Sinful Magic (20 page)

oh hell.”

“Now what?” Axel said.

Sutton turned his blue eyes on Key. “Your loft alarm was tripped about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Liam.” He was sure of it. Shit! This whole thing was a diversion. “He’s going after the Tear.” And Key wasn’t there to kill his brother.

Axel leaped to his feet. “Is the Tear there?”

“No.” Key rose, too. “I’m going, see if I can catch him.” He took a few steps and turned back. “Roxy is—”

Sutton shifted Carla and rose. “At Phoenix’s house. Carly and I will go there now. Your witch will be safe.”

Phoenix said, “I’m going to fly ahead of you, Key, scope it out.”

Key nodded and took off running for his truck, thankful that he’d done one thing right and hadn’t left Roxy at his house.

The smell of the blood made his veins throb with fiery need. On the floor of his loft was the body of a slaughtered witch. Her blond hair was dark and sticky with blood, her clothes stripped off and her thighs spread open to reveal the schema. This witch had only the left half of a fertility goddess and it blazed with the gold and blue colors.

Next to her on the wood floor was written in blood, “Give me the Tear, or I’ll kill everyone you care about.”

Key shuddered, fighting the craving for witch blood. It was scraping his veins raw. He looked down at his arms and saw his veins bulging, darkening to almost black. As he watched, they expanded, thickened, throbbed with hunger. Need.

Witch blood. Not this dead shit lying on his floor, but living blood, warm and potent. He could plunge his knife into Roxy’s arteries, letting the blood spray over him.

Then he could use it to draw—draw her death, draw—

Something slammed into him. Key flew back, the granite counter banging into his kidneys. He heard the stone crack. Or his back did. Furious, he got his feet under him and looked around.

Axel stood by the dead witch, his arms crossed, his eyes sober.

Phoenix stood directly between him and the witch, blocking his view. The hunter’s hands were down at his side, but his naked arms and chest bulged. “Get out of here. You’re losing control.”

Key damn near pulled his knife and buried it in Phoenix’s chest when he caught himself. He knew it was bloodlust short-circuiting his brain. He’d walked right into the witch’s blood and had been staring down at her when Phoenix shoved him back. Liam knew this would make Key crazy. “Do you see what my brother did? He tore my loft apart looking for that Tear and murdered a witch right here!” The fury piled on his bloodlust and he stalked up to Phoenix, shoved him aside and went into his bedroom. He yanked the handmade quilt off his bed and stormed back into the living area. “That wasn’t enough, though; he had to humiliate her. Spreading her legs open like a whore, just so we’d see the mark inside her thigh.” He snapped the quilt out and covered her. His blood burned like a blowtorch. He was losing control. His hands shook with the need to draw or kill. He jerked his gaze around his apartment, the torn-apart furniture, the broken pottery, the—

His sketchbook. It had been thrown into a corner, still closed. Leaning down he picked it up and opened it. He saw the picture of Roxy sitting on the couch, her face wistful as she talked about the dragon legend.

His heart rate calmed. The dragon shifted as if trying to touch her.

He felt Phoenix standing over his shoulder, looking.

Key turned, took a step back, shielding the book, and flipped the page. There she was half-nude, leaning back against his couch, covered in her sunset witch-shimmer

His. In those moments, she had given herself so completely, trusting him to show her the beauty of her sexuality and magic.

Phoenix moved to see.

He slapped the picture against his chest, lifted his head. “No.” No one would ever see this but him and Roxy. Sliding the book up, he sniffed.

Very faint scent of copper. Liam hadn’t looked; he’d just tossed it out of the way. Stupid fucker hadn’t even seen the biggest treasure in the loft. This picture of Roxy.

“Hold it together, Key,” Phoenix said.

“I am.” He met his friend’s gaze. “This is Roxy as only I will ever see her.”

His dark eyes softened. “I hear that. Close the book. I won’t look, and neither will Axel.”

That was one thing Key could believe in. He eased the book back and closed it. “Liam is getting desperate and he wanted to leave me his little message.” His gaze went to the witch again. He felt the dragon undulate in aggravation, while dread weighed down his gut. “There’s more to this than just pissing me off or trying to get me to turn. Liam told Roxy he’s blood-born. He’d suffered a fatal heart strike, yet he’s not dead. What kept him alive? Where was he all these years?”

