The Wizard King (6 page)

“Do you think Jo might know anything?” It was worth a shot.

“I don’t think so, but it might not hurt to give her a call.”

“Thanks, Lana.”

“You could always try a locator spell.”

“I thought of that, but in order for me to cast it, I would need to cancel the Beckett spell first.”

“Oh. That sucks.” He heard something tapping faintly, and wondered if he’d interrupted Lana at work. The witch, famous for obeying her instincts, worked as an accountant. It never failed to amuse him that his seat-of-the-pants sister-in-law worked in precise numbers, while his wizard brother, whose magic ran along strict guidelines, was the artistic one of the pair. “You want me to try running the locator spell? I can get Chris to give me a hand too.”

He almost sagged with relief. “Pretty please with cherries on top?”

“Not a problem.”

“Thanks, I—” A knock at the door interrupted him. “Hold on a sec.”

He didn’t know why, but his hands were shaking, his palms sweating as he made his way toward the front door. He flung open the door without looking through the peephole.

He almost dropped the phone in shock. Her pale blue eyes were rimmed in red. Her blonde hair was mussed. Her conservative blouse and slacks were wrinkled.

He’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Gen bit her lip, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake coming here. She could have figured out a way to watch over Gareth from afar rather than subject herself to his disdain.

But the urge to see him, to hear his voice even if he growled at her, had been overwhelming. She’d given in to her desire to go to him, and it looked like she was going to get exactly what she’d expected. The small part of her that had wished desperately for a warm welcome died an agonizing death as Gareth Beckett glared at her. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, expanding that massive chest.

She should never have come here. She should’ve set up some sort of scrying spell or an alarm spell that would let her know when Hugh approached Gareth rather than attempting to protect him in person. There was no way Gareth would—

She gasped as her arm was grasped in an unyielding hold and she was yanked into Gareth’s house. The door slammed shut behind her, sealing her inside with an angry wolfman.

His grip tightened around her arm as he dragged her into the living room. “Don’t even think about leaving.”

She stumbled as the heel of her pump caught on the edge of his carpet. “Gareth, you don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty.”

Oh dear. This was not going to go well. “I had a vision from the Goddess.”

“That’s nice.” Gareth flung himself onto the sofa, dragging her down with him. “Where the hell have you been?”

She eyed him with some misgiving. He wasn’t acting like himself. He’d loosened his grip somewhat on her arm, but when she tested his hold it tightened once more. “You know what I have been doing, Gareth.”

“I spoke to your aunt. She told me she disowned you.”

Gen did her best to hide her wince. As deeply as her aunt’s rejection hurt her, she had to think of what was best for Gareth and his reign as the wizard king. Allowing the Godwin matriarch’s actions to influence her would get them nowhere. She needed to be the bigger woman, and Vivian would prove to be an invaluable associate for the future king. “My aunt is a formidable woman. She will make a strong ally.”

She didn’t understand the angry expression that crossed his face. “I’d rather stick my dick in a wombat’s ass than make nice with that cast-iron bitch.” He leaned forward, his hand sliding down her arm until he clasped her own. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive her for abandoning you.”

His sincere tone and concerned expression sent warmth racing through her. Maybe he didn’t despise her quite as much as she’d thought. “Thank you, sire.”

“For the love of all that’s holy, please don’t call me that.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the man Gen hadn’t even noticed hovering in the background. “I’m getting enough of it from him. Isn’t that right, Mac?”

The stranger looked startled. “Mac?”

Gareth shrugged. “McDorman is a bit of a mouthful, and I’m sorry but you don’t look like an Abraham to me. But if it bothers you, I won’t—”

“No, sire.” The man, Mac, was practically blushing with pleasure. “I like it.”

Gareth’s answering grin was almost shy. “Good.” He turned his attention back to Genevieve, all traces of shyness disappearing. “Now. Tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Things were beginning to make sense. He didn’t care about her personally, only as an Own and his brother’s coworker. “Sire—”

“Gareth.”

