There wasn’t any way I’d be able to commit everything in the room to memory, so with my phone, I took pictures. A lot of pictures. They had a storage system, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. Chronological? Perceived worth? Location of acquisition? I suspected it was chronological and perhaps perceived worth, which explained the positioning of the retrieved items. Limited on time, I couldn’t spend any more trying to decipher their system. The longer Kieran was with the witch, the higher the chances of finding her burned.

  Kieran was still putting on a show for her.

  “I have them,” I said.

  He nodded and let the fire fall from around her. Her eyes were as fiery as the blaze that had just surrounded her. Her hair was scorched, and there were burns on her arms, mostly first and second degree. She didn’t seem too badly injured but was clearly damaged enough to remember her run-in with the pissed-off fire mage.

  We walked out to find Alex riding the smaller dragon. It twisted, speeding up and rolling, trying to throw off the shifter, who had his massive arms clamped around its neck. The black dragon was on the ground and attacking Cory, who kept flicking increasingly less effective magic at him. When the dragon lunged at him again, I took out my Ruger LC9 and shot. The bullet grazed its side, but the scales provided some protection. Three more shots and the dragon whipped around in my direction. He thrashed the ground with its powerful tail, making the earth rumble and shake and throwing me off balance. When the tail came swinging in my direction again, I yanked my knife from its sheath and jammed it into the beast. The dragon made a shrill, furious noise and started hurtling toward me. I jumped out of his way, whirled, and grabbed my knife from its tail as he passed.

  He padded toward me, lunging and baring his teeth, moving to the side to swipe at me with his tail. I flipped back, and it barely missed me. Three sharp strikes with the knife and he wailed in pain. The other dragon made a sharp, spiraling dive to the ground, then flipped so it could land on its back and crush Alex, who jumped off and rolled out of the way. The dragon I was dealing with was becoming increasingly irritated.

  “Well that’s enough of that,” Kieran said as the small ball of fire that he played with in his hand became a massive orb. He extended his hand back as though throwing a baseball and flung it into the house. It caught on fire, and the dragons raced to the house, transitioning to their human forms as they moved. Their distraction let us make it back to the entrance, which was sealed. Fuck.

  Cory pulled out his knife, barely able to stand.

  “You’re not going to be able to do it.” I said, laying a hand on his arm. I turned to Kieran. Yeah, this is going to be easy.

  “I need to use your magic. You won’t be able to take the ward down. I can once I have access to magic. To borrow it, I need . . .”

  I was sure he knew what I was about to say: I needed to borrow his magic. I took a deep breath. If I were him, I would say no. We could probably wait until Cory was rested enough to do it, but we ran the risk of having to deal with two angry dragons again and an even angrier witch.

  “Okay,” he agreed quickly. Too quickly. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like Mephisto, I, too, am curious.”

  What the hell is wrong with them? Not once had I ever wondered what it would be like to be suspended between life and death.

  “It won’t take long.” I looked at Alex. “You’ll have to carry him out when I’m done.”

  Hesitantly, I moved closer to Kieran, who welcomed my approach with a small smile. Just a few inches from him, I whispered the spell, the power in it flowing through me. The only words of power that I possessed, and they caused death. They captured Kieran’s breath, slowly pulling his life from him. His magic coiled around me, prickling over my skin, then settled on me, familiar and welcomed. It was when I felt it that I became intimate with the hunger I denied constantly, the need I ignored, the cravings I left unfulfilled daily. It was flavorful and satisfied me in a way that nothing else ever did. Kieran collapsed. I was too caught in the throes of having my addiction satisfied to notice him falling. I blinked myself into the moment as Alex moved past me and caught Kieran before he hit the ground. I had to get used to the difference from Cory’s magic. This was new. New was always good. Better. Different.

  “Do the spell, Erin,” Cory commanded in a stern voice.

