Sinful Magic (7 page)

From him! She ripped her gaze away and stormed into the bathroom, gathered up her stuff, and dropped it all into her travel bags. Then she went out and shoved those into her suitcase. She zipped it up, yanked it off the bed and dumped it on the floor. Her hands were shaking, the mark on her thigh burned, and her life was spiraling out of control. So she told him the blunt truth. “My schema is trying to make me have sex to find my Awakening.”

Kieran’s face softened. “Roxy—”

“No. I’m not going to Awaken. Not now or ever. I want my chakras to die off, and I will become fully, completely mortal.”

His mouth dropped.

Finally she was getting through. “Kieran, I appreciate the warning about Mack and Liam. I’ll be careful. You’ve done your job, now leave me alone.” She pulled out the handle, rolled the suitcase toward the door, and left.

The multiauthor signing was scheduled for two hours.

He’d made it an hour and twenty minutes so far. The noise in the large room was thunderous. The scent of sweat, perfume, latex, and marker was cloying. Many of the fans were dressed in costumes; Star Trek and Star Wars were always popular. So were X-Men and Transformers, a few even dressed as Dyfyr. Some stayed true to the comic books, keeping the dragon charcoal or black with only bloodred accents. A few added their own color.

Key’s line for autographs still snaked around the room. Impatience pounded in his head and tightened the muscles of his neck. His hand cramped and his bloodlust was starting to burn and swell his veins. He needed sex.

Automatically, he searched the room, his gaze passing over the authors and fans until he saw Roxy. She stood with a large man sporting a cop haircut and wearing a lightweight jacket over his gun.

Bodyguard.

But a mortal one, and that wasn’t good enough. Liam or any witch hunter could shift his memory and get him to do whatever they wanted. Hell, they didn’t even need to do that; Key could pick up Roxy and run, and he’d be out the hotel and partway down the street before the bodyguard reacted.

A darker emotion slithered through him. What if she let that man touch her? Ease her? He clamped down on that thought. But damn, she looked hot. She wore a black skirt, a blue green, sleeveless, button-down top, and had her red hair pulled back into a clip. Fresh, yet so curvaceous and enticing.

He was attracted to a fertility witch. That gave him pause. He wasn’t dumb enough to assume all fertility witches were willing to pervert their magic as the one who helped his mother had done. Still, he wasn’t a fan. But Roxy was latent, she didn’t have her magic, so what did he care?

She must have felt his gaze, turned, and looked at him. Her fair skin darkened. They were hyperaware of each other. She turned away, resuming her conversation.

He felt the loss, a return to the emptiness. Weird shit. He drew to pour out his rage and violence to be empty and clearheaded. But Roxy, when he drew her, saw her, or touched her, reversed the flow and made him feel as if a vital part of him had been drained and asleep, and was now waking.

Soul mirror.

The thought stunned him, and he rejected it. In the soulmirror couples so far, the tattoos on the witch hunter came to life, giving the hunter real wings and acting as a kind of familiar for the witch and helping her control her high magic. The way to find out if they were soul mirrors was usually for the hunter to touch the witch’s blood, and the wing tattoo recognized his soul mirror.

But Roxy was latent. She wasn’t his soul mirror. Hell, Kieran was a product of magic. When his mother had been pregnant with him, she’d taken the Tear to a fertility witch and had her do a spell to call the soul of a dragon into him. When he’d started drawing dragons as soon as he could hold a crayon, his mother said it worked. Key had always known the dragon was there, even knew his name: Dyfyr. It was like his hand or his foot, just there.

But he soon came to understand that he was a freak of magic, produced by a powerful Dragon Tear, a mother obsessed with immortality, and an unscrupulous fertility witch. A monster. Not the stuff of soul mirrors. No way in hell was he unleashing this dragon on any woman. The creature, when he surfaced, was furious.

Besides, soul mirrors exchanged sex and blood, and formed a bond. A relationship. Key didn’t do relationships—he had destroyed people he loved or loved him. While dying, his mother blamed him for not saving her, though he never knew how he was supposed to when she wouldn’t take the Tear off. Then there was Vivian, their baby

He shut it down before the old guilt suffocated him. No, he didn’t sign up for that kind of grief. He could endure any physical pain. He’d had enough practice thanks to his father and Liam, so he knew how to survive that. But he wouldn’t allow himself to destroy another woman.

