Concentric Circles (6 page)

Lily watched them while they made themselves comfortable, her eyes lingering on Meekal.

“This is fine. Thanks, Lily.” He gave her a dismissive smile.

Shayla tapped his foot under the table. “Friend of yours?” she whispered.

“We dated once.”

“Wondered why she was so hoity-toity. How does she work in three inch heels anyway?”

“Changes every hour.”

“Ooh, that tidbit means you know her well.” The tip of her tongue came out and swept across a succulent upper lip. She leaned forward. “So you bring your newest conquest to meet her?”

“Conquest? Am I mistaken? I had the impression it’s deeper than that.” He held her gaze as his foot slid up her leg under the table. Shock flashed through him when her boot landed in his crotch. He choked, holding her laughing eyes in a tight embrace. His hand went to his lap in natural reactive protection even as he looked up at their server with a heated face.

Their server, wearing a nametag proclaiming her to be Amie, tapped her pad with a purple pen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Shayla maneuvered her foot in a sensual circle. He stared at her, feeling a mixture of awe and determination, and then squeezed her foot.

She sent the tip of her tongue out, and glanced up. “Hi, Amie. I’d like a Banana Banshee.”

He bit back a groan.

Shayla pushed on him again, tossed smooth curls over her shoulder, giving him an innocent smile. “My friend would like a Comfortable Screw.”

Meekal chewed the inside of his cheek.

She winked.

His voice caught somewhere in his throat. “That’ll be fine, Amie.”

Amie looked at Shayla’s funky black and red hair, leather jacket over a hot pink blouse and leather skirt, with skepticism. “I need to see some ID.”

Shayla, shaking with amusement, turned her mouth upward into a playful smile, and then licked her upper lip—again.

Profuse tongue
. Meekal resisted the urge to lean forward and consume its hyperactive delectableness. He moved slightly to the left trying to ease his jeans into a better position of comfort.

Shayla pulled her small wallet from a pocket and produced an Ohio driver’s license.

Amie studied it and then handed it back. “A Banana Banshee and Comfortable Screw coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

Meekal reached under the table and grabbed her boot. “Shock value?”

Shayla twisted her foot from his grasp and leaned forward on the table. “My turn. Besides, it doesn’t make up for the jolts you’ve given me today. Are you saying you aren’t interested in a Comfortable Screw?” She tilted her head to the right, pulling her full lower lip between her teeth.

He growled. “Comfortable, fast, or slow.”

She pulled up and reached across the table, tonguing his voice into oblivion.

A feral groan rose, sending blissful vibrations through their connection. He clutched her head tightly, enticed by her tasty treat. Their tongues danced to the rhythm of Eden Mystic’s, ‘Every Where with You Baby.’

Amie set his Comfortable Screw on the table with a bang and a slosh.

Meekal pulled away, gasping for air and smiled up at her. “Thanks.” He touched his finger to his swelled lower lip enjoying its heightened sensitivity and grinned. “I think we’re ready to order dinner, Amie.”

“Yes,” Shayla said, smacking her lips. “I’d like a hamburger, well done, and fries, a glass of water and a side salad with creamy Italian.”

Amie tapped her pad again, joined into the fray by chewing on her lip, while eyeing Shayla.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, she meant chips, Amie. You know, fries, chips?” He motioned with his hands as though a balancing scale while her eyes glowered at him. “I’ll have the same. Thank you.”

Amie snorted and stalked away.

Shayla turned her head, watching her progress back to the kitchen. “Did you date her, too?”

“No. She rooms with Lily.”

“Humm.”

“You know,” he said tapping her foot with his under the table. “I can’t figure out if you’re a voyeur or a tease.”

“Does it really matter? Just so long as you have fun. You are having fun, aren’t you?”

She sent her hand across the table, caressed his neck, and then up to his hair.

“Shay.”

“Yeah. Crackling reticence.”

Her fingers tightened, entwining and sending him on a blissful journey to heaven.
Heaven. Abbey, oh damn
. “Shay, it’s…” He pulled her hand to his mouth, biting the rise of her thumb, and then licked the new tattoo. Concentric circles. He closed his eyes, breathing and tasting her.
Gotta tell her. Not just a magical bond
. The sound of bliss escaped him. He savored the delicious heat, pushing it toward her, and then absorbing it back into his soul.