Axel walked up to him, both he and Phoenix cutting off his view of the dead witch beneath the quilt. “Something to do with the fertility witch blood?”

The dragon shifted again and the cold rage tried to pull Key in. He was so near the edge, he could barely think. “He’s doing something with that witch blood. He had a group of mortals searching for and disabling witches, then bringing them to him. Blood-born

” The dread in him swelled. “Could enough fertility witch blood heal a heart? And now he’s taken so much he thinks he can track the Tear? Dyfyr created fertility witches

”

Axel’s face hardened. “You might want to think about moving the Tear from the club in case he is tracking it somehow.”

Key agreed, but said, “You, Phoenix, and Sutton are immortal; I don’t want you touching the Tear. You’re not a god like Wing Slayer, just immortal from his magic. Even unbroken, that Tear might do serious damage to you.”

Axel nodded. “Key, gather up what you need here and get out. Stay somewhere else tonight. I’ll take care of the witch and have the place cleaned up. We’ll meet later at Phoenix’s place.” Axel took a breath and added, “Then you and Roxy need to wake the dragon. Find out how to get rid of this Tear.”

His fingers tightened on the sketchbook as he thought of the picture he’d drawn of her and thought of the one time he’d tried to reach for love and happiness with a woman.

Then he’d destroyed her.

How the hell could he keep from destroying Roxy?

Key and Phoenix walked into the house through the garage and found Dee, the housekeeper, driver for Ailish, and all-around friend bustling around the kitchen.

“Dee, hey, what’s cooking? Smells good,” Phoenix said.

“Barbecue beef sandwiches and potato salad,” Dee answered. “There’s beer in the fridge.” She glanced at them. “Key, you look like you could use a keg.”

“Hi, Dee,” Key said, struggling to keep himself contained. With his overnight bag in his hand, he said to Phoenix, “Going down to shower in your gym.” He had to wash off the scent of that witch blood. Wash off his brother. Clear his head before he saw Roxy.

Get control of himself before he smelled her blood.

Phoenix’s house was a trilevel, and Key was currently on the main floor. He walked through the kitchen, past the dining room. There were two sets of stairs across from a sunken living room. He heard soft footsteps and looked up to see Roxy coming down from the media room.

She’d changed into jeans that hugged her thighs and ass, and then pooled around her slim ankles. Her shirt was grass green and cut low enough to show her generous cleavage. She had her hair twisted up on her head in a casual knot, long strands spilling out like rays of fiery sunshine. On her face, bare arms and upper chest, he could see the subtle glow of her sunset-colored witch-shimmer. She stopped on the last step. “Kieran, are you okay?”

His groin filled with liquid heat. Yet he could smell remnants of her magic clinging to her, and it fired his bloodlust to raging. The dual hungers broke him out in a sweat and buzzed in his ears. “Your magic, I can see it in your shimmer.”

She flushed. “Three chakras. Darcy, Ailish, and Carla have all helped me.” She took a deep breath and added, “I heard about the fertility witch in your loft.”

He saw that dead witch again in his head. Smelled her blood. His mind was fracturing with various images. That could have been Roxy. If he hadn’t gotten there in time to save her from Liam in the parking garage, she’d be dead. Another part of his mind thought about her blood, how good it would feel, how the warm power in her blood would cool the burn of the curse.

“Kieran?” She reached for him.

“Don’t touch me. Bloodlust. Don’t.” It was more than bloodlust; he was slipping into that empty, cold place that knew only violence and vengeance. A gray world where blood was the only color. Angry, hot, violent, spewing blood.

Sutton came down the stairs, squeezed Roxy’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay. Just give him a little time.” Then he said to Key, “Let’s go.”

Key didn’t look back, didn’t dare. He knew Sutton had heard every word and recognized how close to the edge Key was. By the time Key got down into the gym, Sutton had stripped down to his pants. The man was six foot three, and at least two-twenty, maybe more since bonding to Carla. His bald head gleamed under the lights, the small eagle earring in his ear twinkled, and pure power rolled off the man himself.

Key dropped the bag, ripped off his boots and socks, jerked off his shirt, unsheathed his knife, and laid it next to the bag, then he went to the mat. He circled Sutton, taking in the eagle tat on his back, and the scars from when he’d forced out his wings to save his mate. Normally, wings were a flawless magic, the tattoo disappearing when the wings sprang out. Then when they vanished, the tattoo reappeared.

