Visions of Magic (3 page)

Shea swallowed hard and asked, “Who are you?”

“Torin.”

“That tells me nothing,” she said. “Your name doesn't explain who you are or why and how I'm here.”

“You know how. I brought you here.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said, remembering the flames surrounding her. “But why?”

He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “It was that or let the crowd kill you. Would you have preferred that?”

“No. No, I wouldn't.” Shea inhaled slowly and then let the air slide from her lungs. She remembered the mob circling her—and he was right. They would have killed her—with the blessing of the MPs. After all, a dead witch meant no paperwork.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said. “Surely you know that.”

“How would I know that?” She shook her head and concentrated on the chill dampness seeping into her body from the balcony railing. At least that was tangible. Real. Nothing else seemed that way at the moment. “One minute I'm about to get stoned to death or something and the next I'm standing in fire and you're . . .” She scrubbed her hands up and down her upper arms in a futile attempt to rid herself of the bone-deep cold that permeated her body. “Oh, God. You were
in
that fire.”

“Yes.”

“So was I! But you're not burned.” She looked down at her hands as if to reassure herself again that her skin wasn't blistered and charred. “Neither am I. How is that possible?”

“Long story,” he said. “But we'll have time for it all. Now that you're here—”

“Wherever ‘here' is,” she muttered.

“My home. You're in Malibu. You're safe.”

“And I should take your word for that?”

“I saved you, didn't I?” His mouth tipped briefly to one side in a smile that lived and died in an instant. “I should get points for that.”

“If a hungry tiger saved me from a bear, should I be relieved?” Shaking her head, she said, “No, I don't think so. And what happened to the man who grabbed me in the parking lot and—” Her memory dredged up the horrifying images. “I—I—”

“Set him on fire,” he finished for her.

“Oh, God, I did . . .” She caught her breath, then locked her gaze with his. “Like Aunt Mairi. But I didn't mean to. Didn't even try to. How could I have known that would happen?”

“You've had the dreams,” he said, moving closer still until she was no more than an arm's reach away. “You felt changes rippling through your body. I know you have because the Awakening is on you.”

“Awakening?” She knew that word. But how? And was that really the most important consideration at the moment?

“The Awakening was foretold centuries ago. When the last great coven cast a spell of atonement.”

Atonement. She shivered as he spoke, his words creating images in her mind. Images that were at once foreign and familiar.

“Each witch was to live without magic through many lifetimes until this year. This time.”

“No,” she whispered, though everything in her said
yes.

“Each of you will awaken in turn,” he continued. His voice was impossible to ignore; his pale eyes somehow swirled with power. “One every thirty days until the atonement is complete and your tasks fulfilled.”

“Tasks?” Shea shook her head—this was crazy. All of it.
Then why,
something in her asked,
did it feel so right?

“You are the first, Shea. You are the hope of the coven.”

“You're wrong. This is a trick. The MPs are trying to make me look guilty and you're in it somehow.”

His features went cold and hard and his voice dropped several notches. “I do not work with the Magic Police. You think I would hand over a woman to them?”

“Maybe,” Shea argued, though something was telling her she was wrong about him. That she should trust him. Still, trusting people these days was a dangerous business.

And what he had told her couldn't be true. This had to be an elaborate plot. Machinations from the feds.

It was the Salem witch trials all over again. Only this time the hysteria had spread until it circled the globe. Every country in the world was actively pursuing women who “might” be witches. And God help the ones who actually
were.

“None of this makes sense,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I'm not a witch. I'm
not.”

“Denial alters nothing. You are who you were always meant to be.”

She threw her head back and glared at him. “And what's that?”

“Mine,” he said.

Yes,
her body answered. Her blood felt thick and hot in her veins and her heartbeat was jittering crazily in her chest. Staring up into those pale gray eyes unsettled her and she wondered if he knew that and played on it. How many other women had he brought here? How many others before her had he swept in and carried off?

“I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's,” she argued as she eased to one side, trying to put some distance between them. It didn't matter what her body felt; her mind was in charge and that was how it was going to stay. “And I'm not a witch. I didn't set fire to that man.”

“You did,” he told her, his voice deep and even. “You're a hereditary witch, Shea Jameson. The power runs through your bloodline. Your aunt, your mother, you. Even now, I can feel your power emerging. Growing. You feel it, too.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head wildly and looking around her for an escape that simply wasn't there. “Look, ever since my aunt Mairi was . . . burned at the stake, people have been watching me. The MPs. The Bureau of Witchcraft. Right after she died, I even changed my name and hid for a while. But even BOW didn't seem interested in me anymore. It's been ten years since Mairi died and I've
never
shown any sign of power. And I don't feel a damn thing emerging.”

“You're lying. To me. And to yourself.” He braced his hands on the railing on either side of her, effectively trapping her and holding her in place. “I was at the school. I watched the man approach. I waited for your power to erupt. For your survival instincts to force you to remember who and what you are.”

Shea glared up at him. “You watched? You saw that man attack me and you did nothing?”

“It was necessary for me to stand back while you unlocked your powers. You've been fighting against their emergence for too long.”

“That man
died
!
”

“He was nothing,” Torin said with a barely concealed sneer. “A predator. A human who lived his life on the misery of others. If you had not stopped him, he would have brutalized more women as he had done to others before you.”

