Spell-Weaver (2 page)

Chapter Three

She was easy to talk to and she had a delicate touch. The tattoo still stung, each swirl and sweep making him very aware of his skin, but it was a good kind of pain. Distracting.

She stopped tattooing to dip the needles in more of the ink, her black gloves speckled with a glossy coating where the dark color had splattered. “You doing okay? Bleeding a little more than what I like to see, but it's probably just the alcohol in your system.”

“Yeah, fine.” Dy grunted, then turned his head to the other side, so he could rest it on his folded forearms. He heard the snap as the electricity hit the machine, then the buzz that followed—a calming kind of sound. She wiped the spot she was working on. Dyami found the smell of antiseptic comforting, but the scratch of the paper towel almost more painful than the needles. With a dab of Vaseline to lube his skin, Summer repositioned and then went at it again. The outline hadn't taken as long as he'd thought it would. Breaking the skin was usually the worst part. Now she was working on the coloring-in portion which meant more needles, and in places, more intensity, but overall not too bad. He sucked in a deep breath, let it go slowly, the waves of sensation drowning out everything else.

“So what's it like being a famous rock star?”

There was teasing in her voice. He liked that she wasn't the type to get star-struck. “Meh.” He turned his head so he could see her again, her face hovering above her hand as she tattooed him. She was engrossed by her job, a frown pulling her delicate eyebrows into a deep v. “It pays the bills.”

She snorted a laugh. “I bet it does!”

“It's a great gig. I get to be on stage almost every night, kicking ass with my drums. I'm lucky. To be able to make money off my passion is something most people don't get a chance to do.”

“Yeah, that's the way it is with art, right? If you're lucky enough to do what you love and make enough to get by, then you're set.” Summer smirked. “Although I'm just a lowly tattoo artist, nothing even close to comparison with Mr. Rock Star of a Super Band.”

Dy chuckled, the tension in his body easing with each swipe of her hand. “So, you gonna tell me about your ink or what? Those are some cool looking designs you've got on your arms. I'm dying to know. Me. Dyami, rock star of the super band Riot, wants to know about your tattoos.” He smiled when she snapped her gaze to meet his. “You should feel important or something.”

“Or something.” She teased as she pulled back, wiping his skin with the paper towel and scrutinizing her work. She dipped the needles, leaned over him once again and sighed. “They're just some symbols I drew up.”

“Do they mean something?”

She shrugged, pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face with her arm. “Don't know. I dream them up and then ink them on.”

“Do you tattoo yourself?” He was impressed. The work was impeccable, straight lines, everything balanced. He was amazed she could do it on herself.

“Not all of it. No. I prefer to do it myself, but some of the ones in those hard-to-reach places I had others do. For the most part, it's me, though.”

“Cool.” He could tell she wasn't giving him all the details. He didn't begrudge her her secrets. He had some himself.

“You know what's funny?” She was changing the subject, he didn't begrudge her that either.

“What?”

“I learned how to draw fine facial features because of your front man, Mayhem.”

He cocked an eyebrow. A tug of jealousy rearing.

Jealous? Over what?

She smiled, a bit of a blush painting her cheeks as she continued to work. “Yeah, his face is really distinctive. I was mesmerized by him.”

“Until you noticed his drummer,” Dy teased, suddenly getting a strange lump at the back of his throat, a growl trapped there.

She smiled, shook her head. “I practiced drawing his face, knew that if I could nail his features, I could draw just about anyone.” She wiped again, then sat back and shrugged, finally making eye contact. “You have to admit, he is a captivating persona. His eyes, in particular, bewitching almost…that blue, the strange sparkle…captivating.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, you've got a crush on the front man. Who doesn't? Sheesh!”

Summer smiled. “Nah, I'm not into long haired freaky people.”

“What do you like?” He hedged his words, his breath catching. Then wondered why the hell he cared so much about her answer.

She bent over him, needles in ink, then on his skin once again. “I find that guys with long hair tend to have some ego issues. They're too, I don't know, pretty.” She laughed.

Deflecting his question. Okay, he could roll with that. He liked this girl. She made him feel calm, and not only because she was giving him some ink. He wanted to spend more time with her. Might as well cut straight to it. “So what do you say we go for something to eat later? Maybe check out a concert tonight? I know a guy who knows a guy, could get you back stage for one of the biggest rock bands in the US.” He winked when she meet his gaze again.

