Magic on the Storm ab-4

by Devon Monk

  For a moment, everything went black. Silent. Still.

  There was no beginning to him. No end to me. There was only the heat of our nerves, the thrum of our heartbeats, skipping, catching, pounding in rhythm to the magic that gave and took, from him, from me, to him, to me, building and falling, and building again.

  We were more than man and woman. Magic took control and drew through us glyphs and spells flashing lightning and fire and heat through my mind, his mind. Our soul.

  Burning us together as one.

  We cried out for mercy with one voice, one need.

  It took time, maybe too much time, for magic to release us. Too much time until one of us finally pulled away.

  Time while Zayvion convinced me that we were not one, but two people, two bodies, two minds, his kisses gentle, slow, his lips and fingers reminding me of my own skin, my own body, separate from his. Reminding me of the rightness of that. The rightness of being me.

  I opened my eyes, blinked from the light. Not magic, just plain electric light.

  “It’s okay,” he said, and I knew it was. I also knew he was worried. I could still feel his emotions as if they were mine, could taste his worry like sour rinds at the back of my throat.

  “Allie,” he said, his fingers splayed against both sides of my face. “Do you remember where you are? Who you are?”

  No words could kill a mood or bring me crashing back into my own mind, my own body, faster.

  I had memory issues. That was something I would never forget.

  Checklist: we were standing in the shower. The water was off. I didn’t remember washing the soap out of my hair, but I knew I had. I didn’t remember turning off the water, didn’t know how long we had been in the shower.

  But yes. I knew who I was. Allison Beckstrom. Hound. Newly a member of the Authority, filled with magic, and Soul Complement to Zayvion Jones.

  And I was just as sure that for some time, I had forgotten all those things, and had instead been content to be more. Had been a part of Zayvion, joined. One.

  “Me-my place,” I finally answered him. “How long?”

  His relief rained through me and I tasted candy melon. “Maybe an hour,” he said. “I’m not sure.” Which meant he’d lost track of reality too. That I’d made him forget who he was.

  Was it wrong for me to love, just a little, that I could do that to him?

  His eyes shifted back and forth between mine.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Light-headed. What exactly happened?”

  “We made love.”

  I frowned. “I know that.” Eloquent. My middle name.

  “Soul Complements,” he said, as if that covered the rest of what I should know.

  He stepped out of the shower and I stepped out with him, unthinkingly needing to stay in contact with him, to move in tandem with him, to be no more than inches apart from him.

  He handed me a towel. “We fell. . fell too far into each other. Magic drew us in, and we didn’t let go.”

  I took the towel and stayed where I was while he purposefully took two steps away. The need to follow him and limit the distance between us was still there, but it was fading. I dried myself off in silence.

  He rubbed the towel over his hair, and mopped off, the towel wadded in his hand. He shook the towel out, and wrapped it around his waist.

  “What did we do wrong?” I asked.

  “We lost control.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said.

  “Too far, too long, and we won’t want to be who we are without also being the other person.” He said it without emotion, as if he were reciting a textbook. “We’ll lose ourselves. Lose what we are as individuals. That’s a problem.”

  He was right. I wanted that closeness, that awareness of every inch of him. Wanted him, wanted us, bound together, burned, melded by magic. There was a power in it. I could sense it, could almost taste it. A power I’d never felt before.

  And knowing I could never have it again, that we should never have it again, made me hollow and empty, even though he was only a few steps away, and closer to me than any man in my life.

  “You don’t think this will happen every time, do you?” I asked.

  “Every time we have sex, or every time we take a shower?” He smiled.

  I knew he was trying to change the mood, push away the seriousness of what had just happened, of how bad it could have been. I tried to follow his lead, to let go of the fear.

  “I don’t think the shower had anything to do with it,” I said. Yes, I sucked at letting go of fear.

  Zay shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t say it was entirely innocent. All that warm, wet water touching us everywhere. And the soap definitely had ulterior motives.”

