by Cait Miller
BELIEVE IN THE MAGIC
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, November 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
1337 Commerce Drive, #13
Stow, OH 44224
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0 064-1
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
BELIEVE IN THE MAGIC © 2004 CAIT MILLER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky.
Cover art by Syneca.
Warning:
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Believe In the Magic has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
Believe In the Magic
Cait Miller
Prologue
Two years ago
Like the cover of a romance novel, the young couple lay intertwined with each other on a heart-shaped bed, modesty safeguarded only by the closeness of their bodies and the tangle of the red satin sheet. The gold of their hair and of the rings on their fingers glinted in the light from the candles that flickered over them. Clothes lay scattered around the room, and a table by the window held the remains of two meals. On the nightstand, an open bottle of champagne rested in a bucket of swiftly melting ice next to two empty champagne flutes.
They did not stir when the door opened, slept on soundly even when he entered the room. He regarded the scene with grief, anger and satisfaction. The drug had worked.
For a moment he felt regret for what he was about to do but he smothered it mercilessly as he raised the gun in his gloved hand. The woman—no, creature—before him was no longer the little girl for whom he had had such hopes and dreams. His daughter was dead, the male she was wrapped around had seen to that. She was like him now and they would both have to be put down. He knew there were others. They could only be the work of evil. No human could do what they did. And so it was up to him to free their souls from torment.
In the end the decision was easy.
Chapter One
Today
The insistent buzzing of the dreaded alarm sliced through Megan’s brain, signaling her that it was time to start another day. Groaning softly she stuck an arm out from beneath the covers and slapped at the button on top of the clock until there was blessed silence. “Oh God…it can not possibly be time to get up yet.” It was warm and cozy under the quilt and she had had an unsettling night full of dreams she couldn’t recall. They had left her feeling unrested and groggy. Sticking her nose out from beneath the covers, Megan checked the digital alarm clock and saw that it was indeed six a.m. She flung back the quilt, swung her bare legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up, pulling the faded oversized T-shirt down over her backside as she rose and stumbled blindly to the bathroom and into the shower.
Forty-five minutes later, Megan pulled her ancient car into the parking lot at the side of the beachfront Seaview Hotel, a two-story monument to Scottish tourism complete with the distinctive blue and white flag of Scotland on the roof. Painted the color of sand, the narrow building had thirty rooms stretching to the back. The restaurant with its large glass conservatory was at the front, and the main door leading to the reception area at the side.
It was early September and the sun was already on its way up, though a wispy mist still hung over the sand and only a few ambitious—or stupid—people were visible jogging or following jubilant dogs.
Megan swallowed the last mouthful of coffee from a travel mug before clumping it onto the dashboard. She could have made the drive to work in her sleep, which was probably just as well considering she almost did. “I am definitely not a morning person…which of course explains why I choose to work the breakfast shift,” she grumbled sarcastically to the tired blue eyes that looked back at her from the rearview mirror.
She climbed out of the car and headed for the staff locker room to stow her bag, pulling her damp curly dark hair into a ponytail, and checking her white blouse and short black skirt and tights as she went. Actually the seven-until-four shift wasn’t so bad despite the uncivilized time she had to get out of bed. It meant the rest of the day was hers to do what she pleased. Anyway, she had been tired for so long now she was almost used to it, it was her own fault for going to bed late nearly every night. Briefly she thanked the god of all waitresses that she was on holiday for two weeks after today.
Danny, the brusque Irish chef, had already started cooking when she passed through the hot kitchen with all its gleaming stainless steel appliances—someone must already be down for breakfast. Short and nearly bald under his crumpled hat, Danny had been there as long as she could remember. Faded blue amateur tattoos climbed up his arms beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Megan turned a blind eye to his teapot filled with dark beer sitting on the counter behind him, as most of the staff did. Danny was an alcoholic, but he did his job and was loved by customers and staff alike. They had stopped trying to change him long ago.
“How is it going, Dan? Are we busy?”
“What time d’ya call this?” he growled without turning away from the bacon sizzling under the grill. He was notorious for being at least an hour early for work and it was his standard reply. Megan grinned and walked on. If she was half an hour early he would still say the same thing. He loved her really.