He glared at her until she nodded. “Gareth.”

His thumb caressed her palm. “Go on.”

She cleared her throat. His touch was scrambling her senses, that soft, continuous caress scattering her thoughts. “After my abortive meeting with my aunt I decided the only option left to me was to commune with the Goddess.”

“What price did she demand you pay?”

Gen stared at him in surprise. She’d forgotten that she’d once told him there was always a price to pay, and was startled he’d remembered, let alone cared enough to ask. “Nothing I wasn’t already willing to give her.” He growled a little bit at that, but allowed her to continue. “One of the visions She sent me was of Hugh working on a knife similar to the one my father held when he threatened Jo. He was carving strange symbols into it, ones that were unfamiliar to me.” She grabbed hold of his hand, stilling that maddening caress. “I saw you, your soul, being sucked into the knife.”

They both ignored Mac’s indrawn breath. Gareth’s attention seemed focused totally on her and what she was telling him. “Is he a threat to anyone else in my family?”

“The future is always in flux. All I can tell you is what the Goddess has sent me. You must find a way to protect yourself from my brother’s evil.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have to do some research, but I’m certain there are things I can do to prevent your brother’s spell from working.”

Thank the Goddess. He’d take precautions now. “In the meantime, I’ll do everything in my power to hunt him down and stop him.”

His grip became painfully tight. His golden eyes glowed with power as he dragged her so close to him they were practically nose to nose. His breath ghosted over her lips as his arm snaked around her waist, shackling her to his side. “Over my dead body.”

“Sire—”

“Gareth.”

She sighed. “Gareth. You don’t have a choice.”

The gleam in his eye did not bode well for her. “Don’t I?”

She stood, surprised when he let her go. “I will protect you, and the rest of the Becketts. I swear it to you.”

He scowled as she spoke her oath. “There’s more than one way to do that. You don’t have to go rushing into danger.”

“I’m an
Own
, Gareth. It’s what we do.” She was reluctant to take that final step that would drag her from his side, but it had to be done. She was the only one who could stop her brother.

A cunning expression crossed over his face before it became curiously blank. “Before you go, I have something you need to see.” He stood and held out his hand, waiting patiently for her to take it.

“What is it?” Reluctantly she accepted his hand, allowing him to pull her along behind him. She needed to leave, before her own desires made it impossible to do so. The feel of his hand in hers was majorly distracting.

“A spell.” His evil grin should have terrified her.

“A protection spell?” Her heart beat faster as he opened the door into what was obviously his workroom. The lingering smell of incense, the cabinets with their different-sized drawers, and the books scattered all over the room declared it a well-used space. The room was dominated by dark woods, light gray walls and a huge, round table similar to the one Chris Beckett had in his workroom. The windows were covered in thick, bright blue curtains that blocked the light.

One wall was almost hidden by a huge, dark gray velvet sofa. The back was tufted, the arms rounded, the cushions were full and inviting. The bright blue accent cushions were smushed, as if Gareth often napped there. She had no doubt that when he moved to the court that sofa would be going with him. She bet if she lay down on it, she’d be able to smell him.

What
wasn’t
in Gareth’s work space was a desk. He either did his spell research on the huge gray sofa, or in another room. She could picture him, his feet kicked up on one arm of the sofa, his head resting on the other, and a book resting in his lap.

She briefly saw the components of a spell in progress before Gareth stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “I don’t want you to go.”

She could only accept the sincerity in his tone. “Thank you.”

He frowned. “Why are you thanking me?”

She shrugged. How could she tell him she’d been certain he hated her? Everything in his demeanor since she’d shown up on his doorstep indicated otherwise. She wasn’t so much of a martyr that she’d continue to believe something that obviously wasn’t true. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She took a step back, prepared to leave. “I’m glad you’ve taken precautions, but I’m not certain I can help you with your spell casting.” