Sinful Magic (21 page)

Hurts.

She almost jumped as the word trembled in her head. Her chest began to ache, and shivering damp cold penetrated her fingers, swam up her arm, and searched out her bones, her muscles, right down to her cells. Gray filled her vision. And along with all that, Roxy felt a thread of old magic—a power that she recognized like her own mother, because it was Gwen’s magic. She shivered but didn’t let go. Instead, she soothed Dyfyr by saying, “It’s okay.”

“Carly, is she in danger?”

“I don’t think so. Don’t disturb her, just stand close.”

Roxy heard them talking. Felt the men, Sutton and Phoenix, flank her shoulders. They were warm. But she was frozen with Dyfyr’s pain and near certainty that her mother had done this, forced Dyfyr’s soul into Kieran.

“Don’t touch her,” Carla warned. “The dragon won’t like it.”

The cold fog thickened and slowed. The brutal ache in the icy bones of her arm began to subside. “Sleep, Dyfyr. That’s it,” she said softly. She felt him sink back into his dreams. Her magic percolated, sending light-filled energy to the creature. As she felt the dragon relax and go back into his slumber, hot pain began seeping through the connection. She frowned, forgetting about her mother. Was she feeling Kieran’s pain?

Key suddenly stepped back, severing the magical bond. It caused her powers to rush around, looking for him. She concentrated as the witches had shown her, calling her magic back to her first three chakras. Finally it calmed.

“Damn it, Roxy, I felt you trying to pull my pain away,” Key snapped at her.

She looked up. Blue color warmed the churning gray in Kieran’s eyes. “You’re back.”

“I wasn’t gone.” He tore his gaze from hers and lifted his hands. “Claws.” Then he shifted his gaze to Sutton. “You shouldn’t have broken my hand, it pissed off the dragon.”

Roxy turned to the hunter on her left. He had four long, deep gouges down his chest. Carla hurried up to his side, settled her hand over the deepest one and began healing him. Her magic rippled in the air around them.

“You remember?” Sutton asked.

“Yes,” he said, his voice tired. “The claws are new, though.”

Roxy’s nerves pulled tight. “Why did Dyfyr attack Sutton? It doesn’t make sense. I thought you were friends?” She couldn’t get a handle on what was happening. She’d connected so strongly with Dyfyr it rattled her. And then feeling the old thread of her mother’s magic. She’d been around Gwen’s magic all her life; it was as familiar as her mother’s voice.

“Because Key didn’t see me, did you?” Sutton said in a level voice. “Dyfyr wasn’t attacking me.”

Roxy jerked her thoughts back. “Then who? The dragon didn’t want to be awake. He said it hurts to be awake. Was it the witch blood in your loft? According to the story of his lover, Dyfyr created fertility witches by gifting his lover with fertility. Did he wake when you smelled the blood?”

“That was part of it.” Key went to the edge of the mat, picked up his knife. “But once Sutton pinned me and started breaking bones, all I saw was my father. And I wanted to kill him. Again.”

“That’s who tortured you, your father,” Sutton said. “Okay, got it; the dragon’s been protecting you. He rouses when he feels your old rage against your dad. But he’s no threat to Roxy, which was all I cared about.”

Key’s shoulders tensed. “I won’t let him hurt Roxy. I don’t think he even wants to. I told you that.”

Roxy was still caught up in the horror of Key’s dad torturing him. He had experienced such violence that it was no wonder he didn’t trust love. And yet he was so careful with her, so gentle. She stared at Kieran, his eyes cold and gray, remote. Shutting down. Protecting himself. Now she knew why, or at least part of it.

Key shifted, grabbed the overnight bag in his unbroken hand, and headed across the mat. Without looking back, he said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

Roxy said, “Wait! Your hand! Maybe I can heal it.” He didn’t answer, just shut the door.

Shut her out.

That was so not happening. She started after him.

“Roxy.” Phoenix put his hand on her shoulder.

She whipped around and stared at him.

“Key needs his space. You don’t know him like—”

“You do? So what am I supposed to do, wait around until you say it’s okay to go to him? Just leave him suffering and alone with a broken hand? Is that your plan? Because if so, it sucks!”

Phoenix’s mouth fell open.