But Carla hadn’t been Sutton’s soul mirror, not then, not until his deep love for the witch turned them into soul mirrors.

Sutton whirled around and slammed his fist into Key’s jaw, throwing him six feet back onto his ass.

It was on.

Key popped up, went low, and caught Sutton with a knee strike that dropped him to the mat. Key spun into a kick for his head.

Sutton caught his leg and flipped him up so he landed on his back. Before Key blinked, the man straddled him.

Key swung his fist, aiming for under the jaw.

Sutton caught it and squeezed. “That dragon is fucking dangerous, Key. You and I both know it. Phoenix loves you like a brother, and he can’t see it. But I can and so can you.”

“So?”

Sutton squeezed and Key heard the first bone break in his hand. The swirling cold pulled him deeper inside himself. He didn’t blink.

“You didn’t feel that, did you?”

“Felt it, and don’t give a shit. Break another bone, asshole.”

Sutton squeezed.

Another bone shattered.

He was starting to see red at the edges of his vision. Never cry, never scream, don’t even groan. Ever. “There are twenty-seven bones in my hand, my man. We could be here awhile, you have twenty-five more to go.”

Sutton’s expression was horrified. “Who tortured you, Key?”

How did he know? That was his last full thought before the rage blew the red spots all over the gray fog. He looked at the other hunter’s face and all he saw was his father. Something in him broke loose; he caught Sutton’s ankle between his knees, ancient strength filling him as he threw the man down. Leaping to his feet, he fought with brutal punches, vicious kicks until a pure, sweet voice, said, “Kieran, stop!”

He froze, panic turning his slow and killing heartbeat into a fast hammering. Whipping his head around, he saw that though everything else was grayed out except the blood, she was in perfect color. His treasure. Her face was so pale, the scattering of freckles stood out like blood.

“Your hands, Kieran,” she said, walking toward him.

Through the fog, he saw that there were more people in the gym. He knew them all; Carla, Darcy, Ailish, Phoenix. And his goddess, his treasure. Their treasure.

“Roxy,” Carla said in her calm, easygoing voice. “The dragon is partially awake, tell him to go back to sleep.”

“But his hands!” Roxy said, her tone pitched to frantic worry.

He knew his hand was broken. So what? He’d heard the bones pop. He tried to look directly at Roxy, but it was hard. It hurt. Reminded him that she’d left him. Went away to a place he couldn’t go. Hurt. God, it just hurt. So he looked at Sutton.

Lots of blood on him.

Didn’t want to look at him either. So he looked down.

At his hands.

Claws? They were the color of fingernails, but at least two inches long, and curved. Was this what had everyone freaked? Of course a dragon had claws, didn’t they know that? The gray swirled around him. He lifted the unbroken hand and looked. Yes, those were definitely claws. He extended his index finger, brought up his other arm and drew it across his forearm.

Watched blood well up. Very red. Red was good against the gray world.

“No!” Roxy yelled.

Her voice agitated him. Reminding him. Hurt. He turned to look at her. Hurt more. Sleep, sleep would be better but he couldn’t stop looking at her. Looking past the red hair, green eyes, pretty skin to that soul he had missed for centuries.

Hurt. Sad.

She kept coming toward him. He wanted to hold her close, lift his wings and soar the skies with her in his arms. But his wings wouldn’t lift or expand. He was trapped. She was part of his dreams, his memories. He hated the hurt, hated the hurt of Kieran, hated the hurt of all his witches, hated the hurt that assaulted him every time he partially woke.

His heart tried to beat for her, wanted to beat for her, but it was trapped in the magic of his grief.

“Dyfyr.”

Her voice, it called him. Called the hurt. He looked at her from Kieran’s chest, where he perched. Her witch-shimmer

it was exactly as he remembered. Then she touched him, her small hand pressed against his face. Her scent, her skin, her very essence made him sigh. Better.

“Go back to sleep, Dyfyr.”

Yes, sleep. No more hurt when he slept. Just

dreams of flying with her in his arms. Dreams of taking his man form and making love to her. Dreams

Roxy’s first three chakras popped open, and the energy began funneling up. With her hand on Kieran’s chest, against the face of the dragon, she said, “That’s right, sleep, Dyfyr.” There was a damp cold rising from both the man and the dragon.