Sinful Magic (4 page)

What had she almost done? Humiliation bent her over, and she forced herself to take deep breaths. He’d just been showing her his lifelines and she’d wanted to jump him. With Kieran gone, her headache and queasiness returned. She felt weak and shaky. Standing up, she debated her options. She could see from the black and gold logo on the robe that she was still in the Mystique hotel. Every room she’d seen in this hotel had the bathroom off the foyer of the room by the door to the hallway. Maybe she could go out the door, turn right, and make it to the hallway door before Muscle Man out there stopped her.

Witch hunter! They were supernaturally fast and strong; this was really bad news. What did he want? She couldn’t figure it out. If the bloodlust from the curse was driving him to kill her, he wouldn’t worry about her drying off and getting warm. Or showing her his lifelines.

Trembling with cold, and wincing from the rapid pounding in her head, she knew the smart thing would be to get dry, put on the robe, go out into the foyer, and then figure out how to get away. Even if Kieran meant no harm, he was still dangerous to her.

After stripping and drying off, she tossed down the towel and slipped into the warm robe. The mirror showed her pale face, huge eyes, and a scraggly, half-gone ponytail. She tugged out the band and finger-combed the worst of the tangles, then gave up. Given her circumstances, it was better to go with the unattractive drowned-rat look.

Steeling herself to find a way to get out of this mess, she opened the door and stepped out into the foyer.

A scream locked in her throat.

Staring back from the wall across the hallway was a life-sized nude drawing of herself with hideous, bleeding cuts all over her.

Oh sweet crone! He was a lunatic! Terror burned through her, pounding her heart, roaring in her ears. Run! She whirled to her right and ran for the door five feet away.

Inches away from freedom, she was body-slammed into the door. It took her a full second to realize that the man had caught her face with his palm and had his arm around her waist preventing her from actually hitting the door. She was pinned so tightly, she couldn’t even move her legs.

But she sure as hell could feel his thick, heavy erection pressing against her back.

Had she screamed? Would help come?

Or was she going to die here, right beneath her bloody, hideous picture drawn on the wall?

Key had seen the panic hit Roxy as soon as she saw the drawing. He caught her before she escaped. Standing there with her trapped between him and the door, his blood ran hot with every desperate breath she took. Her scent warmed to melted caramel with almonds. It was wickedly sensual, filling his lungs and his cock. But he could feel her heart pounding too fast like a small bird, and the sharp acrid scent of fear was burning through her natural scent. That picture had scared her senseless.

It was a sharp reminder of just how far gone he was. It hadn’t even occurred to him what would happen when she saw it. He was so used to the violence in his head, in his world. This woman wasn’t. He took his hands from her and slapped his palms on the door. “Turn around.”

She did, and something inside him twisted at the sight of her flushed face and wild eyes. She was a good seven inches shorter than he. Looking down her length to her bare feet, he estimated she was a hundred and thirty pounds lighter. At one time in his life, he’d known what it felt like to be small and vulnerable. His father and brother regularly used him as a punching bag. Key had been born small by witch hunter standards, and worse, by the time he was three years old, he began drawing dragons and girls. That had been enough to make his dad feel the need to beat the pussy out of him. But his father had another motive as well. The Dragon Tear protected his mother, Beth, so Hogan would use their son Key, breaking his arm or leg, cracking ribs

all in an effort to force Beth to give him the Dragon Tear. She wouldn’t risk letting Key wear the Tear, knowing he’d have given it to his father to save her. Key hadn’t known how to fight back so he just let them hurt him.

Looking at Roxy now, he remembered that helpless, sick fear, then the blinding pain, and the only thing that had kept him focused was not giving the bastard what he wanted, to hear him scream or cry. Once Beth could get to Key and put her arms around him, the magic that protected her would protect him and help him heal. So his father had to do things like lock her in a room

He jerked his mind back to the present, to the woman standing between his outstretched arms, staring at him as if he were a nightmare come to life. She wasn’t all that far off the mark. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice came out thick. He pulled his hands off the door and fisted them at his sides to keep from touching her. She enticed him, and he wanted to touch her. She was too delicate, too breakable.

