by Jackie May
The man stops walking and straightens his shoulders. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the intrigue in his voice when he says, “So the rumors are true. You’re using magic again.”
The man is taunting Oliver, but Oliver ignores it and climbs to his feet, never taking his eyes off the stranger. When Oliver speaks, I hardly recognize his voice it’s so cold. “What do you want, Mitchell?”
Okay, so, not a stranger, then.
“How about a rematch?” Mitchell says.
Again, he’s trying to get a rise out of Oliver, but Oliver is almost as calm as Illren gets when he’s about to start killing people. It’s scary to see my sweet Oliver this way. “You know you won’t beat me. You never could.”
“You haven’t used your magic in years. I’ve learned a few things since then. You’re out of practice, untrained.”
“I know enough,” Oliver says calmly.
I gulp. Oliver doesn’t look ruffled, but I can’t help wondering if Mitchell is right. Oliver hasn’t used his magic since he was fifteen. At least, not offensively. Will he be able to fight this man?
“I’m going to enjoy kicking your ass,” Mitchell says. “And then maybe I’ll enjoy your sweet girlfriend for a while before I take her to my employer. She really is a hot little piece of ass, isn’t she?”
I should be afraid of his threat, but instead I smirk to myself. If Oliver needed any motivation to use his magic, Mitchell’s just given it to him. The stupid man probably just signed his own death warrant.
Oliver moves so quickly, I don’t even see exactly what he does, but there’s a burst of red light, and Mitchell goes flying across the parking lot. Mitchell seems to use the air around him to catch his fall. He’s holding his stomach and gasping for breath, but he lands on his feet. “Is that all you’ve got, Harrington?” he shouts. He charges Oliver, throwing fireball after fireball against Oliver’s shield. “All that power you supposedly have, and you don’t use it. It’s pathetic! You’re a disgrace to sorcerers everywhere!”
Oliver holds his hand out, and Mitchell slams up against an invisible wall. Oliver wastes no time waiting for the man to catch his balance. He sends two lightning bolts from his hands at Mitchell. I’ve seen him use this trick before. It’s the same thing he did to the two human men that attacked me when we were kids. If Oliver’s having a hard time using it again, he’s not showing it. The blasts charred the human men beyond recognition. Mitchell must be wearing some kind of protection spells, or Oliver isn’t hitting him as hard as he did those men, because Mitchell slams to his knees and screams in pain, but he’s not being burned to a crisp.
Oliver drops the spell and walks up to Mitchell. The man is bleeding from his nose and ears and can barely hold himself up on his hands and knees. “What the hell was that?” he croaks.
“Something I learned I could do the day I stopped using my magic. You’re lucky you’re not dead. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control it. Release Nora from your spells, or I’ll hit you again.”
Mitchell glares up at him and lifts his hand as if to throw another spell, but he suddenly starts to choke. The blood drains from his face, and he reaches for his neck as if trying pull away the invisible force blocking his air. I grin at the sight. It figures my geeky boyfriend would know how to go all Darth Vader on the guy.
“The thing about having as much power as I do,” Oliver says casually, as if he’s having a pleasant conversation with a friend, “is that I don’t really need a lot of training. The magic just sort of does what I want it to. Now, release Nora from your spells, or I’ll release her by killing you.”
The guy is blue in the face. He must believe Oliver’s death threat because he nods frantically. Oliver lets him squirm a second or two, then releases him. Mitchell falls forward on his hands and knees, gasping and coughing. Once he can breathe, he climbs to his feet, waves a hand my direction, and rasps, “I release you.”
The magic immediately falls away from me, and I’m on my feet in an instant, racing to Oliver. Oliver pushes me behind him, blocking me from Mitchell.
As if he hasn’t been beaten enough, Mitchell once again tries to lift his hands to cast a spell, but Oliver beats him to the punch, casting some sort of spell that wraps a glowing rope of magic around Mitchell’s wrists like a pair of handcuffs.
Mitchell gasps. His hands are cuffed together, but he raises both and tries to fling spells at Oliver. When it doesn’t work, he glares at Oliver. “What did you do to my magic?”
“Suppressed it. Cut you off from it.”
