by K. F. Breene
“Oh.” I smiled at him and then tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.
“I can help you. I can feel your magic, pulsing within you. I can help you release it. That is why you summoned me, is it not? You require…release?”
His eyes sparkled devilishly. My chest felt tight, like I wasn’t getting enough air.
“Y-yes.” I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool but so out of practice with all this. I hadn’t expected to be this fervently attracted to someone so quickly, especially someone much younger and way hotter.
“Power trumps beauty,” the walls whispered. But this was not the voice of Ivy House—it was a woman’s voice, the same one I’d heard before accepting the magic—Tamara Ivy, the creator of this place, if I had to guess. “But just like you wouldn’t trust someone who only valued you for your beauty, trust no one who only lusts after your power. Trust no one who doesn’t see you for you. Your life depends on it.”
Fair point, but a depressing sentiment. She wasn’t the happiest of women. Being murdered would certainly do that to a person. I really needed to find out the story behind that so I had a little reference for her words.
“I mean, I need help controlling the magic,” I said. “I can do some things, but I have a lot to learn. I need someone to help teach me.”
He took another step toward me, his head bowed to look down into my eyes. I licked my lips, trying to hold my ground. “You know all you need to know,” he said. “You merely have to release the information from your mind, and the magic with it. Slowly at first, to get used to it, but then in wild, hard, pleasurable gushes.”
Okay, that was a little much with the double entendres. I knew that logically, anyway, but my body hadn’t quite gotten the memo, because I shivered hot and cold.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
Another step, right in front of me now, leaning over me so our breath merged, the air between our mouths heating. “I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice not much more than a hum. “I just do. The second I landed on Ivy House soil after rescuing you, I felt it. I felt it as hard as I felt your summons. Just like I can feel your magic, which isn’t something I can normally do. I am meant for this role, Jacinta. I am meant to help make you our queen.”
Like Edgar finding the book because he was meant to read the old scripts. Clearly Ivy House had deemed Damarion worthy, and given him a few tools to help him train me.
She couldn’t somehow superheat my blood within his proximity, could she? Because that was just wrong on so many levels.
“Okay, well…” I took a nice, big step back, just in case. “O-kay. I’m going to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Flying, right?”
“Yes. I’ll take you flying after your training, and then to dinner.” He put his forearm in front of his waist and bowed. “If you’ll allow me to escort you.”
My belly fluttered. “Uhm, sure. I should warn you, though, I haven’t been lucky on the dating front. Zero for two. Well, zero for three if you count the failed marriage…”
What was wrong with me? He’d said dinner, he hadn’t said anything about dating! Even if he had, my response shouldn’t have been to knock myself and call out my divorced status in the same breath. Abort, abort!
“Anyway…”
“Tomorrow, we will end your streak of bad luck.” He took hold of my hand gently, his palms baby-soft, and brushed his lips across my knuckles.
I wanted to swoon, but instead all I felt was awkward, especially since his pants had tented, I couldn’t stop from noticing, and this situation was escalating a lot quicker than I was comfortable with.
“Good night.” I yanked my hand out of his grasp, turned like an army captain, and strutted away.
My first breath came after I turned the corner. Holy crap, that had been intense. He’d been super forward. His confidence was off the chain, so that was probably why, but still, that whole exchange had blown the doors off my comfort zone.
The door on my left opened, and I jumped, startled. The door slammed shut.
“Oops.” I magically pushed it open again. I might not have mastered much of my magic, but I did know how to work with Ivy House. “Sorry about that,” I said as Ulric, the guy with the pink and blue hair, jumped back from the door, looking at it, then me, with wide eyes.
“Hey,” he said, running his hand through his hair. He pointed at the door. “You can do telekinesis, huh?”
“Yes, supposedly. Edgar says so, at any rate, but I don’t know how yet. That wasn’t telekinesis, though, that’s just the power of Ivy House.”