His mind was in a turmoil trying to sort it all out. And yet his gaze returned to Roxy, sliding down her back, over that full ass and the length of her legs. His groin tightened, and the need to touch her ached in his chest. Sex he could do, but she didn’t want it. At the very least, he had to make sure she was safe. Finish this signing while Phoenix and Ailish were out sniffing around town seeing if they could get any information on Liam.

Vivian flashed in his mind again, her skin so pale, her lips gray as he held her. He’d been desperate to save her, but it had been hopeless. His hatred of Liam burst like a firework finale in his head. Being an artist, his mind redrew the scene so it was Roxy’s face

Low complaints cut into his thoughts.

“Hey!” said a woman dressed as Princess Leia.

“Wait your turn!” demanded a storm trooper.

“You can’t cut in line!” a slave girl shouted from farther back in the line.

Key spotted the two troublemakers. They were in their early twenties; one had on a black hoodie and a bulge in his front waistband. Gun. The second man was hauling a duffel bag.

“Beat it, kid.” Hoodie shoved the approximately thirteen-year-old boy from the front of the line.

“But I was in line!” The kid was about five foot two and had on a Dyfyr hat over his shaggy brown hair, along with a too-big, black T-shirt, baggy camo pants tucked in sad-looking boots.

“Get lost.” The other man dropped a stack of comic books on the table. “Do your thing, dude.”

His tat went hot. The rage wanted to boil up and out of him. It was the kid

Key only had to look at him to see he’d had a life of being pushed around.

On top of that, he knew what the thugs were doing, getting the comics and graphic books signed to sell online. They were bullying and intimidating all the authors into doing it.

“The boy was next,” Key said, threading steel into his voice.

Hoodie lifted his sweatshirt to reveal the gun. “Sign them, asshole.”

Key dropped his Sharpie on the table. “Can’t. Got a cramp in my hand.” He scanned the line of fans, saw they sensed trouble and moved back a few feet.

The bigger man with the duffel bag grabbed Key’s wrist and tried to slam his hand onto the desk.

Key froze his hand in midair, using his hunter strength.

The man’s dark eyes widened.

Hoodie pulled out his gun.

The other guy let go and turned to guard his gunman’s back.

Key leaped over the table and jerked the gun out of Hoodie’s hand.

“Knife!” It was the kid’s panicked voice.

Key slammed his fist into Hoodie’s jaw. His head snapped back, his legs buckled and he went down hard. Key spun, and went still. The second man had yanked the kid in front of him, the knife at his throat. Key looked into the boy’s brown eyes shimmering with tears and helpless fear.

“Hey!”

It was Roxy’s voice! She must have run across the room toward the commotion. Key kept his eyes on the knife at the kid’s throat.

“Let me go!” Roxy yelled.

“Shut up, bitch!” Then a slap.

He knew that was Hoodie. He must have gotten up and grabbed Roxy.

“Umph! Damn!”

From the sound of it, she was clearly fighting him.

The man with the knife looked away from Key to see his partner scuffling with Roxy. Key seized the opportunity and lunged, grabbed the forearm holding the knife, and yanked it back. A sickening crack echoed in the room.

Key put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and moved him out of reach. Then he turned, taking in the entire room in a sweep. Roxy’s bodyguard was in a tussle with two security guys. He’d pulled his gun and they’d assumed he was the problem. Hoodie had hold of Roxy’s ponytail, a small pocketknife at her throat. The man had blood running from his mouth and nose from Key’s earlier punch.

“You move and I’ll cut her!” Hoodie said, his dark eyes wild with pain and panic.

Key still held the first thug’s gun in his hand. In a show of cooperation, he ejected the magazine to the ground, then reached over and set the gun on the table.

The guy watched his movements, his grip on the knife easing as he thought he’d gotten control.

Key snapped into action, drawing his knife from the holster at the small of his back and throwing it with dead-perfect aim.

The blade buried in the man’s arm, just above the elbow. His nerveless fingers dropped the little pocket knife. He bellowed in pain and fear, shoved Roxy with his good arm and tried to pull the knife out.

Key leaped over where Roxy had fallen to her knees, pulled out his knife and yanked the bellowing asshole to his feet. After wiping off his blade on the thug’s pants, Key threw him down next to his buddy.