Mitchell’s mouth falls open. “How…?”
Oliver shrugs. “I may not have used my magic for the last ten years, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t studied it. Madison West has taught me a lot.”
Mitchell blinks. “You’ve been apprenticing with Madison West?”
That’s not the first time I’ve seen someone react to Director West’s name like that. Oliver’s sister Elle seemed starstruck by the woman. I’ll have to ask Oliver about that, because as far as I know, Oliver is a lot more powerful than Director West, magically speaking.
Oliver doesn’t expand on his training. “Nora, call Director West, tell her where we are and that we’ve detained Devon Mitchell for trying to kill us.”
As I pull out my phone, Mitchell says, “I only tried to kill you.” He points his cuffed hands at me and gives me a leer that makes my skin crawl. “She’s wanted alive.”
That’s disturbing. I turn to him, phone call forgotten. “What do you mean? Who wants me alive?”
Mitchell sneers. “As if I’d tell you anything, bitch.”
Oliver grabs Mitchell by the throat, saying something I don’t hear because my power rushes to the surface and I grab the man’s will. “Tell me who you’re working for!”
Mitchell blinks slowly and stares at me with awe. “I don’t know,” he answers. “The listing is anonymous.”
Oliver whirls around, gripping my arms. “Nora! You can’t use your power. Remember what Giselle said.”
I shake myself free of my power’s trance. I hadn’t even meant to use it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
With Oliver’s back turned to Mitchell and neither of us paying him any attention, Mitchell suddenly rushes forward and slams into Oliver’s back. Oliver cries out and falls to the ground. Mitchell leans over him, gloating and holding a large, bloody knife. “Damn, that felt good.”
I scream when I realize Oliver’s just been stabbed in the back. Mitchell smiles at me. I know he can’t touch me with magic thanks to the spell Oliver cast, but that doesn’t matter. I reach out and grab his will. “Freeze.”
He does.
I should ask him more questions. Find out what he knows. And I should be getting Oliver help, but I’m so angry I can’t think. My power swirls around inside me, twisting my thoughts. This man hurt Oliver. He doesn’t deserve to live. And he’s nothing compared to my power. Insignificant. It would be so easy to end him. To make him mine. To devour his soul.
My power—the darkness inside me—pulses through my body, singing to me like my own personal siren’s song. My eyes lock onto Mitchell, and suddenly I have tunnel vision. He is mine. Or, he will be as soon as I take him. “Come,” I whisper.
Mitchell blinks slowly and then steps over Oliver and stops an arm’s length away. “Mine,” I say. Because he is mine. I own him.
“Yes. I am yours forever.” Mitchell nods, his eyes glazed over. He’s lost to my thrall.
It feels good to have him in my clutches. It’s powerful. Freeing. I can do whatever I want. I can claim whomever I want. Men will fall at my feet. Worship me until their last breaths. They can all be mine.
I lift my hand and place my fingers over his heart. We both suck in a breath when I touch him. I can feel his heart. Not the physical beating organ, but his life force. His spiritual being. His soul. I can feel it pulsing, and I have to have it, so I pull. Using my dark allure, I suck the energy out of his heart and devour every last bit of it. The m
ore of his soul I consume, the more my body buzzes with energy. I feel his essence, and my mouth waters. I must have every last bit of it. I pull and I pull, until I’ve consumed every last drop of his soul. And when I’ve taken all of his life force, his body collapses. Falls lifeless to the ground.
With the temptation now gone and the darkness sated, I come back to myself. I scream, horrified by what I’ve done. I know without having to check that Mitchell is dead. I remember everything from when the siren’s power had hold of me. I killed him. I consumed his soul. I’m a monster. My stomach churns, and I turn around, fall to my knees, and throw up all over the parking lot.
It’s not until I finish heaving that I remember Oliver. I rush over to him and check for a pulse. A sob of relief bursts from me when I feel the faint thump of his heartbeat. “Hang on, Ollie. Don’t die on me.”
Fiercely sobbing and with shaking hands, I make a phone call. When the soft voice on the other end picks up, I cry even harder. “Enzo?” I sob.