  I wrapped the towel around me, tucking it tight at the top. “That career in comedy? Walk away now, Jones.”

  “And give up on my dreams?” He gave me a grin, and carefully avoided touching me while he picked up his jeans and shoes and carried them into the bedroom.

  I rubbed my hands over my arms, needing contact, needing his touch, but firmly staying right where I was. Zay could make jokes. I’d just do what I always did-endure.

  Zay had been staying with me enough lately that he had a spare change of clothes and a dresser drawer of his own.

  “I’ve always thought if the magic thing didn’t work out,” he called from the bedroom, “I could give comedy a try.”

  Comedy. Right. The last thing Zay had on his mind was a career in stand-up. “I thought you had the whole ice-polo thing to fall back on.” I dug in the drawer beneath the sink and pulled out my brush.

  I could do this. I could be just me. See me being just me? I was hella good at it.

  “I like to keep my options open,” he said. “You know how the girls love an athlete with a good sense of humor.”

  I left the brush on the sink and put on the void stone necklace again. Magic settled in me, taking the edge off my discomfort. I walked into my bedroom. Zay had already put on his boxers and jeans. He was half bent, digging through the laundry basket for a T-shirt.

  I was done pretending. “So this magic and Soul Complement thing. You think we’ll be okay?” I asked.

  He stood, the T-shirt in his hand. “I have never once doubted us. Not once.”

  I walked over to him. He had slipped back into expressionless Zay, Zen Zay. He wasn’t giving off much in the way of body language except for patience, and I was trying my best not to listen in to his emotions. “Not even when you wrote me that Dear John note?”

  He grimaced. “That was me doubting myself. Doubting if I could keep you safe.”

  “How about if you let me keep me safe?” I gingerly placed my fingertips over his heart, felt the soft rhythm there, felt the rise and fall of his chest. But nothing more. No emotions, no thoughts.

  “Are you blocking your thoughts and feelings?” I asked.

  “Just trying not to project. You?”

  I shook my head. “So this is okay?” I dragged my hand down and around his rib cage, my fingers sliding along the waistband of his pants. I wrapped my arm around his back, leaned into him. Still had my towel on too. Go, me.

  I felt the tension drain out of him as he exhaled. “This is very okay.” He put his arms around me, pulled me close.

  I tucked my head, resting it against his smooth, hard chest. He tipped his head down, not far, and kissed my hair. “Good?” he asked.

  I nodded, and rubbed my hand down his spine, massaging the muscles of his wide back as I went, until I finally slid my fingers into the back pocket of his jeans, to keep my hands off any other tempting part of him.

  He smiled. My hair caught in the stubble along his jaw.

  “Very nice,” I mumbled.

  I stood there and savored the sound of his heartbeat, of his breathing. Stood there longer than I should have, and still didn’t want to part. But I didn’t feel trapped with him, and didn’t feel apart from him. I felt like I belonged here. Felt
like I was home.

  I yawned, and finally pulled away. I didn’t know if it was the whole magic thing, or just the long day, but I was tired. “I need a short nap before the meeting.” I tugged off my towel and let it drop to the floor as I walked over to the bed.

  Zayvion inhaled behind me. Oh, right. Naked me, plus half-naked him, plus bed equaled one thing.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  From the fire in his gaze, I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “A nap,” I repeated, crawling under the covers quick. “I’m tired. You should be tired too.”

  Zayvion stalked over to the bed. “Maybe I’ll make it worth your while to stay awake.”

  “No. No way. You said we should be careful, remember? You said we might get too close and mixed-up and stuff, remember? Sleep, Jones. Sleep is good.”

  He grabbed a fistful of my comforter and tugged. “Promise I’ll be good.”

  “Zay. .”

  “Or, if you’d rather, I’ll be bad. Either way works for me.” He tugged a little harder on the blanket, exposing my shoulders and chest. I was losing ground quickly. I scooted down the bed a little and tugged back.