“Git a room.” Harry grinned at them, and then slid into the booth next to Shayla. “Thought you would’ve worked the sexual tension out by now.”

Meekal rolled his eyes. Harry, his best mate, could take liberties. “That’ll have to be a lifetime achievement.” He felt Shayla’s heart flip and squeezed her hand in response.

She stared at him across the table, breathing in quick shallow breaths.

“Really?” Harry turned and studied her, stopping at breast level.

Meekal yowled.

Harry laughed.

Shayla arched her brows at them. “Excuse me. Did I miss something?”

Harry leaned in and whispered, “Kal can be a bit territorial. I understand it’s a cat thing.”

He kicked Harry under the table.

Harry’s only response was to reach for a chip from his plate as the server placed it in front of him.

Annoyance surfacing, he smacked Harry’s pilfering fingers, but then joked. “My food. Keep your bloody paws off my food and my girl.”

Shayla choked on her first bite of British hamburger.

Both young men grinned at her while Harry pounded her on the back.

* * * * * *

The night held a soft radiance. Cool air embraced them when all three left Harry’s Pub. Meekal savored the feel of Shayla’s hand. His palm buzzed with a sense of desire fed by their connection and the diamond stars glistening above. Crickets sang amongst the low growing shrubs. They shared easy conversation walking back to Chilkwell Manor under the streetlights.

Shayla’s attention moved up to the curlicue writing on a street sign. She stopped and pointed. “Chilkwell Street?”

“Aye.” Harry shook with laughter. “Kal has a street named after him.”

Meekal rolled his eyes and laughed good humouredly. “No, I’m named after a street.”

Shayla eyed them, obviously trying to decide what to believe. “Really?”

“Nope. Harry’s teasing you. We’ve been around for almost one thousand years. What do you expect?”

Her eyes went back to the green sign embellished with a holy thorn branch and an asp. “So your ancestors Black Bry and Morna came here in one thousand CE?”

“No. Black Bry came in ten sixty-six. Morna was already here.”

“Oh.”

An unpleasant and noxiously pervasive odor moved in the air. A man appeared before them, blending into view as if from the night itself. “And you’re going to lose it all soon, Chilkwell. What a pity,” he said, sneering like a princely sewer rat.

Meekal stepped between Shayla and the interloper. “Ah, a Thyrza. What are you doing here, Dragar?”

Dragar’s black eyes raked over Meekal, and then moved to Shayla, narrowing.

“Kal? A what?” Shayla moved closer to his back, hand brushing his spine.

Meekal held Dragar’s gaze tightly and shrugged. They were old enemies. “Loose translation, love, ‘wand wielders,’” he replied, expressing distain while mentally checking the odds.

Dragar, a scruffy man with dirty blond hair, leered. “Heard you were gay, Chilkwell. Mayhap, we’ll take your love. Show her what a real man can do.”

Shayla chuckled and stepped around to see Meekal’s face. “Gay, baby?”

Meekal eyed the Thyrza, spinning his head, calculating the chances of getting away without injuring Shayla. Six.
We should be able to take them out.

“Harry’s bi,” he answered, stalling for time. “I’m straight.”

“Ah, I see.” Humor traced along the edges of her expression.

The energy in his palm heated. The power around him, ley lines and generations of performed magic zipped into his fingertips. He flexed them with intent sending a silent spell.

A sudden snapping noise popped and crackled to their left. A Thyrza jumped and yelled. His wand waved wildly, throwing sparks randomly into the night, giving the atmosphere an eerie ambiance. The man roared in pain, dancing the jig.

The distraction worked, pulling the attention of his cohorts. Two stopped in mid-step and stared at their cohort with morbid fascination.

Meekal then tossed a nettle sting charm at Thyrza number four. His favorite in defensive actions, the stinging nettle gave the receiver tiny pinpricks of pain beneath the skin. Not enough to do serious harm, just enough to divert the mal-intentions of their attackers. In the midst of more yelling, he introduced his fist to Dragar’s scruffy chin.

Dragar’s head snapped back, mouth open, emitting a roar.

Through their new bonding connection, Meekal experienced awareness of Shayla being involved with one of the Thyrzas. However, he went down and swung his leg around, felling yet another.

A fast glance at Harry. “Bloody hell.”

Harry tended to play during duels. Always refusing to use a wand or other instrument for magic transference, Harry utilized the power of ley lines to confuse and defend. Currently, he rode the web of power like a surfer upon a wave. “WhaHoo!” Harry cupped his hand and aimed at one of their attackers as if he would toss a ball.