“It doesn't matter,” she argued, realizing that she was never going to be able to get the mental pictures of what she'd done to that man out of her head. “That doesn't give me the right to—”

“Survive?” He snapped the word at her and Shea shoved ineffectually at his broad chest. He didn't even budge. But the contact between them sent heat flashing through her, like a sudden fever, enough so that she had to take a breath before she felt steady enough to say, “I didn't mean to kill him.”

“Then master your powers before it happens again.”

“Master something I didn't know I had until today?” She laughed shortly and felt the sound scrape against her throat. “Of course. Why didn't I think of that?” She sighed, feeling the crushing weight of this oh, so miserable day fall down on top of her.

“You're not alone in this,” he said softly, drawing her eyes up to his again. “As I've said, I am Torin. Your Eternal.”

“My Eternal,” she repeated tiredly. “What's that mean exactly?”

“It means you are right where you are supposed to be, Shea Jameson.” He touched her cheek and she could have sworn she felt the heat of flames rising up in her again. “I will stand beside you in this.”

God, it was tempting to believe. To trust. To think that she wouldn't have to stand alone against whatever would happen next. But she couldn't do that. Couldn't risk it. Though her body clamored for his, though her hands itched to reach out and touch him, she refused. She was forced to fight her own attraction to the man just to keep her mind straight.

“I'm just supposed to trust you?” She had gone from seriously deep trouble at the school to being in way over her head here. “I don't even know where you've taken me.”

“We're not strangers,” he said, each word tight with banked emotions. “Your soul knows me. As you will. Your memories will begin to return now as your power grows.”

“Right. Memories.” She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to convince herself she was dreaming. But the pain that stabbed her mouth was proof enough that this was all real.

Her skin was buzzing at his nearness, as if she were reacting to an electrical charge. The color of his eyes seemed to swirl like gray clouds in a high wind. His mouth was firm and full and fixed in a grim slash that told her he wasn't feeling much happier than she was.

“This is not a dream,” he told her as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.

“Nightmare, then?”

“Ask yourself why you're not afraid of me.”

“Who says I'm not?” She lifted her chin, daring him to contradict her.

“I do. It's not fear I feel coming from you, but arousal.”

She wouldn't even respond to that.

“I look familiar to you, yes?” he asked, and took her upper arms in a firm grip.

His touch opened up something inside her. She felt the barest flicker of recognition from deep within. That sense of familiarity was back and she knew, deep in her soul, that he was telling her the truth. There was a connection between them. Maybe she would remember him, eventually. But the question was,
what
exactly would she recall? Was he to be trusted, as he said? Or would her memories tell her to stay as far away from the sexually powerful man as possible?

“No,” she said softly, meeting that strange gray stare. “I don't know you. I don't want to know you. I just want to leave.”

“And go where?” He slid his hands up her body until he was cupping her cheeks in his big palms. She felt the overwhelming rush of heat slicing from his body into hers and she nearly trembled at the force of it.

But she wasn't going to give in to something that made zero sense to her. This was all some sort of bizarre mind game. And he was the puppet master. In the years since witchcraft had been revealed to the world, the crazies had really come out of the closet. “That's none of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business, Shea.”

When she sucked in a gulp of air, the fear she tasted was dark and bitter. “What do you want from me?”

“Everything,” he admitted, “and I will accept nothing less.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I'm the one who saved your very fine ass from that mob.”

“Funny,” she said softly, “I don't feel ‘saved.' I feel trapped.” She pulled free of his grip, though her body instantly missed his touch. Quickly, she moved to one side so he wouldn't reach out and grab her again. “And how did you do that fire thing without burning us both to a crisp?”

Frowning, he lifted both arms and fire danced across his skin. Snapping, hissing flames flashed over his body, wrapping him in a blanket of living fire.

“Oh, my God . . .” She swallowed hard and backed away until she once again slammed into the railing.

“I
am
the fire, Shea Jameson.” The flames on his body winked out of existence, leaving his skin unmarked, untouched. Magic shimmered in the air between them. “Just as I
am
your other half.”

She stared up at him as the moonlight shone on his features, giving him a shadowy, evil look that sent her heart plummeting to the soles of her feet. “You're crazy.”

“No,” he said, his voice clipped. “But I am out of patience. I have waited centuries for this day. And I will not wait any longer.” He reached out, scooped her up into his arms, and before she could shout a protest, carried her back into the room and tossed her onto the bed. “There is no escape from your destiny, Shea. Tonight it begins.”

She scrambled away from him, never daring to take her gaze from his. “What? What begins tonight?”

Torin walked across the room, opened the door and stepped through it. Before he closed it again, he sent her one long look and said simply, “The mating ritual.”

T
orin left the bedroom with one last look at Shea. Everything in him burned. The flames that were a part of him seemed to lick at his insides as well, consuming him in a fire that could not be smothered. He closed the door firmly, then stalked down the long hall and stopped at the head of the stairs. The lighting was dim, shadows spilling from the corners. His housekeeper, an older woman named Anna, looked up at him.

“No one goes in there.” He glanced back down the long hallway at the closed door. He wanted Shea to accept where she was and that she wouldn't be leaving. If he gave her an hour or two to herself, he had no doubt that she would come to realize that their joined path was now set in stone. That there would be no escape from the destiny they had both been chasing for centuries. Time to herself would make her that much more receptive when he returned to her.

Finally, he swung his head back around to meet the older woman's gaze and repeated, “No one goes in. I will take her food later.”

“Understood,” Anna said, sitting down in the nearby chair to keep watch.