Roxy sucked in a breath. “Look, I know you’re his friend, that you’re like brothers, but right now, he needs me. Maybe not forever, maybe that’ll change—” Tears burned her eyes, for herself and Kieran. Because didn’t it always change? She’d do something wrong, or they’d find out what her mother had done, and they’d all turn their backs on her. Like her father. Her emotions were riding so close to the surface, she couldn’t sort them out. Kieran had seen something in Roxy no one had ever seen before. He made her see that it was okay to embrace her magic, that she was strong enough to do it. He gave her permission to be herself with no apologies. He gave so much to her but wouldn’t let her give to him. Wouldn’t let her help him. He closed himself off from others that way. “I don’t know if we’ll be like you and Ailish, but right now, he needs me. I can heal his hand, and I can save his soul. So back off.” She realized now that she had to do that first. Seal their souls so he was free of the bloodlust. She was shaking, and she was embarrassing the hell out of herself. But she wasn’t leaving Kieran alone, she was going to help him just like he helped her. She jerked her shoulder from Phoenix and walked to the bathroom door, reached out, and turned the handle.

Locked.

“Damn it.” She didn’t dare look around. Were they all staring at her? It’d be really dramatic if she kicked in the door instead of standing there with her hand wrapped around a locked knob. That’d give them all something to talk about. Refusing to acknowledge defeat, refusing to let her frustrated tears fall, she gathered herself and opened her chakras. The energy streamed out.

She heard a click.

Roxy took a breath and turned the knob. She’d done it! Going inside, she closed the door and turned the lock.

The bathroom was fairly large and filled with steam from the oversized glass shower on the right. Glancing left, she saw his knife lying on the double-sink vanity. Dropping her gaze, she spotted the trash can. He’d sliced off the claws and thrown them away. Turning to the shower, through the foggy glass, she saw him. He had his back to her, and water sluiced over his broad shoulders, ran in uneven trails down his muscular back, traveling lower to that sexy dip and then

His butt. God, she wanted to squeeze his rounded, sculptured butt. Her skin grew hot, her clothes irritating her. She watched more water stream over his thighs to his calves.

Looking back up, she saw his left hand hung down, swollen and darkening with bruises. His drawing hand! What were the streaks of red? Looking up to the forearm, she saw the gash he’d sliced into his arm with the claw. It was still bleeding.

The memory of his pain got her moving. She yanked off her clothes. Pulling open the door, she stepped in.

Key had his right hand up, working shampoo into his hair. His shoulder and back moved with fluid muscles.

“I’m not going away,” she said softly.

He kept scrubbing his hair with one hand. “I gathered that when you used your magic to unlock the door.”

Roxy’s heart thumped in her chest. “Give me your hand. I’m going to heal it. Or try anyway.”

“It’s fine. I’ll heal in a few hours.” He braced his good hand against the wall, bent over and stuck his head under the spray, washing off the suds.

She couldn’t walk away from him. He’d been alone too long. Yes, he had friends, good friends. But he’d carried the burden of the Dragon Tear

she didn’t even know how long. And his father, what had he done to Key? Her heart twisted in her chest. It had been bad enough that the dragon had found a way to help him. She scooted up close to him, pressed her body to his back, leaning over so that he held both their weight. Water bounced off him and spattered over her face.

“Roxy,” he groaned the word.

The need in those words pulled out her magic. “I’m here, Kieran.” She laid her hand over the bleeding gash.

Her magic burst from her chakras, flowing so fast, she wrapped her arm around his waist to keep from falling. With unerring accuracy, her magic raced to his blood, then back, then out again. Finally the wound closed up completely, but her magic felt fuller, stronger. Her schema pinged and throbbed, as if sparks of electricity danced there. “That was a rush.”

“My blood. I only gave you one or two drops before on your schema. This was more, this fed your magic.”

“Then I’ll have enough to heal your hand.” She skimmed her palm down over his thick wrist and gently cupped his hand. His skin was hot, and she focused her magic, sending in healing energy.

She began getting a backlash, first a trickle of pain that grew into a stream. She forced herself to keep breathing, to accept the pain without making a sound.

Key slipped his hand from hers, with the water still spraying over his head; he opened it and then made a fist. She had healed him. Moments ago, he’d been empty, hurting and feeling exhausted and like a damned freak. Now her magic was swimming through him, her breasts pressed against his back, her pelvis against his ass. Her touch, her voice, her scent, it was all breaking through the gray, damp coldness that usually kept him numb. She was making him feel.