Enzo’s voice sharpens with concern. “Miss Nora?”
“Oliver’s been stabbed! I think he’s dying!”
Enzo gasps. He works for the FUA as their on-call healer. He knows Oliver well. I’m sure he feels this news on a personal level. It takes him a second to respond, and when he does his voice is hard, possibly for the first time in his life. “Where is he?”
“Do you know where Wulf Winters lives? His warehouse?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Keep pressure on his wound.”
He hangs up, and I feel his loss. I need his strength—his quiet confidence and calm reassurance that everything will be okay. I can’t lose Oliver. I can’t. I wouldn’t survive it.
I drop my phone and try to push back my panic. Oliver needs me. Enzo said to keep pressure on his wound. I can do that. I quickly pull Oliver’s scarf up so that it’s shielding Oliver’s face from the frozen ground, and then I search for the wound I know is on Oliver’s back. It’s hard to find because Oliver’s coat is thick and dark, but I don’t want to take the coat off. Oliver will freeze if I do. Eventually I feel the blood seeping through the coat and find the tear the knife left. I get up on my knees and push down on the wound hard. Oliver doesn’t respond at all. He’s completely unconscious. The lack of response—not even a groan of pain—triggers my sobs all over again. I have to remind myself that help is coming. We’re alone in this parking lot, and Oliver is unconscious, but help is coming. Enzo is coming, and he’s never let me down before. The man can work miracles.
The minutes it takes for Enzo to arrive feel like an eternity. When he finally screeches into the parking lot, my arms are sore from pressing so hard on Oliver’s wounds, my entire body is shaking, I’m covered in blood, tears are freezing to my chapped face, and I think I might be in shock. I’m so out of it that I don’t realize Enzo came with Nick until Nick is gently shaking me by the shoulders. “Nora. Nora. What happened? Who’s the stiff?”
My eyes drift to Mitchell. His body is lying on the ground, face up, his eyes staring lifelessly at the cloud-covered sky. His face is contorted in agony. I shudder. “I killed him.”
“I can see that. What happened?”
Nick ducks his head trying to catch my gaze, but I can’t take my eyes off Mitchell. “He’s dead. He hurt Oliver, and I just…I sucked the life right out of him.”
“Nora.”
Nick shakes me again, and I look his direction, but I can’t focus. “I devoured his soul. I’m a monster.”
Nick lets go of my shoulders, and I turn my attention to Oliver. Enzo is kneeling over his body. Hopefully he’s fixing him. I don’t really know, because I can’t think straight.
“Terrance? Yeah, we have a problem. Oliver and Nora were attacked. Oliver’s down. Enzo’s working on him. It looks like Nora killed the attacker, but I can’t get any answers out of her. She’s in shock.” Pause. “Wulf’s place.” Pause. “Yeah. See you in ten.”
Nick scoops me into his arms and places me in the front seat of Oliver’s SUV. “Sit tight,” he says as he straps the buckle across my lap. “We’ll get you to your men soon.”
He shuts the door, and I’m left alone in the car with my thoughts. That’s not a good place to be right now. I keep seeing Mitchell’s face as I yank his soul from his chest. I consumed it. I can feel the energy of it inside of me. The life humming in my veins. It’s invigorating, and yet it repulses me at the same time.
The back of the car opens, and Nick lies Oliver across the seat. Enzo climbs in behind him and rests Oliver’s head in his lap. Oliver is still unconscious, and Enzo looks pale as a ghost. He places his hands on Oliver and closes his eyes. When he continues his healing, he starts breathing heavy, and sweat breaks out on his forehead. Something’s wrong. I’ve never seen Enzo look so worn out, and I’ve watched him heal injuries a lot more complicated than a single stab wound.
Nick slides in behind the wheel and takes off.
“What’s wrong with him? Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”
Nick cuts me a sideways glance. “You back with me now, little temptress?”
I ignore the question. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t he healing?”
Enzo answers in a strained voice. “The blade was spelled. It’s like magical poison. It’s making healing the wound difficult.”
My stomach drops. “Poison? Magical poison? Will he be okay?”