“I don't think my boyfriend would be too cool with that. Unless of course you'd want to invite him along?”

Boyfriend. Shit.
That sucks.
“Nah, no worries and no offense.”

“You didn't offend me. Doesn't hurt to ask. It's not like I'm wearing a ring or anything.”

“But you are committed. My loss. I could swing you guys some comps though if you want to come by the show.”

Summer shrugged. “Vic's not really the concert going type. Thanks, though. If it were just me, I'd be there.”

“Ohh, shot down twice.” He winked again, faking ease where there suddenly was none. His wolf was prowling, consciousness coming online and to the surface. This was normally the wolf's time, daylight the catalyst for transformation. Dy wasn't worried about that happening. He knew he was too weak, but his wolf was agitated, more so than usual. “How's the tat coming along? Almost done?”

“Yeah, twenty more minutes or so. You holding up okay? Been a long sit with no break.”

“I'm good.”

A heavy silence fell, not awkward, but the ease Dy had felt seemed to suck itself right out of the room. His wolf was nudging him, the pain from the poison intensifying.

What the hell?

He pulled inward, trying to communicate, but his beast was nonsensical—delirious from its battle with the poison, adamant that he find his Huntress.

“I know. I'm working on it. Just hang on.”

But they both knew that was a lie. He had no ability to seek out his Huntress, especially with his wolf so distracted. Any instinct to propel him to her was being eaten up by the struggle to keep the poison at bay.

“Summer?” A booming voice echoed down the hall. “Sweetheart, you back there?”

Dy snapped out of his beastly parley and craned his head up to catch her eye. “Sounds like we've got company.”

“All done.” Summer gave a quick nod and took a final wipe of his back. “Why don't you take a look?” She peeled her gloves off and handed him a mirror, then nodded toward the large mirror on the wall. “I'll be back in a sec.”

Dy took the handheld and pushed himself up. His head was a little woozy, his wolf still prowling, nagging at him.
“Look. Look.”
But look where he wasn't sure.

He checked out the tattoo. She'd done an amazing job. The script was beautiful, her work flawless. Voices touched his sensitive ears, a whispered giggle. He peeked out the door and down the long hallway. Summer had her back to him, arms around the neck of a large man who was kissing her fiercely, his hands on her ass.

Must be Vic
,
the boyfriend.

Another wash of dizziness rolled through him and he stumbled back, letting out a hiss of pain as his newly inked flesh rubbed against the wall. His wolf growled, snapping his attention to focus.
“Danger. There is danger.”
Dy needed to get out of there. He wasn't sure what the hell was up, but he felt a kind of rage building, like he was going to lose his shit at any moment. His wolf so agitated that he was lunging at the surface of control.

Time to go.

He pulled out a wad of cash and peeled off ten bills. Too much for sure, but he wanted to give Summer something that would make her smile. He dropped the money on the table, and snatched up his shirt. He was pulling it on as he exited the room and almost barreled over Summer in his haste.

“Hey, where are you going? I need to bandage you up.” Her hands were on his chest, and his instinctively came around her waist so he didn't knock her over.

She felt so good up against him like that. Too good. His wolf growled again.

“Yeah, I gotta go.” He pushed himself back, the loss of her warmth like a gap opening in his heart. “I left some money for ya on the table. Thanks for doing this for me.”

Summer frowned. “You okay? You don't look so hot right now. Maybe you should sit down.”

He shook his head and pushed past her, images of her kissing her boyfriend flashing in his mind. His brain was fuzzy, his wolf demanding attention.

Not now. Not now.

She trailed behind him as he thundered down the hall. Panic seized his gut, his wolf punching through.

“Dy, don't go.”

He barely heard her as he entered the front reception area of the shop. Her guy was still there, seated on one of the couches. He glanced up from the magazine he was reading, an eyebrow cocked, smile turning into a frown as he glanced from Dy to his own arm where the tattooed image of a wolf seemed to be almost pulsing, his skin undulating.

As their eyes locked, Dy's wolf roared.

“Hunter.” Dy's fangs pushed through his gums. His claws burst at his fingertips. His wolf fighting for control over his body, the poison keeping his transformation from taking hold.

“What the fuck are you doing here, beast?” The man stood, reaching behind him and retrieving a blade—one he immediately threw.

It slammed into Dy's shoulder, making him stagger back, pain ripping through him.

