Hush of ruin, p.1
Hush of Ruin, page 1
part #4 of Mists of Magic and Mayhem Series
HUSH OF RUIN
Book 4 of the
Mists of Magic and Mayhem series
by
H.P. Mallory
~ Copyright ©2020 by HP Mallory~
Published by HP Mallory at Smashwords Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
ONE
STONE
I gave the many papers I still had left to grade a sour look.
This teaching position was perhaps one of the dullest assignments I’d ever had the misfortune to be put on. It chaffed to stay in one place, doing the same mundane work, day in and day out. No room for adventure in the confining walls of the academy. If it weren’t for the debt I owed Sinjin, I’d have fled already. The conformity of the place drew tighter and tighter, like a warm, complacent noose around my neck. I really couldn’t fathom why
these people could stand planting themselves like stubborn weeds in one place. Only duty kept me here.
Well... duty and her.
Emma Balfour was an obsession heady enough to keep even a gypsy vampire in place for a while, it seemed. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from lingering over every detail of the prophetic daydream the stone of second sight had shared. I’d feared she’d use the opportunity in class to snatch the precious memory from my mind. The memory of that kiss...
She’d surprised me. She had since the moment I clapped eyes on her that day in front of the principal’s office. I was grateful she hadn’t taken the memory, because it had been my main source of contentment ever since. The stone showed desires of the wearer and sometimes their future. Either way, it made me hopeful. The visceral, incredibly potent dream could be my reality someday.
Her naked body splayed beneath me, the softness of her skin beneath my hands, my mouth, my tongue. The scent of her swirling in my head, a perfume so sweet, it was hard to think past it. A struggle not to bite. I would satisfy myself with nips instead, treasuring every soft gasp they elicited. The slickness between her thighs coating my fingers, her scent most concentrated there.
Her hands would tangle in my hair and I would drag my face away from her throat with a moan, pressing my lips to hers urgently. I wouldn’t be able to entirely control myself in that moment and just the edge of my fang would nick her lower lip. The taste of her blood would be as sweet as ambrosia. I would want more. I would cling to her, draw her as close as I dared. Her legs would wrap around my waist, as she ground herself against my front.
“Christ,” I muttered. I was hard. Uncomfortably so.
Just thinking about her made the damn thing twitch and the dream of her in my arms never failed to give me a raging hard-on. I’d have to take care of it soon or I wouldn’t get any papers graded before class on Monday. I was tempted to write the whole thing off and give them all B’s, but that wouldn’t be fair to the high-achievers. Bloody high-achievers, throwing it off for everyone else. But, I couldn’t have them taking home a lackluster grade to mummy and daddy at the end of the semester. It’d ruin someone’s holiday, for sure. Not that I’d normally give a damn, but...
again... Sinjin.
Damn him.
A knock at the door dragged me out of yet another contemplative bout, and I shifted from vaguely frustrated by my lack of control, to outright irritated. Who had come to my door at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning? If it were a student, I’d fob them
off on another teacher. If it were a teacher, I was going to rip into someone. Hopefully not in the literal sense.
I pushed out of my chair and strode quickly for the door, jerking it open with more force than handle. I thought I might have left small, finger-sized dents in the metal. Shit. That would be fun to explain to the headmaster.
On the other side of the door were two students, a young man and woman. The young woman was looking down and thus, my attention centered on the man. I was ready to tell them both off when the sight of them really registered. The young man was familiar, a student of mine, I thought. What was his name? Chris? Carl? Fuck, I was terrible with names. Thank the Gods their papers always had the name at the top right, or I’d never be able to tell who was who.
I did know he was the little bastard Emma had been with at the dance. And now he was sans shirt, which revealed an admittedly toned physique for a man of his age. He wouldn’t be a pushover if a vanilla human decided to take him in a fight. I could best him handily, even without employing my vampire strength. Muscle tone didn’t do shit unless you had practice or the muscle memory to back it.
I had both.
Then my mind caught up with the sight and I realized who the other young woman must be. My eyes slid over to the young woman next as she lifted her head and looked right at me with wide, frightened blue eyes. I drunk in the sight of her lean frame and tousled blonde hair. She was exquisite, even rumpled as she was.
It took me maybe fifteen seconds (which was exceptionally slow for me) to notice she wasn’t smiling up at me. Or staring. Or any of the other myriad expressions she usually displayed in my presence. She was grimacing, holding wadded gray fabric to her bicep. Just the hint of scarlet was beginning to seep through the layers closest to her arm. The scent hit my nose a second later and I cursed.
“Miss Balfour, you’re bleeding!”
That made her smile a little, the words ‘no shit’ were practically tattooed across her forehead.
Yes, state the blindingly fucking obvious, Stone, I thought at myself bitterly. That’ll impress her.
“I,” she started and then nodded.
“What the bloody hell have you done to yourself?”