  “Here’s an idea,” I said, shifting tactics. “Why don’t you take a nap with me? Nice warm blankets. Nice soft pillow. We could get some sleep. Rest up before the big storm meeting tonight. .”

  His smile faded and all the sexy on-the-prowl was gone. I shouldn’t have brought up the meeting, shouldn’t have let the real world back into this small moment we were sharing.

  “I’m sorry-”

  “No, you’re right.”

  He let go of the comforter and rubbed at the back of his neck. A sound of something falling in the living room made us both glance out into the hall. It was just Stone stacking the alphabet blocks I’d bought him. I knew Stone wasn’t a child, but I was tired of coming home to find all the cups dragged out of my kitchen and stacked in precarious pyramids in the living room. Plus he liked the blocks enough I’d bought him three sets of the things.

  They kept him busy.

  Stone usually stayed in the apartment during the day. But at night, he came and went as he pleased-opposable thumbs meant doors and windows were not a problem for him. I didn’t know what magical statuary did at night, but since I hadn’t heard of any gargoyle sightings in the news, whatever it was he did, the big lug was discreet about it.

  When Zay looked back at me, some of the seriousness was gone. “Move over, woman.”

  He crawled under the blankets and hogged the bed.

  Note to self: explain that the bed was mine, and I should get more than half of it just on principle alone.

  He hadn’t put on his shirt, but still wore his jeans, as if knowing we’d be out of bed soon. I shifted closer to him, and judiciously placed a sheet between us, because a half-naked man in my bed-especially if that man was Zayvion Jones-was going to ruin my control.

  “How long do we have?” I asked.

  “Forever,” he said.

  I savored that thought. It was a nice fantasy, anyway.

  “Maeve’s at ten, right?”

  “Mmm.” He shifted so I could throw my leg over his, and rest my head on his shoulder, his arm snug down my back. “An hour or so.”

  “Need the alarm?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ll be awake.”

  I was going to ask him about that. Ask him why. But I really was tired, and it took only a few breaths before I slipped off into deep, blissful darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  Zay didn’t have to wake me up. The cold air coming in from the window did the trick.

  I shifted away and elbowed up. “Stone,” I groaned. “Go out or stay in. Don’t just stand there with the window open. You’re killing my heating bill.”

  Stone stood on his hind legs, half his body out the open window, backlit by the streetlights below. His head was tipped upward. He seemed to be watching the sky. Probably fascinated by the moon. He was smart like that.

  He made that bag-of-rocks happy sound, and pulled back into the room, dropping on all fours. He, of course, did not shut the window behind him.

  He clacked some more, his ears perked up, his wings tucked tight against his back. He seemed happy I was awake. So happy he trotted over to my side of the bed and stuck his big freezing-cold head in the middle of my chest.

  I yelped. “Too cold, you dummy.” I pushed at his face and he just ducked under my hand, begging for a scratch.

  Zay chuckled.

  “You’re no help,” I said.

  “He’s your yard ornament.”

  Fine.

  “One scratch.” I rubbed the ridges of Stone’s eyes. He pulled his lips back in what I could only guess was a smile, even though there were a dozen too many sharp teeth involved.

  “Now go. Shut. Window.” I gave him a little shove, and he rubbed the side of his head over my hand for one last scratch, then tromped back to the window, cooing a sort of out-of-tune hum.

  “All engines ready to go?” I asked.

  Stone clacked.

  “Runway clear for takeoff?”

  Stone stuck his head out the window again. Cooed, vacuum cleaner-style. His ears were straight up, and his wings quivered. This was a little game we played. I liked it much better than the chew-on-the-chair-legs game.

  Zay snorted. “You think he understands you?”

  “I’d sing him show tunes if it would make him shut the window. Ready?” I said. “Five, four, three, two, one. Blast off! Go, go, go!”

