Magic at Midnight

by Gena Showalter

“I always desired you. You’re total pleasure, sweetheart.” He paused. Frowned. “You’re eternity.”

  Eternity . . . With that one word, joy and sadness battled for supremacy inside her. Joy because he was talking about forever with her; sadness because it had taken a love potion to get him to this point. However, she shoved the sadness away. Tonight was a night for magic and love. She would allow nothing else to intrude.

  Tomorrow the sadness could return and erode the precious memories she had formed. As for now, she would take what she could get, however she could get it.

  She’d wanted him too long.

  “I’ll give you eternity,” she said. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

  He broke eye contact and pulled her the rest of the way into his body. Her head rested on the hollow of his shoulder. “I’ve watched you grow from pretty teenager to exquisite woman.”

  A shiver stole over her skin. Was he speaking true, or did the love potion beckon him to lie and say anything that might please her? “Why did you constantly push me away, then?”

  He ignored her question. “Every time you walked into a room, you consumed my attention. If you had known just how much I desired you, you would have pursued me all the more. And if you’d pursued me any more, I wouldn’t have been able to resist you.”

  Sparks of exotic sensation pulsed through her. Unable to help herself and craving the taste of him, she grazed her lips over his neck. Her hands clutched at his back. Mmm, his skin tasted good, like expensive wine and twilight magic.

  “There was no reason to resist me,” she said. “I wanted to be with you.”

  “You amaze me.” He nuzzled her nose. “You could have any man you want, but you never gave up on me.”

  That sad little gleam returned to her eyes, and Hunter knew he’d do anything to get rid of it. “What if I swore to never run from you again? Would you smile for me?”

  In lieu of an answer, she brushed her lips over his neck once more. This time, however, she let her tongue explore, twirling, circling. He cupped her butt, lifting her slightly, and his erection rubbed the crevice between her legs. A moan tore from her. They were fully clothed, yet they were managing to make love on the dance floor, despite the people circling them.

  Genevieve bit his ear. “Help me understand why you ran. Did you think I would use you? Did you think we would no longer be able to remain friends?”

  He laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “No. I knew you wanted more than sex from me. I knew our friendship could survive.”

  “Then… why?”

  “Genevieve,” he said. The grief in her voice sliced through him, more lethal than a blade. He couldn’t tell her the truth because it would frighten her away. If she knew she was going to be the death of him, she would leave him.

  Now that he had her in his embrace, he wanted to keep her there. Would keep her there. He couldn’t believe he’d pushed her away for so long. Stupid. A mistake he’d never make again. Never had a woman felt more perfect in his arms.

  After all the years he’d hurt her, she deserved romance from him. Sweetness, tenderness, more than he’d ever given another.

  “You have the most amazingly expressive eyes.” He allowed his fingers to crawl down the curve of her bottom and play with the hem of her dress. “Have I ever told you that?”

  She sucked in a gasp of air; then, as she released the breath, she relaxed against him fully. “No. You never told me.”

  “More fool me. Your eyes are so intoxicating, sometimes green, sometimes velvety brown, and I always feel like I’m lost in them.” He brushed the side of her face with his, tickling her softness with his slight beard stubble, relishing the contact. He kissed the tip of her nose. Not dipping lower and tasting her lips proved nearly impossible. “Did you know you have three faint little freckles on your nose? When you’re angry or sad, those freckles darken. I’ve wondered over and over again if you have freckles on the rest of your body.”

  “I could…” She gulped. Her eyes widened and filled with eagerness. “I could show you.”

  “Yes. I would love that.” I’m not an honorable man. He stilled with the thought. Here she was, offering him a paradise he didn’t deserve. His mouth curled into a frown, and he stared down at her. She deserved a man who could love her forever, a man who hadn’t hurt her for years.

  So what? he thought in the next instant. She wanted him; he wanted her. He wasn’t a martyr. For what short time they had together—he knew his death was certain now, but he was past the point of caring—he would give her everything. His heart, his attention, his affection. He’d love her so thoroughly she’d savor the memories for the rest of her life.