  I nodded. Magic melted over me, the energy and connection with death, the soothing and intoxicating feeling of it, the thrum of magic. I stared at the glow of fire that rolled off my fingers and danced over my hand. I should have been screaming in pain, but I felt nothing except the glorious power of being able to control fire. Mesmerized by the flickers of oranges, reds, and little idyllic blues, I watched them engulf my hand.

  “Erin.” Cory said my name with force, rough and hard. I dragged my gaze from the flames to him. I nodded again and extinguished the flames. I walked closer to where we’d entered, feeling the pulsating magic that came off the ward and secured it. I whispered the incantation that Cory had used earlier. The magic felt familiar, as if it were my own. I concentrated on the ward and Kieran’s life that was held in the liminal state between life and death, making sure I returned it to him before he crossed over. The same thoughts passed my mind that always did when I appropriated another’s magic. How long would it last in me if I let him cross to the other side? Consequences. I forced the images into my head. The counselors, cells, treatment, my mother’s disappointed face. I checked my desires, buried them deep, and completed the spell.

  Alex carried Kieran over the threshold, then helped Cory over. I was just about to step through when I was hit hard from the side, a ball of magic melting into my skin. I rolled and attempted to stand and was thrashed with another. When I finally got to my feet, the witch’s angry glare was fixed on me. A wave of her hand and she tossed me back again. I threw magic back at her when she stumbled and then mashed my hands to the ground with flames corralled around them, setting the grass ablaze. I pushed it toward her with a gust of magic. I might not have exhibited the pageantry and skill of Kieran, but anyone who saw magic raging toward them was going to retreat.

  It had taken too long. A shadow eclipsed my mood. Bleakness moved into my chest and settled. It was death’s whisper right before the tingling of my skin that let me know that death was about to claim my host. Claim Kieran. I had to get to him. I bolted toward the entrance and threw myself through it, sealing the ward. Kieran was on the ground. I knelt next to him. His face had relaxed into a state of somnolent calm, ready to accept the fate of death. Any thought of keeping his magic vanished. I didn’t hesitate. I leaned over him, exhaling death and restoring his magic. He lurched up with a gasp, his eyes hazy and distant. He blinked several times before he reached for me. I jerked back from his attempt to kiss me. It always happened, no matter who it was; they were drawn to me, the giver of life. It was as if they’d forgotten I’d taken it from them in the first place.

  He looked startled by his own response. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “It always happens,” I said with a small shrug. It took a minute for him to stand, but not before he tested his magic. I stood just a few feet away, longing for it—and hating myself for that. But I clung to the joy of knowing I’d stopped. I hadn’t hesitated before restoring him. I was getting better. Much better.

  “You’re up,” I whispered to Cory.

  Realization swept over Alex’s and Kieran’s faces. I’d explained to them that the mind sweep was necessary to protect my business, and they’d been agreeable at the time. People always agreed, but when the time came, they’d usually come up with a number of excuses as to why they had to retract their consent.

  “You agreed,” I reminded them. Both of their jaws clenched, but their original agreement was all that was needed for the spell. And the sample of blood they willingly gave. I’d let them come because having a big-ass wolf and elemental mage wasn’t a bad thing when going up against a dragon and a powerful witch. And I wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t want them coming back administering their vigilante justice either. There were tons of treasures in the dragon trove, and I suspected I might need to try to establish a business relationship with the dragons and witch. They’d be more amenable if none of the victims of their thefts showed up to deliver their own vigilante justice. With the mind sweep, Alex and Kieran would remember the location but not the reason they were there.

  CHAPTER 12

  Humans don’t get nearly enough credit for their brand of pseudo magic, I thought as my chest pounded from the thrum of pulsing music at Tryst. The club was loud, crowded, and overwhelming. It was exactly what I needed. After the adrenaline high of earlier and borrowing Kieran’s magic—new magic—I needed a reprieve. Trading real magic for the eclectic pseudo magic that humans offered was a satisfactory deal.

