Sinful Magic (2 page)

that would be bad. “This is the only way you can get a date? Blackmail?” She aimed her best pity-the-pig look on him, but she knew she had to show up and see if he really was trying blackmail or something else.

“Just be there.” He turned and walked off.

The energy of the room suddenly escalated. Dragging her gaze from Mack-the-worm, Roxy turned toward the door. A man walked in. He wore jeans, a black T-shirt, and so much attitude it prickled her skin. As he passed, people stopped what they were doing and stared. Even her hot-meter gonged. Hard. Beneath that shirt, his muscles rippled as if nothing could contain his strength. The guy gave off vibes of sex and danger.

The silence broke with hushed whispers.

He moved through people with panther grace, heading toward the end of the bar, zeroing in on a group of women.

She knew who he was: Kieran DeMicca, creator of the comic book series she was interested in possibly developing; Dyfyr, Dragon of Vengeance. She kept watching and evaluating, while ignoring the attraction that quivered through her.

Her interest was strictly professional.

And right now, her professional opinion was that Kieran DeMicca was a chick magnet. What she needed to know was if he had his priorities straight. If she optioned his series and he retained any creative control, Roxy wasn’t going to play mommy and pull him out of a tangle of naked females to work.

She tracked his progress as he chatted up the growing group surrounding him, when he suddenly shifted his gaze and looked right at her.

Her stomach clenched and a strange tingling ran from her pelvis to her throat. The inside of her left thigh began to burn. It felt as if every cell in her body sparked to life. Her heart started to race, and her head spun for a second.

Reaching out, she grabbed the back of a nearby chair. His eyes narrowed on her as if he’d made an earth-shattering discovery. Then he took a step.

Toward her.

Her inner thigh still burned. Right where her birthmark was. It should feel dead, not—

Oh shit!

The closer Kieran DeMicca got, the more her thigh reacted. Her heart hammered, and she had to escape. Now! Roxy fast-walked out of the large conference room, down the hallway, and hit the door to the women’s restroom.

Her heart was slamming against her ribs, blood pounding in her ears. Her hands shook and her palms were wet with sweat. Going into a stall, she yanked down her slim black pants, and looked at her inner thigh.

“Oh hell, no,” she whispered, staring in disbelief.

The two-inch schema was coming to life. Fertility witches were born with a round reddish birthmark somewhere on their body. At puberty, it took shape. For most witches, it turned into half of a fertility goddess: a woman with her arms raised over her head in a circle, her breasts full, her hips rounded, then tapering down into a point. For some reason, Roxy had the full mark, not just half like the others did. But for all fertility witches, their magic was latent, waiting to find their Awakening, usually between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six. When that happened, the mark began to change, taking on color, and once the witch and her Awakening had sex, her magic was released. But if she didn’t find her Awakening, the mark faded, and the witch’s chakras died off. Roxy’s mark had been rapidly fading.

Now she saw faint blue as if someone had brushed barely tinted watercolor over it.

“No,” she whispered again, unable to believe it.

She was going to turn into her mother; choosing magic over those she loved.

“I won’t,” she said, determination firming her spine. Pulling up her pants, she thought quickly: Only one thing brought out a fertility witch’s magic—her Awakening.

A man.

It wasn’t Mack, she knew that. They hadn’t actually had sex, since she’d thrown his ass out when he’d taken the picture, but her mark hadn’t reacted to him at all. She’d been in a room full of men, but no one had affected her until

Kieran DeMicca. She’d felt the reaction when he’d walked into the room, and it had grown stronger the closer he came to her.

Was it possible Kieran was her Awakening? She was so close to reaching her goal of her chakras dying and becoming mortal. All these years she’d waited and now it was all threatened.

If it was Kieran, then she had to keep her distance from him.

Key walked into Illusions, the largest bar at the Mystique hotel. The multilevel space was about the size of a large hotel suite. Every table was made of glass with colored lights that sat on a black floor for dramatic contrast. There was a long glass wall encasing dancing waterspouts. At each end of the wall, a long bar snaked out, the surface changing colors as the lights on the dancing water shifted.