“Uh-huh.” Tilting his head with squinted eyes, like he was processing that uncomfortable fact, he stepped out of the room. He was compact, not much taller than me, and leanly muscled, like a dancer, his physique less brutish than many of the others. He pointed the way I was headed. “That next room has a bunch of dolls in it. I accidentally walked in there thinking it was my room. It is not.”
“Yeah. They aren’t mine. I mean, technically they are, but Mr. Tom won’t let me burn them, so…”
“Ah. Well, you know, some are nice…and normal. Some, though, are a little…”
“Screwed up?”
“Nightmarish, I was going to say. Made from a warped mind. The jar of doll eyes floating in liquid is also a little…” He put up his hands. “I’m not judging. My sister had a ton of dolls—not that many dolls, but a lot. I mean, a lot for a normal house. I don’t mind them, I was just surprised, is all.” He grinned at me, his signature facial expression. “Just didn’t peg Her Royal Highness for a doll lover.”
“I hate them, actually, especially since they come alive and kill people.”
His smile dripped away. “What?”
“Don’t worry, they can’t open doors. Ivy House can, but they can’t.”
“If I get on Ivy House’s bad side, I should get out of this house as quickly as possible, huh?”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t make it. The house would kill you before you reached the door. If you did reach the door, even more dangers would await you on the grounds—dangers you’d never see until you were dying from them.” I smiled at him. “Welcome and sweet dreams.”
“A female alpha…” he said as I walked down the hall. “I don’t think I’m cut out for a female alpha. Clearly they are a helluva lot more creative with their scare tactics. I’m going to have nightmares.”
“Welcome to the club.”
“Nicer to look at, at least,” he mumbled, not returning to his room. “Hey, quick question…”
I stopped and turned back, waiting.
“Are you and that enormous polar bear an item?” he asked.
“No. Just friends.”
“Sweet. Wanna bang? Quick or slow, up to you. I can pull your hair if you like. Or you can pull mine—whatever you’re into.”
For a moment, all I could do was stare while trying to process his offer. At least he hadn’t hit me up with innuendos and unasked-for intimate intensity. I kinda liked this approach better. Answer was the same, though.
“No, I’m good,” I said, my frown somewhat masking the lightness of my mood. I didn’t know whether to laugh or shake my head at him.
He made a gun with his fingers. “You sure? I can knock out a quick orgasm for you, if you want. You seem stressed. A little tongue tickle between your thighs might be just the ticket.”
The laugh won. He was so carefree and blasé about it. He put me at ease while propositioning me. That was talent.
“Nah, I’m good, thanks. Wine works, too.”
He dropped his hand and shrugged. “No worries. When you realize that wine doesn’t, in fact, work better, my door is always open. Mostly because you can apparently open it yourself. I’m good to go at any time, day or night. Just come hop on.”
“Oh my God, good night.” I laughed again and turned, happy to hear an answering chuckle.
“I’m looking forward to working under a female,” he called after me, laughter in his voice. “It’ll be a fun
ride…”
There it was. Wow, these guys would take some getting used to.
I sighed as I closed my bedroom door. My pace slowing, I crossed the room to the little table by the window, looking out into the darkness. I could just make out Edgar by the labyrinth made of hedges, opening and closing his garden shears. Even after the day we’d had, he was tending to his duties, helping Ivy House stay beautiful and uncharacteristically weird.
I sat in a chair and allowed the memories to rush over me—plummeting through the air, landing in that spiderweb clearly meant to detain me, falling through said web and nearly splatting against the rocks, and being launched back into the air by Mr. Tom.
I hadn’t thanked Mr. Tom for saving my life. I hadn’t even remembered until this instant. He’d been hurt, under fire, and still he’d thrown me out of harm’s way, if only for a moment. It was his actions that had kept me alive long enough for Damarion and Ivy House to come to the rescue.
My heart swelled. Then guilt ate at me. I’d repaid his heroics by accidentally rousing him before he’d fully healed in stone form. He’d served drinks through the pain, then proceeded to make pizza for everyone because he couldn’t suffer for a paid establishment to do his job. At least Ivy House had helped heal him, but still, I’d been so mesmerized by Damarion that I’d forgotten about poor Mr. Tom. That wasn’t right.
“I’ll do better tomorrow,” I said to the quiet room as my phone chimed.
I pulled it out of my pocket.
A text from Austin: A mage escaped that fight. He’s dead now. I have some information to talk to you about. Can you stop by the bar tomorrow?
Yes, I texted, leaning against the chair back, watching Edgar work. What time?
Niamh’s usual drinking time is fine, he replied.
I nodded, as though he could see me, and noticed the three dots saying he was writing more. Looking out of the window while I waited for him to finish, I flinched a little when Edgar let go of one side of the shears and waved, his claws glinting in the moonlight from the nearly full moon. The light was out, but he’d noticed me anyway, because of course he had. He was a vampire.
Feeling a little stupid, I glanced at the phone. The dots had disappeared, only to flare up again, no text coming through.
Hurry up and spit it out, I texted. I’m tired.
The dots disappeared. The phone rang a moment later, his name coming up.
“Yup?” I said by way of hello.
“Hey.” His deep voice was soft and slightly raspy. “Just wanted to say…credit where credit is due. I covered more ground today than I ever have in my life, but I had enough energy left over to take down a pretty tenacious mage. I have as much strength and endurance as I did in my twenties, but I’m ten times smarter and more experienced. It matters. Knowing when to save energy, when to cut corners, when to go hard—it all matters. It makes me, right now, better than I’ve ever been in my life. It’s like the perfect storm of amazing.”
I laughed, my head lolling against the chair back. “Oh yeah? That good, huh?”
“Better. I never did thank you for making this possible.”
“Probably because you didn’t ask for it, and it came at a price you weren’t comfortable paying.”
“Still. Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say. The explanation was too long for a text.”
I laughed again, grateful for this return to normal before I went to bed. “One got away, huh?”
“Yes. It makes me nervous that the gargoyles didn’t catch him. This guy was mediocre at best, so they should’ve. He wasn’t good enough to entirely disappear.”
“Clearly, since he is now…you know.”
“Dead, yeah. I got some information out of him, but he tried to kill me.”
“He tried to kill you?”
“Of course. I’d captured him, so what else do you think he was going to do? I couldn’t get his boss’s name out of him, though. It leaves us with a blank spot. But given Elliot Graves’s interest in you in the past…”
He let the sentence linger.
Elliot Graves was apparently a big to-do in the magical world, someone like a top crime boss. I was told that he had magic in spades, and given he’d sent a couple of guys to grab me, he was definitely interested. I was pretty sure he was also the mysterious guy who’d shown up outside of Ivy House the night I’d claimed the magic, indicating he’d orchestrated the attack on the house to get me to accept my magic.
He’d said he would meet me soon.
I hadn’t told anyone about that. I’d meant to, trying to find the right words. I worried that the extra pressure might push Austin into thinking he had to accept the house’s magic in order to protect me, further forcing him into a role he didn’t want. Or Mr. Tom stressing to the point of trying to strip away all our freedoms. A day had passed, then a week, then a month, then two… Nothing had happened. We’d just bumped along in safety. I figured that the second something looked suspicious, I’d definitely fess up.
I would, too. I would tell all. Just not on this call. Not right now, when I was dead tired.
“I’ll talk to you about this when Niamh is around,” he said, and I figured that would be a good time to share my info as well. “She’ll want to know the details. Earl, too, I guess.”
He did not sound enthused about that last one. I laughed, then remembered my plans. “I agreed to have dinner with Damarion tomorrow. I’ll stop by afterward. He should probably be in on the talk, anyway.”
Silence filled the line for a moment. “Sounds good.” But his tone said otherwise, and I rolled my eyes. He’d need to get over the way they’d first met. “What’s the plan for training tomorrow?”
“Training on the grounds and then flying over them. Ivy House will have our backs. If anything crosses the threshold of the grounds, I’ll know. Your time is your own.”