  “I truly am sorry for how I’ve treated you in the past, sweetheart.”

  “I forgive you,” she said, her features sincere.

  His brows arched in surprise. “That easily?”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Genevieve.” He groaned her name as he meshed his lips into hers. She immediately parted for him, welcoming him inside. Her decadent flavor filled his mouth, so much richer than he’d ever imagined. She moaned, a needy sound, a greedy sound.

  Urgency roared to intense life. Shards of her magic flowed into his cells, awakening pieces of him he hadn’t known existed, crowning him with power and vitality. Warming him. He felt the pinprick rasps of her nipples against his chest and had to clench his fists in the material of her skirt to keep from kneading her breasts. Had they been anywhere else but a crowded barroom, he would have taken her. Would have pushed them both over the sweet edge of seduction.

  “I want you,” she breathed. “I want to make love with you.”

  “Hell, yes.” He’d place her gently in his bed and smooth his hands over her. Work his way up and down her body with his tongue. Her legs would part, revealing the wetness of her arousal. “Stay the night with me.” Stay forever.

  “Yes. With all my heart, yes.”

  His cock jerked in reaction. Passion blazed in her eyes—passion for him. Only him. She smoothed her tongue over her lips, taking his taste with it. Her eyes closed in surrender, and she was the very picture of desire. Of lust and love and his most private dreams.

  “Tell me what you’re going to do with me, once you have me in bed,” she said in a needy, aroused whisper. As if she had to know right then or she’d combust.

  “What would you like me to do?” If he did half the things floating through his mind, they wouldn’t walk for a week.

  “Everything.”

  He rubbed against her, the action causing pleasure/pain flickers through his body. “Kiss you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She bit her bottom lip.

  “Touch you?” He wanted so badly to drag her up to his room, to kiss and touch her now, but he was going to dance the entire song with her if it killed him. And it just might.

  A tremor slipped down her spine. “Where would you touch me?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Another tremor. “Yes, do that. Touch me everywhere.”

  “I’ll taste you everywhere, too.”

  “Please, yes.”

  He licked the shell of her ear. “I’m going to make you come so many times, you’ll—”

  The double doors suddenly bounded open and a horde of… creatures burst inside the bar, surrounded by a palpable air of menace. Instinctively sensing their danger, Hunter shoved Genevieve behind his back. The music screeched to a halt. At the bar, the three fairies instantly shrunk to their tiniest size, puffs of glitter-smoke wafting from them.

  Short, winged monsters with long fangs, more fur than a bear during hibernation, and razor-sharp claws formed a line in front of the doors, blocking escape. Their eyes were red and glowing; their angled, grotesque features were misshapen. Hideous.

  They were subdemons, he realized.

  Though different breeds were formed every day and he’d never encountered this type, Hunter recognized their scent: sulfur. As a monster hunter—pretending to be nothi
ng more than a bar owner—he’d stalked and killed their kind most of his life. Demons, vampires, predators of the night—the scum of the earth, in his opinion. They were creatures who survived on human carnage. They were pure evil, and he despised them all.

  Killing them had always been one of his favorite pastimes.

  “Did someone wish for excitement?” one of them asked.

  Genevieve gasped. “Oh, no. No, no. I take it back. No excitement.”

  “I suggest you leave,” Hunter told them, the actual words nearly undetectable, laced with rage. Genevieve slipped her hand into his, and he felt a tremor rush through her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of this,” he assured her quietly.

  “No.” The demon who had spoken, the tallest of the bunch—which wasn’t saying much, since he only reached Hunter’s navel—stepped forward and grinned slowly, anticipatingly. “I think we’ll stay.”

  The grainy, high-pitched voice sent shudders through him. “Your kind isn’t wanted here.”