“Don’t move,” she said softly as she pulled back.

“Why?” He had no defense against her. Hadn’t she heard him out there? His life was a bad horror movie. Why was she here?

“Because it’s my turn.”

“To?” He heard her moving, heard the snap of a bottle cap opening, the soft thunk of setting it down.

“Wash you. Take care of you.” Her soapy hands came down on his shoulders.

Key dropped his head, feeling the slickness of the soap beneath the warmth of her hands. His cock was already rock hard from her magic, now it jerked and danced. Turn. Take her. Lift her up, thrust inside her, and make her yours.

Her hands worked over his shoulders, down his back, up his sides. “Arms up.”

He couldn’t fight this, didn’t know how. He raised both arms, pressed them to the cool shower wall. Her soapy hands went up, then around, sliding over his nipples. He shuddered, but even more powerful than her touch was the realization that she was seducing him. Giving him what he desperately needed. “Roxy

not here. I’m not going to take you in the shower of Phoenix’s gym.” She deserved more than that, he needed to give her more than that. Take her to a special place with privacy to let herself go, to moan, to scream if she wanted to. Not here where other witches, and hunters with super hearing, would inhibit her.

She deserved more. He wanted to give her more. But he needed her. As long as she touched him, the bloodlust stayed quiet.

Her hands went down. He opened his eyes, seeing her ivory hands against his stomach. Healing hands. Hands that tamed the dragon. Strong hands. She slicked back and forth, then changed direction again, rubbing her hands over his ass. Her fingers sliding deep to touch his balls.

“Oh God.” He spread his thighs apart and leaned his forehead against the tile. It was the sweetest torment, the feel of her hands on him, her breath feathering over his back, her hard nipples teasing his skin.

She got more soap. Then crouched, running her hands over one thigh, down to his foot, then back up his other thigh until she edged up and circled his balls with her wicked fingers.

She stopped, rising behind him. He heard that lid of the soap bottle pop again. Was she going to touch him more? He wanted to ask. Okay, beg. But he didn’t. He endured. He didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe, waiting

Enduring.

Shit. This was wrong. He should be taking care of her. Giving her pleasure. Her schema had to be hurting her.

She leaned against him again, reached around him and brushed her soapy fingers over the head of his cock. His breath left him in a rush. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and slid down all the way to his base.

Then up, all the fucking way up.

Her other hand cupped his balls. And then she opened her chakras. He knew because her magic streamed out through her fingers and hands, igniting a firestorm of pleasure. Her scent, honey-almond, caramel, and dark chocolate, filled him as her hands slid and pumped. Her magic caressed, and she pressed her hot mouth to his back in wet kisses, all up his spine. He lost all control, all will to do anything but feel this. His hips pumped against her hands, and fiery hot pleasure raced down his spine and exploded.

When he finally settled, when enough blood returned to his brain to think, he turned and pulled her into his arms. Held her against his heart. He tilted her head back and kissed her. He reached down between them, parted her curls, and found her clit. So slick and swollen. She’d gotten this excited touching him. He groaned into her mouth, wishing they were someplace private, where he could lay her down and learn her inch by inch. Denying himself the pleasure of sliding down her body, spreading her legs open, and tasting her was torture, but he could at least ease her now. He wrapped his arm around her middle and lifted her higher. Then he slid two fingers into her sheath and felt her magic pulse.

His blood heated and he began to stroke her, in and out while feathering her clit with his thumb. She writhed on him and he soon figured out it was her schema. He pressed the outside edge of his hand against that mark, and she shuddered, began pumping, panting into his mouth.

Oh yeah. He liked this, he liked it a hell of a lot. Once he found her rhythm, he pushed her, touched her, and stroked her until she came apart. He could feel her chest pounding as intense pleasure raced through her.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he looked at her flushed face, her knot a tangled mess of wet hair, her green eyes soft and unfocused. She had come to him, healed him, and given him pleasure.

She’d chased out the cold gray.

Key sucked in a breath. She was making him too vulnerable. Doing something to him. Bringing to life more than the dragon. She was making him feel. And that scared him. Maybe she didn’t get it yet, didn’t realize how twisted by violence and ugliness he was. Look what he and the dragon had done to Sutton.