Water soused the Thyrza. The man sputtered and danced in a circle, trying to escape the wet cascade falling around him. Harry’s opponent continued to struggle ineffectively, having a hell of a time keeping up.

“Bastard,” Dragar said, recovered from his head thumping. He pounced on Meekal. They rolled in contest of who would be victor. “You’re going down, Chilkwell,” he growled through nasty halitosis.

Meekal grunted and hit the ugly, smelly face above him. “Not likely.”

Shayla’s voice came through their battle sounds. “All right there, baby?”

How lyrical. Time to be finished
. Quick momentum flipped Dragar over his head, succeeding in knocking the wind out of him when he hit the Chilkwell Street sign. Meekal rose in smooth action, holding Dragar captive against the post with earth energy flowing from his hand.

“Ahhh!”

He spun, a lightning bolt of surprise shooting through him.

Shayla stood facing a Thyrza, holding a
sgian dhu
, a small black handled Highlander’s knife, braced against the man’s chest. The Thyrza looked terrified, trembling in his boots and pressing against the bricks behind him as though desiring to disappear into them.

“Where’d you get that knife? I know you didn’t bring it on the plane.”

“FedEx.”

Harry’s laughter sang out.

Thump! Crash!

“The Fae wins!” Harry said while he shook his hand to ward off the pain of bruised knuckles.

A relieved laugh escaped Meekal. “That’s my girl.” He grinned, turned back to the leader of the Thyrza and pulled his stringy hair roughly to take his attention away from Shayla. “You heard me, Dragar. Mine. Tell Syther what happened tonight. I’m ready for him. The Well will always stand. Now, get lost.”

Dragar vanished in a wisp of black air. The others followed him silently.

 [4] The Gaderian:
Spectrum of Shadows

The warmth of the kitchen at Chilkwell Manor was fragrant with the scents of fresh baked pumpkin pies and apple cider. “Yumm,” Shayla said softly.

Chaeli laughed and began to pour her some cider. She looked up when Meekal and Harry entered the kitchen and stopped in mid-action. “What happened?” The glass and jug landed on the bar.  Her brow furrowed, she studied Meekal’s injuries.

He shrugged and opened a cupboard door to help himself to a glass.

“Meekal!”

The sound of cider pouring filled the tension-choked quiet in the kitchen. He finished pouring Shayla some cider, and then handed Harry a glass before burying his face in the fragrant drink. He sighed after drinking, and placed his glass gently on the counter. “I’m okay, Mum. Syther sent some of his thugs around for an acrimonious visit.”

Worry and anger flashed across Chaeli’s face. “Where?”

“Just outside the border. We’ve talked about this already. They won’t succeed.”

“Humph.” Chaeli reached forward and turned his face to the light. “It’s a good thing Bree left us some elixir.” She opened the cupboard to her left and pulled down a small sapphire blue bottle. With a quick twist, the cap came off and she began applying a milky substance to Meekal’s face using a Q-tip.

Shayla, sitting on a high stool across the bar, breathed in sharply and leaned in closer for a better view. An electrical charge went through her. The bruise faded right before her eyes.

“Get Harry next, Mum.”

The Q-tip went into the trash and Chaeli reached for a new one. In short order, she took care of Harry’s split lip, bleeding knuckles and a cut above an already scarred eyebrow.

The instant healing Chaeli performed fascinated Shayla.
Wow! That’s so kewl!

Meekal reached forward entwining their fingers, and pulled her attention away. “I’m going to take Shayla to the Noon-at-Night Gaderian. I’ll be back later.”

Chaeli screwed the cap back on the magical substance. “Have a good time, Shayla. Gail’s circle gatherings are always inspirational. Please tell her I’m there in spirit.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Once outside, she stopped on the top step of the portico. “Kal, what exactly is a Gaderian? I know that Noon-at-Night is midnight. Why does Gail call the meeting we’re going to a Gaderian?”

He stepped close, the corners of his mouth lifting, spreading across his face in the silvery moonlight. “Gaderian is Old English for gathering. Gail likes to blend the old and new. By the way, I won’t be staying.” He paused, touching her cheek and hair. “It’s women only. Did you bring something that belonged to an ancestor?” A sudden frown marred his handsome face. “Do you have anything?”