  The creature’s stance became cocky, arms crossed over his chest, legs slightly parted, his expression taunting. His dark, broken wings fluttered like an erratic heartbeat. “Your woman doesn’t agree. She wished for excitement, so excitement we’ll give her.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Fighting past her fear, Genevieve stepped beside Hunter. She maintained her hold on him. Inside, her magic churned and swirled, dark and dangerous, ready for release. Sometimes the darkness of her powers frightened her more than her opponent; now she felt only fear for Hunter’s safety. “He asked you to leave nicely. If you don’t, I’ll wreak such horrible vengeance upon you that you’ll go home crying to the devil like little girls.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until we’ve granted your wish. Master’s orders.” Laughing, the demons broke apart, knocking over tables, throwing chairs, climbing up and down the walls, and tearing off chunks of stone. Men and women, fairies and gnomes, gasped and raced (or flew) out of the way. That the gnomes, stumpy, trunklike monsters with more brawn than brain, were scared, added to her worries.

  “Go upstairs and lock yourself in my room,” Hunter demanded.

  “I won’t leave you to deal with them alone. I can make them go away.” Amid shrieks of horror, the frantic pitter-patter of frightened people, and the evil vibrations of demon laughter, Genevieve raised her hands high in the air. “Burn to ash these demons shall, never a night again to prowl.”

  As she spoke, the demons flinched, anticipating the bombardment of her magic.

  “Pain and suffering you will endure,” she finished, “of this I am very sure.”

  Nothing happened.

  Shocked, frowning, she tried again. Again, nothing.

  The demons smiled slowly. “Looks like the witchy-poo has lost her powers.”

  More shock pounded through her; she uttered the spell for the third time. Still, no results. Why? “I—I don’t understand.” Why wouldn’t her magic work? A side effect of the love potion? No, surely not, but Glory had told her to only drink half. The demons should be writhing balls of fire. Instead, they were chuckling and amused.

  “Playtime is over,” a grating voice proclaimed. The demon snarled and flashed his dripping fangs. “Get her!”

  “Genevieve!” Hunter shouted as a creature lunged for her. Hunter grabbed it by the forearms and tossed it to the ground. He kicked and hit the demon with expert precision. His arms arched through the air so quickly the movements were barely visible. He ducked and spun, leaped and struck with poetic menace.

  Falon joined the fray, stabbing at the monkey wannabes with broken liquor bottles and wood shards.

  With the men occupied, another demon dove for her, slamming her into a table and knocking every ounce of air from her lungs. Dizzy, she sank to the ground. The only people she’d ever fought were her sisters, yet they hadn’t wanted to actually kill her. Still, she knew the basics of self-defense and how to fight dirty.

  Her opponent jumped astride her, pinning her where she lay. It licked its lips and tried to wrap its claws around her neck. She put her newly filed nails to use and poked it in the eyes. It howled, its attention on its pain, and she smashed her palm into its nose. In the next instant, Hunter kicked the demon away from her and grappled the hell spawn to the ground.

  “Demons of the night,” she chanted, standing, arms high in the air, “you will die now, I don’t care how.”

  The fight continued without interruption.

  Damn it! She glared down at her hands. Why wasn’t her magic working? She felt the power of it inside her, as potent as ever, yet it refused to be released.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a demon’s razor-sharp claws lengthen and slash at Hunter’s chest. He didn’t move in time, and blood began to ooze from the gaping wound. She gasped. Screamed. Fury and fear bubbled inside her.

  “Run, baby,” he panted, struggling to keep the creature from his throat.

  “No, I won’t leave you.” Nearing panic, she grabbed a long, splintered wood shard and raced toward the battling pair just as Hunter punched the bastard in the face and rolled away. “Catch!” She tossed him the shard.

  He caught it, and when the demon advanced, Hunter stabbed it dead center in the chest.

  The creature burst into flames.

  As the orange-gold flickers licked the walls and dissolved into ash, the tallest of the demons stopped tormenting a screaming gnome long enough to focus narrowed eyes on Hunter, who was pushing to his feet.

  “You’ll pay for that, human.” Two other demons approached the leader’s side, each of them glaring with hostility. “Oh, you’ll pay.”

  Genevieve grabbed a beer bottle, broke the end on the bar, and held the jagged amber glass in front of her. “You’ll have to fight me, as well,” she said bravely. At least, she hoped she sounded brave.

