by Alex Gates
Dakota and Annie went to the bathroom together. I had a pretty amazing fantasy rolling through the big screen in my mind about that. But then Xander mentioned he was glad they went together, since Annie shouldn’t be alone right now. That guy killed everything sunny and good in my life.
I peeled off my brand-new, blood-soaked shirt and tossed it in the trash can. I had bullet holes in my shoulder and stomach. My torso was bruised a nasty purple from the magic Medea had used on me the other night—a spike similar to the one that had pinned Gladas up like a birthday donkey’s tail. My right hand and wrist bore the blade slashes from where I’d cut it open to cheat my way into accessing some power. And the crude splint from when I’d punched the brick wall was sopped in blood. All in all, I’d been worse.
Wait, I forgot one. I turned to Xander. “How’s my forehead look from when that Empousa punched me with the gun? Better or worse than my body?”
Xander stepped toward me. “Are you shot?”
“Twice,” I said, exhaling. “Doesn’t feel very good, either.”
“Joey—”
I held up a hand. “Listen, Kemosabe, my injuries can wait a minute longer. We need to talk, especially if both the gals are gone.” I glanced up at the ceiling, not sure where to start. “Look,” I said, stalling, “I’m sorry, okay? For everything. It’s been seven years since we’ve worked together, and a lot of shit has happened. I never should have doubted you.”
“I know,” Xander said, not in an ‘I-told-you-so’ way, but in a soft, understanding manner.
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting tears. “Fuck, man.” My battle was futile. The tears burned down my face. I’d like to say it was from exhaustion—it definitely wasn’t for fear of the future. “I don’t know what to think or do. Do we have to get to the Underworld to stave off the Apocalypse? Is that fucking real? And what did she mean that I’d have to kill Mel? What did she mean that I have demon’s blood running through my body? That’s not even possible. Is it?”
Xander grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to him, hugging me. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it all out.”
I don’t know how long he held me for, but it was long enough for Dakota and Annabel to finish their shower. The two women entered the kitchen, and before Xander and I could separate our bloody, sticky man-chests, Dakota said, “Sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help myself. Annabel and I just experienced something very similar and we were extremely thankful that neither of you interrupted our moment.”
I playfully shoved Xander away from me. “I knew they were hooking up in there. You ruin everything.” With that, I left the kitchen and headed to the shower to wash all the blood off me.
A few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. It opened—apparently I’d neglected to lock it before hobbling into the shower—and someone entered. “I’m still angry at you for convincing me that Annabel and Dakota weren’t showering together.”
“What would you have done had he not convinced you of that? Joined us?”
My face went scalding hot at the sound of Dakota’s voice, and a huge lump formed in my throat. I didn’t know how to respond. What was she doing in here? How was I supposed to answer that question?
She didn’t give me a chance to stammer out a response. “I wouldn’t have minded, but Annie… she’s still getting over Gladas. It would have been too soon for her.” I didn’t say anything for about twenty-seven minutes. ”Are you in there?” she teased, ripping open the shower curtain, grinning. “There you are. Hi.”
I cupped both hands over my groin and smirked at her. She wore a pair of Xander’s sweats and a Sacramento Kings T-shirt. Both were about ten sizes too big for her. “Hi,” I said. “What’s up?”
Dakota glanced down to my hands, then back up at me. “You really want me to answer that?”
I about vomited with embarrassment. I’m telling you, I might be incredibly attractive, charming, funny, intelligent, and overly confident, but I couldn’t speak to women I had a crush on. Oh, shit. Did I just say that out loud? Did I have a crush on Dakota? Banana fudge sundae. I’d never be able to construct a legitimate sentence around her again. My brain had turned viscous, and my thoughts muddled into a sticky puddle.
Dakota giggled. “I’m trained in first aid,” she said. “Xander asked me to come in here and”—she winked at me—“tend to your pains while he spoke to Annie in private.”
Join me. Join me. Join me. My thoughts had a mantra, and they had nothing else. Dakota, though, didn’t entertain my single-minded concern. She turned away from me and grabbed a first aid kit from beneath the sink, opened it, and began rummaging through the supplies.
“You asked me how I knew so much about the supernatural world, especially concerning Nephil, pacts, Sorcerers, and so on,” she said. “Well, apart from my research into my father, I also attended a university. One set up in honor of Apollo and Artemis. I didn’t have enough innate power to secure a pact, but that didn’t matter to me. I learned how to control and make the most of what I did have.” Dakota met my eyes. “Are you done in here? Washed?”
I nodded, still unable to form a word.
She reached across the tub, her arm sliding against my thigh, and turned off the shower. After handing me a towel and having me dry off, she sat me on top of the tub. There, she touched the bullet wound in my shoulder. A gentle heat emanated from her palm, warming my skin. I glanced down and saw a dark-yellow glow. After a few seconds, she removed her hand, and the wound was scabbed over. I touched it. A lingering pain registered—but soft and gentle, as if the injury had been healing for a week.
“What if the bullet’s still in there?” I asked, managing to spit out a sentence.
She sniffed. “The magic dissolves any foreign substances, poisons, or infections. The bullet, like most hardened material, melted beneath my gentle touch.”
I coughed to ward against crying, giggling, and jolting out of the bathroom. How was I supposed to respond to this entire situation? Was she given me some pretty solid and clear signs, or was she just teasing me? I honestly couldn’t tell.
She repeated the process with the second bullet wound, with the slices across my hand and wrist, my battered ribs, my busted wrist, and finally, the gash across my forehead. When she finished, my body tingled with warmth. Her hands trembled, and she wavered on her feet, obviously exhausted from her spent effort.
“I can’t do anything about your torso—where Medea injured you. My power doesn’t extend to magic-based injuries.”
Without thinking, I touched her cheek. Her skin was cold despite the warmth she’d covered me in. “Thank you,” I said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “The healing transfers my energy into your wounds, speeding the healing process. That’s why they’re only scabbed and not scarred over yet. I didn’t want to risk going unconscious.”
“You did more than enough,” I said, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear.
Dakota licked her lips. “You need to rest and continue to heal. You fractured your wrist on that wall. I was able to restore some of the injury, but your grip will still be weak. Also, I couldn’t heal the toll your expended power took on you. To recover that energy, you have to rest, Joey.”
“In the car earlier—I didn’t just kiss you because I thought I would die,” I said, cringing at the way it came out.
She smirked, shaking her head. Leaning forward, her lips a half-inch from mine, she whispered, “Not until you take me on a date… and pay for it.” Pushing away from me, she walked backwards, grinning. “And if it’s Mexican, like you mentioned, I drink a lot of margaritas.” She shut the bathroom door, leaving me alone again.
I placed my hand over my heart and sighed. Funny how life works out. A guy like me, after seven years of self-destruction, only gets a date during the fucking Apocalypse.
Joseph Hunter will return in Shadow Magic
Shadow magic
Joseph Hunter Book 3 Preview Chapter
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Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I would like to thank you, the reader for the time you spent in my twisted, dark world. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
Second, I would like to thank my wife, Madison. Without her confidence and support, I would be a burnt-out English teacher in some under-funded classroom. But she allows me to live my dream.