  Stone gathered himself, his back legs dropping, his arms braced outside on either side of the window. He had gotten pretty good at launching himself out the window, his wings tucked tight. With one big push, he shoved out into the night air, his wings catching like a parachute, then beating, stronger than they looked. Yes, they were made of stone and didn’t look aerodynamic, but somehow, he did it-the big lunk of rock and magic really could fly.

  And the big lunk of rock and magic did just that.

  But the big lunk of rock and magic did not close the window.

  Hells.

  I groaned. Zay just snorted.

  Dragging the comforter with me, I scooted off the bottom of the bed, and shoved the window shut. I thought about setting the lock so the beast wouldn’t be able to get in, but decided against it. I was pretty sure Stone would find a way into my apartment, lock or no lock. And I didn’t want to have to pay for repairs.

  Zay stood, stretched, and shook out his arm and hand.

  “Arm asleep?” I dug through my closet looking for a sweater. It was freezing in here. How long had Stone had that window open?

  “Can’t feel it from my elbow down. You never moved.”

  I pulled one of my favorite sweaters off a hanger. With the blanket still wrapped around my legs, I shuffled to the dresser, found panties, bra, and jeans. Didn’t take me long to get into all of them, plus a nice thick pair of socks.

  “You could have shoved me off if you didn’t like it.” I found my boots, put them on too, and strode to the bathroom to fix my hair.

  “True,” he murmured.

  For once, fortune was on my side. My hair wasn’t sticking straight up. I brushed it back, tucked it behind my ears, and took a look at my eyes. Green, but too dark to be just my own. Someone else was looking back at me.

  “Dad?” I whispered.

  A weight shifted in my head and the entire room slid downhill sideways. I grabbed the sink, braced my feet, and tried not to fall down or throw up as dizziness tumbled through my head.

  The storm, my father’s voice said, quietly, as if he were speaking from far away. He sounded concerned, but calm. The same way he had sounded when I was seven and broke my wrist and he’d told me going to the doctor was going to hurt a little. The same way he’d sounded when he told me my mother had left me, left us, for good, but everything would be fine.

  Nothing they say will change it; nothing they do will stop it.

  I was on my kne
es now, still holding on to the sink, still trying not to fall down while the room spun and spun. I wondered where Zayvion was, if he was sliding down this dizzying slant too.

  They will try to use it. Madness.

  What? I thought. Who?

  I must have said it out loud, because Zayvion was suddenly there, in the doorway to my bathroom, his smile quickly gone.

  He reached for me. The moment he touched my shoulder, the world snapped back into place.

  I was sitting on my normal bathroom floor. With my normal dead father silent and distant in the back of my mind.

  I looked up at Zayvion. “Did you feel that? The dizziness?”

  “I felt magic flux. Not hard, though.”

  “Dad pushed at me.”

  He exhaled, and knelt in front of me. Even though he took up too much room, I didn’t feel claustrophobic. I wanted him near.

  “He must have tried to use magic’s fluctuation to shove me out of the way. Started talking.”

  I rubbed at my arms, trying to scrub away the cold. Zay placed his hands over mine and I realized I wasn’t rubbing-I was digging. Like somehow I could dig the cold wrongness of magic out of me, out of my bones. Long red scratches lined my arms, but didn’t ease the magic gone to ice in my blood, biting, stinging, burning.

  I leaned the back of my head against the sink.

  “What did he say?” Zay asked.

  “He said they can’t stop the storm. And that they’ll try to use it, but it’s madness, and that they’ll fail.”

  Zay straightened and offered me both hands. “Huh.”

  I took his hands and he helped me up on my feet. “You cannot be calm about this.”

  He walked out of the bathroom, still holding my hand.

  “It’s not the first time in my life someone’s told me I’m going to fail. I decided a long time ago not to believe them. Worked pretty good so far.”

  The living room table was taken over by an alphabet-block sculpture. Stone had stacked the blocks in a decent replica of the dual-spired convention center, with something that looked like fork tines stuck up out of the top two blocks. If that big lug was de-tining my cutlery, I was going to take a belt sander to his claws.