She sucked in a breath, lifted her chin and demanded, “What kind of freak are you?” She compressed her full lips, as if biting back a scream.

He hated that she saw the truth in him, saw the ugliness that writhed inside him. Like his father had when he’d scream, You’re a freak! A spawn of magic so vile you make me puke. Should have drowned you! Most women saw only his looks and reacted to his pheromones or his fame. “I’m trying to keep you alive. It’s not me that’s going to kill you.” The scent of her witch blood was so faint that it barely tripped his bloodlust. So why was Liam after her? How had she crossed his path? He had to find out.

“So you’re stalking me to draw pictures like that.” She tilted her head toward the drawing.

“No. I drew the picture first, then saw you in the meet and greet and recognized you.” He narrowed his gaze. “You recognized me, too, and ran away. Why?” She had known who he was; okay, that made sense, she was a producer scouting for talent. But why would she rush away when she saw him?

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Might be true, but he thought there was more to it. “What’s your connection to Liam? Do you know where he is?”

“Who?”

Her pupils were contracting into pinpoints, probably from a headache. She was leaning heavily against the door, breathing too fast, and the scent of sour sickness was very real. He’d thought her magic would heal her, and felt a sliver of regret for waking her up. “Liam is my half brother, and he’s a rogue. That picture I drew? It means he’s after you. That’s what he’ll do to you if he gets you.” All these years he’d been having his episodes of drawing Liam—he hadn’t been crazy or sinking into bloodlust. Liam was alive and Key’s art knew it. This was real.

“But I don’t know any Liam!” She winced, her shoulders rising in the white terry cloth robe.

Key fought sympathy. He knew witches felt pain intensely, but her misery from the aftereffects of the drug was nothing compared to what Liam would do to her. He had to find the connection between them both, to keep her safe, and to track Liam. “He apparently knows you.” Key watched her, wondering if she would lie.

She pulled herself together. “My magic is latent, so how would he even

” she trailed off, her eyes dropping. “Mack. He was up to something.”

“The guy in the bar?” When he’d gone through the optic nerve to shift his memory, he’d found the man’s short-term memories were mushy from another witch hunter’s previous shifting. It had to be from Liam. “When I caught you in the atrium, he insisted you were his wife and tried to take you from me.”

She grimaced. “Mack Daemon, he’s an old boyfriend. We broke up. I never told him I’m a witch, but he knew and

damn, I can’t think with this headache.”

He felt a stab of regret and lifted his hand to her shoulder. “Let’s go sit down.” She was looking worse by the second.

“No, I want to leave—” The color drained from her face. Then Roxy ducked under his arm, ran into the bathroom, and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet.

Key winced at her violent vomiting. Shit. He went in and got her a wet washcloth. Lifting her hair, he held it against the back of her neck.

“Go a—” She couldn’t finish as the next wave of sickness hit her.

Key waited, memories of another time, another woman throwing up, and him feeling helpless. He’d eventually learned the few things he could do. Cool cloth on the back of her neck, ginger ale or tea, and patience.

The spasms finally stopped. Key flushed the toilet, went to the sink, and wet another cloth. He handed that to her.

Roxy shifted on the floor, leaning back against the side of the tub by her damp clothes. She leaned her head back, appearing so drained she could barely move.

He couldn’t stand her thick misery. Key hunkered down, slipped his arms beneath her, and lifted her up.

“Kieran

”

He looked down at her too-pale face, her freckles vivid. “You’re too sick to go anywhere.” He walked out of the bathroom into the fresher air of the bedroom and headed to the bed. He held her in one arm and stripped the covers back, layered some pillows, then put her down.

“Resting for a minute, then leaving.”

He didn’t argue with her but went to the minibar and got out a small bottle of ginger ale, opened it, and held it out. “You won’t get far in your condition.”

“Far enough to kill Mack,” she muttered, took the bottle and sipped.