As she approached the dark wooden doors to the dining room she became aware of a building sense of trepidation. Frowning, she pushed open the door and froze. Sitting alone directly in front, watching as if he had expected her, was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. He looked to be in his early thirties, just about the right age for a twenty-six-year-old waitress, she thought whimsically. Although he was seated she knew he must be tall, but then, at five-foot-three everyone seemed tall to her.
In seconds her gaze ran over his short black hair and the sharp planes of his clean-shaven face to his broad shoulders and a fantastic chest covered by an indecently tight T-shirt. Through the shirt, a shadow of dark hair was just visible. She suffered a small pang of disappointment that the table blocked her view of what promised to be a lower half as heart-stopping as the rest of him. When she brought her eyes back up to meet his silver gaze, her head felt as if it were buzzing and the rest of the room faded away from them.
The spell was broken when his mouth curved in an insolent smile as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She felt the heat rising in her face and turned away to pick up an order pad.
Ah, but I do, Megan.
Megan’s eyes snapped back to his face as the deep
American voice floated through her head, but his eyes were on the newspaper on his table and his face impassive. You have got to get more sleep, Meg, she thought, shaking her head.
You had trouble sleeping last night? Me, too. Maybe we should try together.
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him again but he seemed to be paying her no attention. Get a grip, Megan. Telepathy is impossible, it’s just lack of sleep…or too much television and far too many vampire romance novels… You will go over there and take his order and he will not have an American accent.
There was only one other table occupied in the dining room. She decided to play it safe and headed over to the elderly couple to take their order, ignoring the word coward following in her wake.
Jack Douglass raised his eyes from his newspaper and watched her talk cheerfully to the people at the other side of the brightly decorated restaurant. Her Scottish accent was surprisingly easy to follow when he had been struggling to understand people since he arrived. They were discussing local tourist attractions, but her thoughts were chaotic as she tried to rationalize what had just taken place. The only other Scot he had ever been able to understand with ease was a good friend whose mother was American. She had influenced her son’s speech enough to slow him down and it appeared that someone had done the same for this woman.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His sharpened senses were tuned to Megan now and he easily picked out her unique scent from the multitude of others in the dining room. No perfume, just soap and her own skin. Now that he was in her presence magical energy zipped between them, an almost tangible force. It made his skin tingle and the hair on his arms stand up, like a storm was coming and the air was filled with electricity.
Jack allowed himself a small satisfied smile. He knew he shouldn’t toy with her but she was broadcasting her thoughts so loudly that he had been able to pick up more than he had anticipated. More than he had with the other women he had found, and he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. Nearly two years spent searching worldwide medical databases for records of women with the mark that declared their compatibility as a mate. More than a dozen wasted journeys where he had been tempted again and again to just give up and accept the inevitable.
It had all been worth it. He had finally found Megan Cartwright—in Scotland of all places! Although given that this was where his kind originated, he should probably have expected it. It hadn’t taken long for him to make a few inquiries and find out everything he could about her.
When he’d first seen her picture she had taken his breath away—she was beautiful. He still couldn’t believe his luck. He had known that she was the one the moment he was in her presence, linked with her mind, smelled her scent. The constant shiver of energy over his body as his magic reached out for her only confirmed it. It was a feeling he had begun to doubt would ever come.
The urge to mate had become more difficult to ignore. He had searched for so long now that sleeping and eating, never mind working, were becoming impossible. Perhaps the cruelest part of the mating cycle was that any time he had tried to gain relief by seducing a woman, he would find himself utterly repulsed and unable to even force himself to touch her. No matter how attractive he found her, it was apparent that only one of the marked would do. Several times now, he had been faced with women who could have given him that relief. Resisting the temptation had been harder than he had expected, but to give in to it would have meant giving up his hopes and dreams for the future.
It felt like his own body was betraying him. Now he was hungry and horny and temptation was once again standing ten feet in front of him pretending she couldn’t feel him. This time though, he could take what he wanted. An erection pressed painfully against his jeans as he thought about claiming Megan at last. He couldn’t wait to see the birthmark on the inside of her thigh—see it…touch it…taste it…
He waited patiently for her to approach his table. He had to physically touch her to begin the process that would bind them together. A physical conduit to allow his magic to spark the dormant magic in her body to life, sort of a metaphysical jumpstart. Once that process had started there would be no going back, he would begin to transform unpredictably. It was almost as though the bond drained some of the energy he needed to control his change. He had only experienced the transformation once before—at puberty, as all the males of his kind did—it had not been an enjoyable experience. Not only was it painful, but he had also hated the loss of control over his own body when he changed and when the primitive instincts overtook his senses.