He scanned the bar, looking for the woman from his wall. The one he hadn’t been able to bring himself to paint over yet. He’d been shocked when he’d seen her in the meet and greet. Alive. Real. He wasn’t crazy.

But why had he drawn her? Was Liam alive? Why would his brother surface now? Over the last eleven years, Key had occasional bursts of drawing Liam butchering witches. His best friend, Phoenix, thought it was guilt and bloodlust manifesting in him.

When he wasn’t caught up in the power of the frenzied drawing, Key thought Phoenix might be right. Guilt and violence were his constant companions.

But now—how the hell did he draw a woman he’d never seen? And Christ, when he’d seen her in the flesh, his entire being twanged like a pitch pipe. As if his deepest cells were affected by her. He had to find out more, like why she’d run when Key had made his way toward her. Who was she?

Where was she? He’d already searched the restaurants and was running out of ideas. He scanned the people sitting at the tables when his gaze caught on a woman walking into the bar.

It was her!

Excitement tensed his muscles, but he checked the intense urge to approach her. When he’d tried that in the meet and greet, she’d run. He found a table and sat down to watch her.

She walked with purpose to the end of the bar farthest from him. Her red hair was pulled back in a sleek, low ponytail that showed her heart-shaped face and green eyes. Her spaghetti-strap top barely contained her full breasts, her slim black pants hugged the sweet curve of her hips and ended just above her shoes. Even dressed, she was softly sexy and romantic, not his usual type. Key gravitated to a harder type of woman, the kind he couldn’t destroy easily. Women who just wanted the thrill of screwing him because he was famous. Women who didn’t look too deeply past his surface.

He couldn’t look away from her, and continued to watch as she approached a man, slid onto a bar stool next to him, and accepted a glass of wine.

Narrowing his eyes, he repressed another urge to leap to his feet. He didn’t like her with another man. It made his thoughts swirl in red violence and his chest burn.

What was happening to him? Was it because she was a witch? But he couldn’t smell her witch blood or feel her power. Even across the room, a witch hunter could sniff out the power in witch blood. He inhaled to see if he could catch any scent and got a lungful of copper stink.

There was a rogue somewhere close: Adrenaline surged through him, causing all his enhanced hunter senses to sharpen even more. He didn’t see any men with the overbulked muscles and too-soft features that rogues had. Yet the hair on the back of his neck bristled an alarm. A rogue was there, but shielding himself to appear invisible. Key couldn’t see him, but he sure as hell smelled him.

Then the scent began to fade.

Key jacked up out of his chair, and followed the odor out to the atrium that was in the center of several restaurants and shops. The stink of copper kept moving farther away from the bar.

A bad feeling stirred in his chest the farther he got from the woman in the bar. If she was a witch, had this rogue homed in on her, waiting to get her alone to kill her and harvest her blood? Key followed the smell to one of the long hallways, then hesitated, his instincts screaming not to leave the woman.

At the other end of the hallway, the rogue materialized.

Shock punched Key so hard, he froze to the spot. Time hung still as he took in the man standing at six foot five inches, about two hundred and sixty pounds with copper-colored hair surrounding a face that had a masculine jawline but feminine, hairless skin and delicate eyebrows. His arms were hairless, too, but packed with bulging muscles.

Liam. Alive. His half brother who had cut and tortured Vivian, the girl Key had loved, trying to make her tell him where the Dragon Tear was. Like a kaleidoscope, the memories kept changing—Key saw himself holding her in his arms as she died. She’d been innocent, carrying their child, and had had no idea the Tear even existed. His brother had tortured her. Liam cared nothing for anyone or anything but himself and that Dragon Tear.

The memories broke apart until all Key saw was Liam as they stared at each other. Then Liam spun and ran through a door at an astonishing speed even for a rogue witch hunter.

Key’s shock shattered, and he snapped into action, racing after his brother, determined to finish the job of killing him. But he was too late—Liam got into a black SUV and peeled off into the night.

Why after all these years had his brother shown up now? How had he survived Key’s knife to his heart? And why here, in Las Vegas, instead of where Key lived in Glassbreakers, California? He knew one answer; Liam was after the Dragon Tear. He’d do anything to get it. But how did the woman Key had drawn on the wall fit in?