“Vic, what are you doing?” Summer screamed, rushed toward Dy, then halted as she suddenly took in his appearance. “What's wrong with him? Dy, what's happening to you?”

In a hazy fog, Dyami stumbled to his knees, his body warring with itself, the transformation starting, stopping. He was in hell.

I'm going to die, right here, right now.

“Summer, get the fuck away from him!” Vic made a move to pull her back—away from Dy.

Like hell.

Without pulling the knife out of his shoulder, he lunged for Summer. Snatching her ankle, he dragged her down and then sank his fangs into her leg. His wolf roared.
“Huntress. Mine.”

Chapter Four

“Will you at least speak to me?” Vic asked.

Summer pushed herself farther away from him—well, as far away as one could get in a sedan's passenger seat. When Vic lifted his hand as if to touch her, she flinched and pulled in on herself even more. He'd kidnapped her and Dy. She turned her head sharply to the side, catching Dyami's unconscious form crumpled in the back seat in her periphery. The knife was gone from his shoulder, blood soaked through his T-shirt. His hands were bound, mouth gagged. His face looked normal now. No longer the grotesque beast-like distortion she'd seen earlier. What the fuck had that been? What had happened to him?

“There's a lot you don't understand, sweetie. Things I need to tell you. Things that you should only hear from me.” Vic's tone was soft, coaxing her with tenderness.

He'd used that tactic with her before, ushering her into his car while she was still in shock. Her memory fuzzy, only a vague recollection of Vic's fingers caressing her shoulders, he was mumbling words she didn't understand, soothing her into compliance. A fog had settled on her brain, making what was real seem unreal. She'd thought Dy had bitten her.
Bitten her!
But that didn't make any sense. Not only was there no actual bite mark, but normal human beings simply didn't do that. She shuddered, wrapped her arms around herself. Her fingers brushed against her skin and another weird sensation rushed through her. It made her dizzy; like touching her own flesh was causing her to feel lightheaded.

Maybe I'm feverish and sick. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe I've finally lost my shit.

Vic's cell rang and she thought of her own sitting on the desk in her purse back at the shop. What had she been thinking, leaving without her purse? She
hadn't
been thinking. Her brain had been totally and completely jammed up on what had just gone down. Dyami on the floor, blood seeping into his shirt, the look of pure agony on his face. His features distorted. That must have been what she'd seen—just his reaction to the pain from being attacked.

“Ya, I have Summer in the car with me. The beas…him too.” Vic cursed and the car jerked to the side, swaying Summer in her seat. “I can't talk right now, I'm driving. You're going to need to meet us. There's a complication.” He paused, lowered his voice. “She's been marked. We're going to have to take care of that first.”

Summer jolted.
Marked? Take care of what first?
Her vision wavered, the urge to push everything away and slip into complete denial was so tempting. This had to be a dream. It was too surreal. Vic was her boyfriend. She'd known him for two months. He was charismatic, charming, kind. He was not a murderer. Throwing blades like an expert was not something she normally screened boyfriends for. She hadn't even known he carried a weapon.

“He's subdued, tied up in the back. I couldn't take care of it in public!” he roared. “What would you have me do exactly, take him out and leave him there?”

Take him out?
She shot another look at Dy. There was nothing threatening back there. Just a man. Someone she'd probably unwittingly dragged into this twisted situation. How was she supposed to know her boyfriend was psychotic? Was Vic going to take care of her the way he'd taken care of Dy? She swallowed tears, fighting to remain stoic. Her ears rang as her blood pumped hard and fast, her heart ramping to the point of pain. Dy wasn't just a man though, was he? Dy was the drummer for one of the biggest shows in town. Someone would come looking for him.

A plan filtered into her brain. She needed to run. Get out of the car, find a phone and call for help. A famous rock star had just been stabbed and kidnapped. The media would be all over that and so would the police. She steadied herself, her resolve building as she settled on her hasty plan.

Vic slowed the car at a stop sign, though she knew he wouldn't halt, as he hadn't for any of the others they'd crossed. Summer didn't hesitate. Yanking on the door handle and pushing hard, she braced herself for impact. Except all she felt was a strong tug back before Vic had her throat between his biceps and forearm, dragging her down. She stared up at him, her head on his lap. How she'd gotten there so quickly wasn't entirely clear.

“You don't actually think I'm gonna let you bolt, do ya?” He flashed one of his charming smiles, the kind of smile that used to make her melt. “Nah ah, you're mine, Summer.
Mine.
” He kept her down with a firm hand on her shoulder, bringing his fingers to her forehead. “It's time you had a little nap too, I think. Just 'til we get this all sorted.”

She came out of sleep gradually. Waves of awareness brought her back to reality. She didn't want to wake up, not really. She was having the most amazing dream about Dyami—one with him under her and both of them naked. The dream was drawing her back, pulling her consciousness away once again. And then she curled her legs up, nestled into the pillow, sighed deeply.

Just a few more minutes
.

A heartbeat passed, then another.

Pillow?

Her brain snapped online. She was on a bed, unrestrained and feeling very groggy, like she'd been drugged, but not so out of it that she didn't remember everything that had happened. Dyami. Stabbed. She needed to help him.

Careful.

She sighed again, rolled over, kept her eyes closed and listened. Muffled sounds of cars, pattering of rain, a horn blasted in the distance. The sheet she was lying on smelled like bleach and felt like a low budget motel's, rough under her fingers.

“I know you're awake,” Vic said, his voice coming from the other side of the room. “If you want to pretend to sleep that's fine, but I'm going to talk. There's things you need to hear.”

Summer opened her eyes to see him sitting on the second bed, legs folded in front of him, hands loose and upturned, like he'd been meditating or something. She pushed herself up and moved farther back on the bed, distancing herself as much as she could.

“You shouldn't be frightened of me. Everything I've done has been for you.”

Summer swallowed the lump in her throat, tried to stifle the shiver that licked her spine. “Where's Dyami?”

Vic held her gaze, his eyes intense. “He's of no concern to you.”

She scanned the room. Two beds, three doors. One led to a bathroom, one to outside where she could still hear the sound of cars driving by. The third, presumably, to another room. She shifted her gaze back to Vic. “You need to tell me where he is right now.”

“Summer.” His tone held of note of warning.

She ignored it.

“Victor.” She stood from the bed, feeling better about putting it between her and him. “You stabbed a man in front of me. You kidnapped the two of us. You made some comments about taking care of him. I want to know where he is right now.”

Vic sighed, hung his head for a moment, then nodded in the direction of the next room. “He's safe there.”

For now.
He didn't say it, but she heard it.

“What are you going to do to him?”

“Summer, you need to sit down and let me explain things to you. It will all make sense when I do.”

“I'm not sure what kind of sense you're talking about, Vic. How the fuck are you going to make sense of throwing a knife? Injuring a helpless man? Taking hostages?”

He frowned. “You're not a hostage.”

“So I can leave any time I want?” She glanced over her shoulder, nodded at the door. “I could walk right outside and you wouldn't stop me?”

“Summer…”

She moved to the door, watching him closely, waiting for him to lose the appearance of calm. He didn't flinch. Not even when she dropped her hand on the doorknob.

“You don't want to do that.” He sighed.

She swallowed another lump, accepted his challenge and turned the knob. The door didn't open as it should have—not completely anyway. It was as if there was something sticky holding it closed, pulling it back. She yanked harder, opened it a little more. “What the fuck?”

Vic was on his feet now, eyebrows sky high. “Shit! You shouldn't be able to do that!”

She yanked again and the door moved more, spurring Vic into action. He jumped the bed in one leap, came at her like a bull after red. She let the door shut, turned, and met him halfway, pulling her knee up hard and fast to hit him squarely in the balls.

He dropped with a grunt, hitting the floor at her feet. He curled into a ball for mere moments before he was trying to get up again. She jumped over him and headed straight for the adjoining room door, flipped the lock and threw it open. With a quick glance to ensure he was still down, she barreled into the next room, slammed the door shut and then did something she couldn't explain.

She traced one of her symbols on the knob. The symbol popped into her head and she did it. No hesitation, as if it made total sense for her to draw it. Something jolted her as she finished, like an electric snap or pulse. It was done. Whatever
it
was.

Seconds later, Vic was banging on the other side, the force of his body hitting the door enough to shake the wall. She backed away until her legs hit a bed. She trembled. He couldn't get in. She knew this instinctively. What the fuck was going on?

“I think it's time we made a run for it.”

With a gasp, she turned to find Dy seated on the bed, his arms and legs bound, a gag lose around his chin.

“You gonna untie me or what?”