There would be only a short time—days, maybe as much as a week if he was lucky—in which to fully claim Megan. Unless he completed their bond he’d begin to transform more and more often, and eventually he would become trapped in the other body for good. His heart pounded with fear at the thought. He had to be successful. His father had assured him that once he claimed his mate, his body and mind would no longer fight the transformation. He’d have complete control of it, allowing him to choose when to change and stopping the pain. Of course, his father also claimed that what he was able to do was a gift, one he and his mate would learn to revel in.
Jack sincerely doubted it.
He thought fleetingly of the effect the bonding would have on Megan before dismissing it—she would adjust, the same way he would have to. She was attracted to him—he hadn’t missed the appreciation on her face when she’d first entered the dining room. The sexual attraction between a shifter and one of the marked was always strong and for some that was enough. Even though it might mean spending the rest of your life bound to a woman who wanted to screw you every time she looked at you, but hated you while she did it. If he had to lose control over his body and his mind then at least he would be able to have some control over the reason why. He had grown up hearing his mother tell the story of how she and his father had met and fallen instantly in love. They had been married for thirty-five years now and seemed to be as happy together as ever. Jack wanted what his parents had. A Dearbh Ceangal. The Gaelic phrase literally meant “true bond”. Where the mated pair were compatible in every way, soul mates. He now knew that he and Megan Cartwright could have that, if only he could persuade her of the same.
Finally she turned her attention his way again. “Can I take your order?”
She stood by his table, and though her voice and expression were friendly she was broadcasting her confusion and tension loudly. He made her uncomfortable even though she was convinced her imagination was running away with her.
Skeptical as she was, Jack realized convincing her otherwise was going to be difficult. “I’m fine, thank you. I just had coffee and something from the buffet.” He gestured to the table brimming with fruit and cereal and smiled wryly as he thought of the struggle it had been to eat that much. He had already begun to lose weight, it would be nice to get his appetite back.
Shock and suspicion chased quickly over her face as his accent registered. Jack paused a moment, excitement and fear coursing through his veins—he was glad for the table as it hid the condition of his body. “Jack Douglass.” He offered his hand, refusing to be deterred when she did not immediately take it.
After a moment’s hesitation she decided she had no alternative and pressed her palm to his. “Megan Cartwright. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Douglass.”
“Jack, please.” He tightened his grip on her hand as she tried to withdraw it. Taking a deep breath he looked into her blue eyes and focused his mind on hers. He became aware of an aura of color surrounding her body. When he flicked a glance at their clasped hands he saw the silver of his own aura mingling with the white of hers. It was a spectacular sight and part of him mourned the fact that he would be the only one to see it. His vision blurred and he felt a sharp pain as a jolt of power surged through their joined hands.
When his vision cleared he saw the colors burn intensely for a second before fading. Megan gasped and pulled her hand away, quickly turning her back and walking into the kitchen.
Jack made no move to stop her. She had obviously felt the energy generated when they merged. She wouldn’t be aware of any other effects. He, on the other hand, would. The prickling shimmer of magic that had filled the air between them was gone now but his skin still tingled and he felt lightheaded. It was done.
He stood on shaky legs to leave the dining room. He needed the privacy of his own room to recover properly. It would take a blood exchange between him and Megan to complete the bond and to do that he needed to get closer to her. Their newly formed link and his other senses should allow him to track her when he was ready. Her scent was now imprinted into his brain, marking her even more strongly as his. Besides, he thought wryly, he had her address.
All he had to do was seduce her.
Piece of cake.
Megan stood with her back against the kitchen door, heart pounding, and absently soothed her tingling hand. What had just happened there? There was no way Jack Douglass was telepathic. Ridiculous! But she could not deny he had indeed had an American accent that sounded frighteningly like the one she had imagined as she entered the dining room. It was a lucky guess, coincidence…that is all, Megan told herself. She wasn’t entirely convinced but there was no other explanation she was prepared to accept. Her mind was made up as her heart slowed to its usual rhythm. There was no need to see him again after today, and it was a small town but not too small to avoid Jack Douglass. She’d be on holiday and he would no doubt be gone by the time she returned.
Settled at last, she took a deep breath and went back to work, telling herself she was glad his seat was now empty, and ignoring the pang of disappointment from deep inside.
* * * * *