Security swarmed around them. Key ignored them, his gaze zeroing in on Roxy. She got to her feet and stood there, shivering, a bruise forming on the left side of her face. He jerked off the light jacket he wore to cover his knife holster. Putting it around her shoulders, he yanked her up to his face. “What the hell were you doing getting close to that scumbag?”

She glared right back at him. “I had to get that man with the knife to look away from you! He would have cut that kid!”

A buzz filled his head. He could hear all the chatter going on around them, but his entire focus was on this little witch in front of him. “You did it on purpose?”

“To give you an opening to save the boy.” She lifted her hand to her cheek.

A maelstrom of feelings erupted inside him. Pride in her, fear for her, rage that she’d been hit, satisfaction that she believed he’d save the boy, respect that she cared enough about a boy she didn’t know to put herself in danger

“I’m sorry.”

Both he and Roxy turned at the same time to see the boy standing to his right. The kid’s hat had come off, he still clutched his rolled up comic book, and his face was a picture of shame and misery. “For what?” He was so wrapped up in Roxy, he couldn’t get his head around why the kid was apologizing.

The boy stared down at the book in his hands. “For starting this. I should have moved when the guy told me to, but I wanted to meet you

sorry.” He turned and started to walk away.

Key let go of Roxy and turned. “Hey kid, what’s your name?”

The boy stopped and looked back. “Tyler.”

He walked to the young man, put his hand on his shoulder and felt the sharp bones beneath the kid’s shirt. “This isn’t your fault, Tyler. You tried to stop the guy with the knife, didn’t you?”

Finally the kid looked up, his face flushing. “I tried to grab his arm, but he’s stronger.” He looked down at his comic book. “I don’t know how to fight or anything.”

Oh Christ. Key was looking at himself about sixteen years ago. Twelve or thirteen-ish, thin, gangly, and clueless on how to defend himself. No wonder the kid liked Dyfyr, the Dragon of Vengeance. If Dyfyr were here, he’d defend this boy. “Do you still want me to sign your book?”

“Really?” He looked down again. “It’s kind of messed up. I read it a lot.”

This kid was the reason he did signings. “That’s why I create them, dude. Not for plastic sleeves and display cases, but to be read.” He took the book from him, hiding his grin at the tattered condition, turned to his table, and grabbed the pen. He wrote, “To Tyler, a man with the bravery of a dragon,” before signing his name. He handed it back when a page slid out.

Tyler didn’t notice the falling paper as he read the inscription. “Oh. Awesome! Thanks Mr. DeMicca!”

Key bent down and picked up the page. It was a drawing, a pencil sketch of him at the table, bent over to sign a comic book. Behind his right shoulder, Dyfyr was crouched; his eyes watchful, his spiked tail partway up and he looked ready to explode into action. It was damned good. He looked up. “You drew this?”

Tyler looked up and flushed a deep red. “Uh, I was, you know, just standing in line, and sketching. Just fooling around.”

Key said, “Can I keep it?”

The boy’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, yeah. If you want.”

Hell, yeah, he wanted it. He’d put this up over his drafting table at the club, another reminder of who his real fans were. He held out the drawing and the pen. “Sign it.”

Tyler’s eyes grew bigger. “Like an autograph?”

“Exactly.”

The boy took the pen and paper, leaned over the table, and wrote across the bottom, Tyler Yandell. Then he turned and held it out.

Key took the drawing. “Thanks. You interested in learning some self-defense?”

Tyler stood up straight, his shoulders back. “From you?”

Key could teach the boy, but he had another idea. “I could show you a few things, but I know someone even better. She used to be a professional kickboxer. Her name is Ailish, and she’s here in town with me and a friend of mine.”

He grimaced. “A girl?”

“Ever hear of the Blind Kickboxer?”

Recognition rearranged his face into awe. “Oh man, really? You know her?”

He smiled. “Yep.” He turned to Roxy.

Gone.

Looking up, he saw her heading toward the door. Glancing to the kid, he said, “Stay here.” Then he ran over, winding between people, and caught up with her at the door. “Roxy.”

She turned back to him. “Oh, your jacket.” She slid it off her shoulders and handed it to him.

Ignoring her outstretched hand, he saw the delicate skin beneath her eye getting dark and puffy. “Damn. Your eye is bruising.”