“Sounds good.” This time I wasn’t sure what his problem was. I’d expected a thank you for not wasting his time. I could have asked, but I was also too tired for curiosity. “See you at the bar,” he added. “If that doesn’t work out…I’ll…come there.”
I frowned, looking over the grounds. “Why wouldn’t it work out?”
“Who knows. Night.”
“O-kay, good—” But he’d already hung up.
I shook my head and placed the phone on the table, letting my mind drift for a moment, ending on a handsome face and a nice pair of eyes. The memory didn’t linger, though. Almost immediately, the feeling of falling helplessly rattled my nerves.
I had to learn to fly. I also had to harness this magic.
A handsome face and nice body aside, I sure hoped Damarion had been right. I hoped he had some sort of key to unlock what was inside of me. My future depended on it.
14
Here I was again, staring at the woman in the mirror, this time in a slinky navy-blue number with a fun shimmer. It didn’t squeeze me like the last dress, but instead hugged my curves and draped over my chest, not revealing too much of any one thing or making my body shape too obvious. It was modest, but in an alluring way that sent the imagination under all those drapes and folds. Truth be told, I was still getting used to looking like this again.
“Own your space. Grab life by the balls.”
I let out a slow breath, eyeing my makeup and hair, and reached for a sweater. Then hesitated.
I was going to be with a magical guy this time, so I didn’t have to pretend I felt the chill. I didn’t have to pretend about anything, actually. He knew all the magic and magic-adjacent things I would have needed to hide from a Dick. In fact, he’d spent much of the day helping me train.
It had been kind of exciting…and fun. Instead of standing around, waiting for Edgar to translate a sticky bit of magical instruction that no one really understood, Damarion had attacked me in gargoyle form, moving very slowly and exaggerating all his strikes, fully allowing me to smack and hit him with any weapons at my disposal. With Mr. Tom standing behind me, rooting me on, I used weapo
n after weapon, dodging blows, working in close, and smacking him with Ron the bludgeon or Carl the war hammer. As I did so, I felt flutters and fire radiating from my middle, shooting out in fits and starts, bursts of potent magic that blasted the sky or raked across Damarion’s middle, leaving angry red gashes. He’d taken it all, although he’d backhanded me a few times on reflex. Or, at least, I assumed it was reflex—those magic attacks had clearly hurt.
“You need to know that is coming, miss,” Mr. Tom had shouted multiple times, disappointment plain in his voice as Ulric helped me up. “You need to develop some reflexes. Rolling across the grass like a weed in the wind is embarrassing for you. Get up and go at him again!”
“Or hell, just duck,” Ulric had said, laughing. “Now, go give him hell. Make him bleed.”
“Welcome to your new life, Jessie,” I’d muttered, squaring off with the enormous, lethal gargoyle yet again. “Anytime, Edgar. We can start the magical lesson anytime.”
“The magical lesson has already begun,” Edgar had replied, not looking up from the large book, his long, bony finger moving across the page. “Damarion is clearly a great instructor. You’ve made more progress today than you have since we started. But we don’t want you covered in bruises for tonight—the non-magical people will think you’re a victim of domestic violence.”
“I am a victim of domestic violence,” I’d grumbled.
“You’ve barely scratched him, Jacinta,” Niamh had yelled from the sidelines, her fists balled and her desire to join the fight evident. “You have a fecking war hammer, girl. Use it!”
Back to the present, standing in front of the mirror, I turned to look for those bruises. Just like the one across my cheek, where I’d thwapped a tree with my face, they were all gone, the only traces left in my memory.
In comparison to Damarion, I’d gotten off easy. That poor guy had been smashed with very heavy battle weapons, poked with a spear, blasted across a clearing, tossed into the sky, and the torture had only worsened once Edgar got his act together with the book—Damarion had been slammed with solid air, gouged with invisible claws, and forced back into his human form, which had left him curled up and panting, waiting to heal.
