?

  Staring at him ignited a tingle that rippled through her first four chakras, startling her. She hadn’t been able to get to her magic, but one look at him and it tingled? His eyes burned with a gold heat in their brown depths as he ignored the men gathering behind him, blocking his escape.

  “That was business, Cyrus. Your rogue cadre issued a challenge, we answered.”

  “We?” Cyrus opened the cage and walked out to face the newcomer. “So you’re part of Baron’s club?”

  She had no idea what they were talking about. Right now, being a bleeding captive held at knife point took precedence to their reunion, or whatever the hell it was. “Let me go,” she demanded.

  The bastard squeezed her wrists until she thought her bones would snap.

  “Nope.” Smooth confidence laced Dillinger’s voice. “But he paid me well and I did the job. Business. I’ll give you ten K for the witch.”

  He wanted to buy her?

  Cyrus stopped just out of arm’s reach of the man. Tilting his head, he said, “What the fuck is your game, Dillinger? You’ve made a name for yourself as a Wing Slayer Hunter in California rescuing witches. You don’t buy them for sport. Or is this your lazy way of rescuing them?”

  “What do you care, if you get the ten grand?”

  A strange desperation to get closer to the newcomer rippled down her spine, and she yanked on her wrists. To her surprise, the man let go this time. Drawn to the stranger, Risa shuffled across the cage and wrapped her fingers around the bars. She’d heard of Wing Slayer Hunters.

  “So, the rumors are true then.” Cyrus’s voice took on a gleeful note. “You were blooded, and now you’re hooked.”

  Dillinger’s gaze cut to her.

  The impact took her breath away. His eyes were lighter than she’d first thought, more gold than brown. Yet the color had a depth that pulled her in and made her long to know more about him. The connection vibrated so deeply, her magic fluttered again. Not enough to do any real witchcraft, but still more than she’d felt since she’d woken in the cage. Maybe he was there to rescue her and claiming he wanted to buy her was a ruse? After all, Wing Slayer Hunters had a rep for saving witches.

  He broke eye contact and returned his attention to Cyrus. “It’s created an unfortunate problem for me. I need a hit of blood now and again.”

  Laughter spilled out from Cyrus. “You’re slinging bullshit.” He glanced behind the intruder. “You two, go outside and see if he brought backup with him.”

  The two men at the back headed out.

  “Fifteen thousand, last offer,” Linc said. “You have two minutes and I’m out.”

  Cyrus crossed his arms. “Why her?”

  “Convenience. I smelled her blood, tracked her here. I’m finding it tiresome to hunt down witch blood while keeping that particular need quiet from the other Wing Slayer Hunters. I’ve decided to acquire a blood donor.”

  Blood donor? Crap. She guessed he didn’t mean the Red Cross-approved type of blood donor. Wait, still could be a ruse. Risa knew all about luring people into believing one thing, then killing them, thanks to her bastard father.

  “Tell you what. Let’s see you strip down to your skivvies and no weapons. Get in that cage and take a hit of her blood. Convince me you’re telling the truth, then we’ll negotiate.”

  No. Don’t do it, she silently begged. Please, for once in her life, she needed a hero. Not for her, but for Kendall. Risa willed her hope to reach him. Be a good guy. Dillinger shifted his stare to her.

  The he
at of his gaze slid over her face, down her torn shirt, tiny bra and bleeding belly, then pulled away.

  “Scared?” Cyrus taunted. “Can’t back up your claim?”

  The wound on her stomach burned, her head throbbed, and she hung on to the bars to keep upright, but all her energy focused on hope. She’d read endless stories about the hunters who had committed to serving Wing Slayer. Tales of rescuing witches and resisting the curse filled the secret witch gossip sites on the Internet. Be one of them, be a hero. She clung to that lifeline.

  He turned, met her gaze. “Scared of a witch? Hardly. I just want her blood.”

  Despair flooded out her hope, and damn, it hurt. Her throat ached, and her nose clogged. Blythe, oh God, I’m so sorry.

  Save Kendall! You swore, Risa! You swore! Blythe’s death plea rang in her head.

  Closing her eyes, she laid her forehead against the bars and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  So what now? Would she just give up? Oh hell no. Blythe was dead, her soul trapped in Risa’s magic. That left only Risa to do something.

  Snapping open her eyes, she glared at Linc. If she could reach him, she’d slug him right in his too-handsome face. “You’re a disgrace to your god, you son of a bitch.”

  He flashed her a perfect smile. “Feisty witches have a little extra kick in their blood, don’t you think?”

  Hatred roiled in her blood. “Bastard.”

  That smile hardened as he pulled off his shirt and turned away from her to drop it on the stage.

  She gripped the bars firmer, ignoring her sore wrists, her gaze riveted on him. His skin was a light bronze, tight and smooth over roped muscles that shifted and undulated with every breath the man took. His shoulders were nearly double the width of hers. His back bunched with restrained power.

  But what caught her attention was the tattoo that stood center stage on his upper back and shoulders.

  A falcon inked in incredible detail. The bird’s abdomen had gray bars across the white background, and the chest had teardrop markings in the same color. His wide, pointed wings were spread open, revealing a glimpse of the intricate gray barring on the underside and the darker solid feathers on the outside. The bird had a distinctive yellow eye ring, along with a mostly yellow beak and feet.