  “With pleasure, little witch,” was the delighted reply.

  “Damn it, Genevieve,” Hunter said. “When this is over I’m going to teach you to obey my orders.” He closed in on the demon, and a bleeding Falon closed into step at his side. Both men wore expressions of certain death—demon death.

  Her heart drummed in her chest. What should I do, what should I do, what should I do? When she’d wished for excitement, she hadn’t meant this.

  Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice as one of the demons sprinted to her. It reached her and knocked the glass from her hand before tossing her to the ground. Suddenly breathless, she lay still for a long while. Or perhaps she lay for mere seconds. Her attacker jumped on top of her and she fought like a wildcat, kicking and scratching. As it attempted to subdue her, its rancid breath fanned her face.

  “Be still!” it hissed. Its forked tongue slithered from between thin lips.

  She bit its arm, the taste of salt and ash filling her mouth.

  “Bitch!”

  “That’s witch to you.” She worked her arms free and clashed her hands together, then backhanded the creature across the face.

  “Dead witch.” Its sharp, lethal fangs emerged, dripping with… what? Not saliva. This smelled bad. Worse than bad. Evil. Like death. It gripped her wrists and held them down, its head inching toward her. She knew it was moving quickly, about to sink its fangs into her neck, but her mind processed it in slow motion.

  She pulled her knees to her chest and slammed her feet into the demon’s chest. Surprisingly, it flew backward and propelled across the bar. Gasping for air, trembling in fear, she jolted to a sitting position.

  “You okay?” Hunter panted, at her side. He dropped to his knees. Sweat and blood dripped from his temples. His gaze roved over her body frantically, over her ripped dress, searching for injury.

  “I’m fine. But you—”

  “Look out!” Falon shouted.

  Hunter whipped around; Genevieve gazed, horrified, past his shoulder. The demon she’d kicked was flying at her, hate in its eyes, a long shard of glass in its outstretched hand, mere seconds away from reaching her. Instincti
vely, she dove to the side. Anticipating such a move, the demon moved with her. Hunter, damn him, sprang in front of her, taking the blow himself.

  “Hunter!” she screamed.

  Eyes wide, he looked down at his chest.

  “Got him.” Laughing, the demon and the rest of his cohorts raced away. Some jumped through windows, the sound of tinkling glass echoing from the walls. Others rushed out the same way they’d entered. Hinges squeaked as the front doors burst into shattered pieces.

  Genevieve’s mind registered only one thing. “You’re hurt. Hunter, you’re hurt.” Still on her knees, she scrambled in front of him. Blood dripped from his chest, the glass embedded so deeply she could only see the tip.

  “I’ll be fine.” Weakness and pain tinged his voice. “Did they hurt you? Are you cut anywhere?”

  “I’m okay, damn you. I’m okay.” He looked so pale, causing her panic to intensify. Not even when she’d first spied the demons inside the bar had she felt this much fear. “You should have let him stab me.” Her chin trembled. “You should have let him stab me.”

  “I’m glad you’re well.” His eyelids drifted shut for a long moment. “I’d have to become a ghost and do the revenge thing if they’d harmed you.”

  “I need to pull out the glass and bandage your wounds, okay? I need to—”

  “It’s too late. Demon saliva… is poison, and one of them managed to bite me. Genevieve,” Hunter said, his voice so raspy she had trouble hearing him. “I want you… to know, you were totally… worth it.”

  Her arms anchored around him, her head burrowing against his chest. His heartbeat thumped weakly, sporadically. “Hunter, listen to me. You’re going to be okay. Let’s get you to my sister. She’s a healer.” She gazed at the bar, wild and desperate. “Someone call Godiva. Call her right now.”

  “I’ll do it,” Falon said.

  “My head is spinning.” Hunter’s forehead bobbed forward. “Help me lie down, sweetheart.”

  His full weight fell into her. She absorbed it as best she could, locking one hand at the base of his neck and the other at his lower back. Leaning forward, she slowly and as gently as possible lowered him. Seconds dragged by. By the time he lay completely prone, her arms burned and shook with exertion.