He sat down on the side of the bed, facing her with his hip brushing hers. That small contact reminded him of when she’d touched his palm. Lust had exploded in him. He had a supersized sex drive, but this woman did things to him unlike anyone else. She squinted against the light, dragging him back to the present. He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. That left only the light from the bathroom around the corner. “What can I get you to help? Tea? Or I have a friend who is a witch, she won’t be here for a couple hours, but she—”

“No witches.”

Odd. “She could use magic to clear the toxins from whatever shit Mack put in your wine.”

“No.” She scooted away from him, putting a few inches between their hips. Taking another sip, she added, “I can’t stay here with you.” She turned her head toward the wall and added, “Or with that.”

The picture. Key was furious with himself for not painting over it. These episodes didn’t happen very often, but when they did, he either found paint or called the witches and they would magically erase it. To her, he said, “You can’t go back to your room. Mack drugged you. And I think he did it to take you to my brother. If Liam wants you, he can get you. He can walk right up to a security guard and, using his ability to shift memories, get the guard to hand over your room number and his passkey card.”

The ginger ale slipped from her grip.

Key caught the bottle, his hand brushing a part of her thigh. A flare of warmth seared his hand and shot straight to his groin.

She tried to pull the robe tighter, but her hands were clumsy. “Something in the drink?” Her words were thick.

Key looked up at her struggling to keep her eyes open, her head listing to the side. He hated that she thought he drugged her. “No,” he reached up, pushed her hair back. “I forced you awake when your body was trying to break down the drugs.” It had been cruel of him, but he’d thought she could use her magic to dry and heal herself. “Sleep,” he said gently. Then added, “You’re safe.”

Her eyes were sliding closed. “Not safe.”

Leaning closer, he slipped one arm around her to pull her to his chest and then froze. Her scent slid down his throat and stirred deep inside him. More sensual than sexual, it made him want to hold her against him forever. He almost heard his dragon purr. Damned strange reaction. Moving two pillows so only one remained, he laid her back. She was nearly limp.

“Can’t stay here.” Her protest was real but she was too weak to follow through and her eyes closed.

Shit, his chest ached. He had to focus on his priorities: Find and kill Liam. Leaning over her once more, he asked, “Roxy, how did Mack know you’re a witch?”

“Took a picture.”

“Of your eyes?” She had classic witch eyes, they were exotically tilted up at the outside corners. The wall woman resembled her, but it wasn’t quite right. His fingers curled, he wanted to either touch her, or get out his pencils and capture her on paper.

“No,” she said slowly.

Focus! “Then what?”

“Schema. Have to

” her lips moved then she sighed and fell into a healing sleep.

Schema? Like a diagram of something? He looked at the witch sleeping, and his chest expanded with protectiveness, but only because he knew what his brother would do to her if he got to her. Had to be. It was up to Key to make her safe.

He’d start with tracking Mack Daemon.

Key pulled out the passkey he’d gotten from the maid with a little memory-shifting. Sutton West, another Wing Slayer Hunter who was their computer expert, had located Mack Daemon staying in the hotel. Slipping the card into the lock, Key went into the room.

It was dark and quiet, just the air conditioner humming. Silently, he checked the bathroom on his left and found it empty. With his hunter vision, he could see the room perfectly well. There was a sitting area and desk on the right, a bed in the middle of the room against the bathroom wall, a small table and chairs, and a dresser and TV to the left.

But no Mack. Key took out his BlackBerry and checked on Roxy. He’d left her asleep in his room, with his laptop camera on her. She should be safe, but if something happened, he’d get to her. Satisfied that she was still asleep, he began searching the room and quickly went through the drawers; he found cameras and a laptop, but so far, nothing to link him to Liam or find where he was.

He took out the laptop, set it on the bed and booted it up. Into his headset, he said, “Sutton, I’m disabling the firewall, can you hack in?”

“Can you draw?” Sutton replied, and then gave him directions to type into his browser.

“I’m in. What’s your witch’s name?”

She wasn’t his witch. “Roxy. Roxanne Banfield.”

The cursor on the laptop was moving by itself; pages were opening and closing. It was strange to watch. “Also look for Liam DeMicca.”

“Your brother?” Sutton asked. “Thought he was dead.”