I stepped away from the door, papers and my irritation shoved to the periphery until I could deal with the situation.
“I… I didn’t do anything to myself,” she answered, sounding offended.
“Come in,” I said, ushering them both inside. “And sit. I think I have bandages in the supply closet. A salve to help with the healing too.”
Emma limped in. It drew my gaze down to her shapely legs for the first time since she’d turned up on the doorstep. More blood was oozing from her knee, running in one long rivulet down to her ankle. It was incredibly fucking tempting to drape her over one of the desks and lick it away, laving the wound until it closed and then moving up to her...
Fuck. No. Not the time.
Chris or Carl put a hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward. She leaned back into his arm a little so she could take the weight off her injured leg. Unthinking jealousy surged through me and it took all my control not to rip his arms off.
Damn it, what was wrong with me?
I was more controlled than this. If I weren’t, Sinjin wouldn’t have trusted me around his niece. And there was that less than subtle warning he’d given me where Emma was concerned. A warning I’d done my best to shove to the dark recesses of my mind, never to be visited again.
In general, I didn’t do well with people telling me what to or, in this case, what not to do.
And, really, Sinjin should have known better than to trust me around his beautiful niece. After all, he and I were cut from the same scoundrel cloth. Were he in my place, there is no way in hell he’d have been able to control himself. So, why the bloody hell did he expect the impossible of me?
I looked at her again. Really looked at her. Then I inwardly sighed. If it weren’t for the fact that Sinjin would literally tear my head off (and I was quite fond of my head), I’d have backed her into a corner and kissed her again. And again, and again until that dream became reality. Carl or Chris be damned.
Hmm, maybe I’d allow him to watch.
“Do you want me to carry you?” he offered.
I scowled. Why hadn’t I thought to offer the same?
Because you’re too busy imagining her sans clothing.
Bloody hell.
Emma shook her head. “I can walk, Clark,” she mumbled.
Ah, Clark, that was the meathead’s name.
“I’m not an invalid,” Emma continued, looking every inch the invalid. “Stop fussing! It’s just a cut. I’m not even sure it will need stitches.”
“You’ll probably need a tetanus shot,” he countered. “Those shears looked rusty.”
“Shears?” I echoed, pausing with my hand on the closet door. Were they in the gardens together? “What the bloody hell are you going on about?”
The image of a young man laying Emma down among the flowers and herbs boiled my blood. In response, fangs grew in my mouth and I fought the urge to lunge at him. I had to take a deep breath and talk myself down. After all, it wasn’t my fucking business.
Right. Emma Balfour was not my fucking business.
Repeat it a couple dozen times. Maybe then you’ll believe it.
I swung the door open to disguise my scowl. I didn’t want Emma believing my angst was due to anything she’d done. In a vulnerable state, she might try to bear the guilt of
No, I was pleased she’d thought to come to me. That was exactly what I wanted—to be her support, her rock, as it were.
“Yeah, shears,” the meathead said.
“Explain.” I didn’t bother looking at him. Doing so gave me indigestion.
“A ghost came out of nowhere and tried to lop my head off with them,” he answered, his voice sounding tight, as if he feared I might laugh and ridicule him.
“A ghost?” I repeated.
“It’s true,” Emma nodded.
“It went after Emma next and cut up her arm, before I could banish it,” the unwelcome member of our party finished.
Ghost?
I paused midway through lifting a Medela Salve from the middle shelf. A ghost. Hmm. Not entirely out of the question, in this area. This city was, after all, one of the most magical places in the nation. Very few locations held as much draw for the supernatural. But for it to turn up now, after Sinjin’s renewed interest in Emma’s safety? That couldn’t be a coincidence...
Or could it?
I seized the bandages from the shelf and shut the door with my foot. If it were a ghost, it was really a shame it hadn’t had better aim when it came to the meathead.
A frown creased my face. No, I hadn’t really meant that. It was simply my jealousy speaking. But it would have been at least something if he’d been bleeding. Tangible proof that he’d defended her. Had it been me, I’d have worn them proudly. As it was, I was suddenly angry it hadn’t been me—that I hadn’t been there to come to her defense and this… useless creature had done the job in my stead.
Had it been me, that ghost would never had touched a hair on Emma’s lovely head, let alone attacked her with a blade.
My expression was neutral by the time I reached them again and knelt by Emma’s side. The meathead had helped her to sink down into one of the chairs facing the front of the room. He got a grip on the wad of fabric.
“Mr. Draper has the bandages, Emma,” he explained as he pulled the fabric away. As if she didn’t have eyes to tell her that!
Very lovely eyes, I might add.
“Right,” she said with a quick nod. I was slightly worried she was going into shock as her face was losing color by the second.
And a sheen of sweat was covering her forehead.
“I’m going to pull this off now, alright?” the meathead asked.