  Supernaturals often had disparaging things to say about humans because their magic was imperceptive compared to what they possessed, and they thought humans had nothing to offer. That couldn’t be further from the truth. They have much to offer, I thought, feeling the avalanche of hedonism, rampant joy, and flagrant, unrepressed joy of indulging in the moment. It created an energy that couldn’t be replicated and was as intoxicating as a drink, weed, or narcotic. It was an acceptable substitute.

  The room was blisteringly hot from the bodies thrashing, grinding, and gyrating on the dance floor in intemperate expression. I took it all in, navigating through the crowd, moving in where I could without a definitive partner. I just moved, swayed, gyrated, rocked to the music, allowing the human energy to carry me to a place of relief. Music washed over me and I let it, refusing to stay in one place, finding different people to dance with.

  The five-mile run earlier hadn’t quelled my desire to experience Kieran’s magic once more. It was the unfortunate quandary of my life: I kept telling myself that once I felt it—experienced it, used it—the desire for it would go away. It was a big damn lie. The desire wasn’t squelched at all. Except when it came to Cory. If I made a mistake, someone died. I refused to allow a mistake of mine to be paid with Cory’s life. I didn’t feel the same way about others. I should have—I knew I should have. I wanted to; I just didn’t know how. I didn’t think “what if I hurt them.” No, my mind immediately went to “how could I keep from being found out.” Magic over life. The only thing I knew was—it was wrong to feel that way. I’d yet to learn how to stop feeling that way.

  The more I thought about it, the harder I danced, the wilder my movements, the more engulfed I became in the music. It needed to be my escape.

  An arm slinked around me from behind and I turned to face a tall blonde. Her straight hair matted with sweat, her smile brilliant in the low lights, and her hands at my waist. The navy-blue dress that ended at the top of her thighs didn’t allow a lot of movement without compromising modesty I wasn’t sure she had. She danced with abandon, allowing the music to overtake her, too, getting into the hypnotic sound of the pulsing bass and the wild lyrics of the crooning man. It was a different kind of high and I was enjoying every moment.

  Wash over me, invade my thoughts, take away the thirst, I commanded the music and the humans, demanding more of the music than it could ever give. I continued to move as if my life depended on it, pushing away thoughts of Kieran—not him, his magic—trying to forget the look in his eyes that told me he’d let me borrow his magic whenever I wanted. For a brief moment, I considered what it would be like to use it, play with it for a while, spend a day getting to know it. And then he’d be dead, I scolded myself. If you did that, he would die, I thought. That should have been enough to deter me, but it wasn’t.

  The pretty blonde moved closer. “What?” she whispered. Her light-brown eyes studied me. Obviously she hadn’t noticed my lack of interest.

  “Nothing.”

  Whatever minute space existed between us, she closed with a quick movement. Her body hummed with energy. Human energy. That’s what I loved about clubs. It could never totally replace my desire for magic—it just couldn’t—but the raw energy of people dancing, drinking, partaking in whatever indulgence necessary to have a good time offered a temporary fix. It was fleeting but it helped. Sex was a close second, and when I felt like this, I tended to do anything to prolong the euphoria—stave off the desire. So, I usually indulged in both.

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” she murmured into my ear. Her voice was low, sensual, and melodic. Pleasing to the ear. As pleasing as her face. She was aware of it.

  “I just needed to dance—work off excess energy. Get my mind off things.”

  “Hmm.”

  She moved back just enough to study me. I hadn’t taken nearly as much care as she had in getting ready. Fitted jeans, blush-colored sleeveless shirt with an asymmetric neck, and, because my intentions were to just dance, flat ballet shoes. To give the illusion of more effort than the fifteen minutes it took to get dressed, I had put on a bracelet and earrings, thick coat of mascara, and pale-pink lipstick, both of which were applied in the parking lot. My hair was upswept to keep it off my neck and with a quick twirl of the curling iron on a few strands, dressed up enough to be passable. From the looks I was getting from my new dance partner, it was more than passable.