Enzo grunts and pants before taking a deep breath and answering my question. “It’s more difficult, but I can heal the physical wound. I can’t do anything about the magic, though. Oliver will have to fight that off himself.”
I swear I have a heart attack. An actual heart attack. My heart stops for a few beats before starting up again. Anxiety hits me all over again, and I can’t breathe. Nick reaches over the center console and grips my hand. “He’s the strongest sorcerer in the entire Midwest. Maybe even in the whole U.S. Whoever spelled that blade couldn’t be anywhere near as strong as him. He’ll fight it off, Nora.”
“It will be easier for him once his wound is healed, too,” Enzo assures me.
I take a deep breath and try to believe them. Oliver is strong. I saw how easily he beat Mitchell. He could have done it in his sleep. Oliver will fight off the magic, and he’ll be fine. He will.
We pull up to the den, and my entire clan is waiting for us. Terrance steps in to help Nick with Oliver, Charlie helps Enzo, who looks so exhausted he can hardly stand on his own two feet, and Rook opens my door. He takes one look at me and doesn’t ask, just unbuckles my seat belt and scoops me into his arms. “Come on, baby, let’s get you taken care of.”
“Oliver…”
“The guys have him,” Rook assures me. “They’ll take good care of him. We need to focus on you—get you cleaned up and feeling a little better.”
He carries me downstairs and heads straight for the en suite in my room. He sets me down, turns on the shower, then starts to take my clothes off. My coat and scarf are destroyed. If I were feeling even a little bit better, I’d be pissed that I’ve ruined my favorite coat again, but I can’t bring myself to care right now. Rook strips my shirt off next and peels my skinny jeans down my legs. “Step out of them for me, baby.”
I do as he says without questioning him. I’m left in only my bra and panties, but I can’t seem to care about that, either. Rook gently guides me into the shower, and all I can think about is the water running red at my feet. That’s Oliver’s blood.
I startle when Rook steps into the shower behind me. He’s stripped down to his boxers. Later I’ll probably regret that I’m too out of it to appreciate his rock hard beautiful body, but right now I can’t take my eyes off that damn red water.
“Chin up. Let’s get the blood out of your hair,” Rook murmurs, tilting my head up so that the hot water hits my forehead and cascades down the back of my head.
He squirts some shampoo into his hands and then digs his fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp. The feeling of being taken care of is so soothing I finally
relax and start to come back to myself.
We don’t speak, and though the moment is intimate, it’s not sexual. Rook is taking care of me and nothing more.
Rook finishes with my hair and grabs my loofah. He turns me to face him, and even though I’m nearly naked in front of him for the first time, his attention is focused on my bloodstained hands. He scrubs them one at a time. His gentle ministrations are so comforting that my eyes fill with tears again. I sniffle, and his eyes flick up to meet mine. His sad smile is as gentle as his touch. “He’ll be okay, Nora.”
He will be, I agree silently. But will I?
Rook’s still watching me, waiting for a response. I know agreeing with him is what he wants, so I nod, but I can’t give him more than that. I’m not ready to talk about what’s really scaring me. I’m not ready to explain how evil I am. Not yet. I know I’ll have to soon, but I don’t want to ruin this moment with Rook. I need it.
Rook finishes with my hands and then places them around his neck, pulling our bodies together. The moment we touch, I finally shake off the last of my shock. I squeeze him like he’s the only thing grounding me to reality and bury my face against his neck. He holds me tight and rocks me gently. “Shh,” he coos, even though I’m not crying. “I’ve got you.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath, and the shaking I hadn’t realized I was still doing finally stops. We stand like that for a long minute, beneath the spray of the hot water, and just hold each other. Eventually, Rook starts washing my back. His movements are soft and slow, and suddenly they don’t seem quite so innocent. He gently rubs the soap over my shoulders and down my arms before returning to my back and then, slowly, over the curves of my backside.
I suck in a deep breath and hold it in my lungs when he squats down to clean both of my legs. When he stands back up, he squeezes more soap onto the loofah and spins me around to pin my back against his front. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I arch my back against him when he starts washing my front. He starts with my shoulders and collarbones, then works his way down, taking his time and caressing every curve I have.