The woman! Had Liam lured him away from her purposely?

He turned and hauled ass back to the bar.

Roxy slid onto the bar stool, and keeping her face bland, she said, “What do you want, Mack?”

He pushed a glass toward her. “I ordered you a Chardonnay.” Then he pulled his dark eyebrows together. “Look, Roxy, I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” She accepted the glass of wine and took a sip. What did he know, and what did he want from her?

Mack sipped his Scotch and then said, “That mark means you’re in danger. I travel extensively with my work and come into contact with a lot of people. I’ve heard stories about women with that mark, and the group of fanatics who try to find and kill the women who have it. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it on you.”

A shiver trickled down her spine. Was he telling the truth? Witch hunts throughout history had proven how deeply mortals feared the idea of witches. But

“You took a picture.”

He nodded. “I wanted to compare it to the images I’d seen. I had to be careful; I didn’t want to reveal who you are or endanger you. The image matches; you’re a”—he looked around then whispered—“witch.”

She wasn’t sure if he believed his story, but there were some nuts out there. How else would Mack know what that mark meant? “It’s just a birthmark,” she said to fill the silence while thinking.

“A birthmark in the shape of a fertility goddess?”

She jerked her gaze to him as alarm traveled through her. He knew too much, was too specific. Too intense. “You didn’t say anything then,” she pointed out while studying him.

He reached over to touch her arm. “You got so upset, too upset to listen. And I was worried; I wanted to check it out. Roxy,” he leaned toward her, “let me take you to dinner. I’ve made reservations at a nice place. We’ll talk and figure out how to keep you safe.”

She pulled her arm free and took another drink of her wine. Like hell she’d go anywhere with him. He might be telling the truth, but taking a picture in such an intimate moment was just creepy. She needed more information. “Tell me how to find out more about this group.”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous. What if they have other ways of discovering what you are? Better if you stay close to me for a while as I check into this more.”

She shifted into full disbelief. He was maneuvering, withholding information to stay in control. Her instincts might have failed her once with him, but now they were pinging. “I haven’t heard from you in two months and suddenly

” A buzz slid along her spine. She suddenly felt

exposed.

“I was being careful!” Mack sucked down more Scotch, then calmed his voice. “I will tell you everything at dinner. It’ll be quieter there, and we can talk. I have my car.” He stood up and took her elbow.

The buzz kept tingling from her pelvis to her heart. Her chakras! Mack cupping her elbow irritated her, his touch repellent. Jerking her arm from him, she stood. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” If her chakras were reacting, her Awakening must be in the bar. She turned and searched. The dim and colored lighting made it harder.

“Roxy, I’m trying to help you. Just come to dinner with me. Don’t make me—”

His words cut through her distraction. Sensing a threat, she whipped around to stare at his darkly determined eyes. His jaw was tight and his shoulders high. “Make you what?”

He visibly relaxed and softened his tone, “Worry about you. I want to clear this up between us.”

That wasn’t what he was going to say, she was sure of it. The skin of her inner thigh prickled insistently and distracted her again. Turning from Mack, she did another search. Would she recognize her Awakening once she saw him? Was it Kieran? She looked past the people lining both bars and moved on to the tables. She saw groups, and couples

Then she spotted Kieran standing at the back of the room, his eyes focused on her. Her chakras shivered in reaction, and her schema prickled. Everyone else in the bar became background noise, meaningless to her. In that second, she knew he was her Awakening from the almost magnetic pull she felt, the urge to move closer to him. She couldn’t look away and noticed that he stood alone, not even a drink in his hand. Blue and black lights spotlighted him, showing his hard edges. He had a long face, deep-set eyes, harsh mouth, and a chin that would crack knuckles. His shoulders strained his T-shirt.

His gaze was locked on her as if she were his prey. She actually felt dizzy, her limbs almost heavy. The intensity of his attention shivered over her skin and swirled inside her. The throb in her schema grew. Desire began to warm her body, tightening her nipples.