  Her eyes lingered on my face for an exceptionally long time. Without my hair framing it, the sharp angles and oval face that no makeup trick or hairstyle could round out were more obvious. Her eyes traced the lines of my lips that garnered accusations of visits to Dr. Full Lip Maker. I figured that any accusations of surgical alterations would be for my nose, with its narrowed sharp points that looked like a surgeon got a little scalpel-happy.

  “I’m about to get a drink. Care to join me?”

  I smiled. Shallow enough to be flattered whenever a hot person hit on me, I wasn’t interested.

  “Maybe another time.”

  Once again, she leaned in, warm breath breezing against my skin, and with a quick sleight of hand, she slipped something into my pocket. A card, I was sure, with her number.

  “Maybe another time, Erin. Give me a call sometime.”

  My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach and I stepped back, not nearly as gracefully as she had in her five-inch heels. This wasn’t a casual meeting. When had she noticed me? The moment I walked in? I’d seen that look she gave me in other people. She was a Grup—humans drawn to supernatural beings. But these special kind of maladroits weren’t just drawn to any supernaturals, just the ones that others considered badly behaved. Usually vampires got the brunt of their attention. Grups were drawn to the creatures of the night, which was a misnomer, because although vampires preferred the night, they didn’t have a problem going out in the day if the hunger hit them. Grups were especially fixated on shapeshifters, new ones, who struggled to control their animal half and form the symbiotic relationship necessary to function. It was seen in the younger shifters or newly changed shifters.

  The least sought after were mages, witches, and fae who enjoyed their magic too much, who bucked at the rules and were a danger to themselves and anyone around them. Grups liked them, but apparently they weren’t dangerous enough. They didn’t make the Grups feel like they were living on a razor-sharp edge between life and death, the way dealing with vampires or shifters did.

  Were they adrenaline junkies, whackadoodles, or products of the need to just feel something, even if it was immense fear?

  Her easy smile and gaze remained on me as I looked at the card.

  “I will, Ann.”

  I likely had a small following of miscreants who were drawn to me. After all, my arrest and trial made the local news. My kisses were deadly, and that fact was sensationalized for all it was worth. Even though I wasn’t a threat to humans, there was that murky draw for the sort of people who fall for prisoners and marry them while they’re incarcerated. I didn’t like being among the infamous. I preferred anonymity. Once again, I found myself contemplating moving. But my family, business connections, and friends were here. I’d be leaving too much behind and wasn’t sure I’d be able to reestablish myself.

  Moving was still on my mind when I took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. A strong one. A double vodka neat. Whatever was on my face, the bartender asked if I wanted to keep them coming. I declined but I wasn’t sure how long that would hold up. Kieran ran through my mind. The feel of his magic. Exhilarating, strong, and different. It was the difference of it that I’d liked. It didn’t have strings attached, the way Cory’s did.

  I blew a curse into my drink. This can’t be happening. I could sense the newly familiar magic. It pricked at my skin and heightened my desire. There was a reason I had chosen a bar mostly populated by humans: My resolve was low. I was doing what I was supposed to do, taking myself away from temptation, so how was this happening? It’s not as though bars weren’t integrated; they were. Supernaturals weren’t forbidden from going to human bars any more than humans were barred from going to bars populated by supes. But no one wanted to be around an irritated shapeshifter whining about a weak drink because his high metabolism burned off the alcohol too fast. Or their penchant for stripping down in front of the club, leaving their clothes near a building, and using their animal form to get home as opposed to calling a ride share like everyone else. Either way, a naked group of people or a pack of wolves can’t be good for business if most of your clients are human. Or vampires griping about them not carrying some obscure and unaffordable wine or the crimson martinis that were only made at Kelsey’s. Many bars had attempted to replicate the popular drink, but whatever Victoria put in hers couldn’t be copied, and the vampires were quick to let the attempting bartender know. Or fae and their glamours and antics with the weather, or their failed bar tricks of ripping fabrics between the worlds. They do that once and they aren’t being invited back. Mages and witches seemed to be the only ones who could walk effortlessly between the supernatural and human worlds. With the exception of me. I didn’t—couldn’t—walk seamlessly anywhere.

 

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