Emma nodded wearily, wincing when he pulled the wad of cloth away from her wound. It came away with a vaguely wet sound that most human ears wouldn’t pick up on. The scent of her wafted to me on the air, every bit as enticing as I imagined it to be. My fangs (and frankly the rest of me as well) ached to be inside her. She smelled so goddamn good.
The wound itself was relatively minor, in comparison to some I’d seen and, ahem, some I’d created. No bone showing or severe muscle damage. It would probably require eight to ten stitches, if she had the misfortune of visiting a human doctor. Thankfully, she had something better.
I touched her arm gently, wrapping my fingers around a good deal of her forearm. Any excuse to touch her. She responded, unconsciously I thought, to my touch. Her temperature went up by a degree, her heart jumped a little faster, and her cheeks tinged lightly pink. She looked up at me with those wide, innocent eyes and I swallowed hard. I could see her desire for me swimming in her gaze. I fought to keep a triumphant little smile off my face.
This wasn’t the time.
“Your friend is right, Miss Balfour. This will need cleaning. I don’t have any alcohol on hand.”
“I can get some,” the meathead said, perking up, eager as a Labrador.
“That would be very helpful,” I said, offering the young man my most charming smile. It was ordinarily reserved for women I fancied, but as this could get me alone with her...
He swooped down to give Emma’s cheek a brief kiss. She didn’t respond, but continued to face forward.
“I’ll be back soon, babe.”
Then he turned around and started for the door.
“Babe?” I repeated with a snicker.
Emma dropped her face as an attractive blush stole across her cheeks. “It’s… complicated.”
I looked up and watched the meathead run down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. When I turned to regard Emma again, her cheeks had deepened to a lovely red. It was a striking contrast with her skin. Roses on white satin. Beautiful.
“Complicated?” I repeated, keeping my tone level. “As in… the two of you are dating? In a relationship, perhaps?”
“Um,” she shifted uncomfortably as I stared down at her. “That’s…
not really any of… your business.” She took a breath and forced her eyes up to mine. “Professor.”
“That is true enough, I suppose,” I said, heated anger flowing through me.
I leaned in closer to the wound. There didn’t appear to be any debris inside it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Even vampire senses could only pick up so much. I wasn’t going to run the risk of infection. I placed just the tip of one finger inside the wound.
“Brace yourself,” I warned her. “This will probably hurt.”
“What will hu…” But that was a far as she got. I muttered the incantation before she could finish her sentence or tense her muscles.
White-gold light bathed the wound for a few seconds and left the skin smoking when it was through. Emma let out a soft, pained gasp and then smacked my bicep.
“What the hell, Stone?!”
I grinned. First name basis. Not ‘Professor Draper’ or
‘Professor’.
“Cleansing spell,” I explained with a shrug. “I needed to clear the wound of possible infection before I sealed it.”
She narrowed her eyes at me until she was properly glaring at me.
“Isn’t that what rubbing alcohol is for?”
I cocked my head to the side and smiled down at her. She was an ornery, little thing. “Yes, generally. This was… is faster.”
And that was when dawning realization overcame her features and her eyes narrowed even more. “You sent Clark away on purpose,”
she accused.
Her situation really seemed to strike her then. That situation being that we were alone in the mostly abandoned classroom. And I was sure she was recalling to mind the last time we were alone and what had happened.
That becoming flush returned to her cheeks as she swallowed audibly and looked down, as if taking stock of the location of both our bodies. I was crouched near her, almost sitting between her legs. The skirt she wore would be incredibly easy to flip up.
Had she worn panties on her date or went without just in case things heated up quickly?
It was a thought I didn’t want to continue.
What if they were having sex? If they were dating, it was most likely the case…
The thought grated.
“Stone,” she said, grabbing my attention again. “You sent Clark away on purpose, didn’t you?” she repeated.
There was no use in lying. “Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Her stare burned a hole in the side of my face. She was tensed, coiled tight with rage. Or maybe it was fear. I could taste something heady on the air. I knew this tension. It came before fighting or sex, when the moment was so raw and easily breakable.
She was ready to snap. It’d be so easy to tip her over the edge into that moment. I’d take either at this point. Fighting or sex.
Preferably both.
“Because I need to ask you questions you might not be comfortable answering in front of your boyfriend ,” I said, betraying nothing outwardly.
“He’s not...” she paused.
“I thought you said you both were dating.”
“I said it was complicated .”
“ Complicated insinuates dating.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She took a breath. “It insinuates… that the situation is complicated .”
“Then what does complicated mean… exactly?”
“It means Clark and I had a study date. Not a date-date. And we haven’t agreed on… that is to say, we haven’t had the conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“ The conversation.”
“Repeating a word will not make me understand it any more clearly,” I informed her, irritation in my tone.
“You are so nosy,” she insisted.
“What conversation?”
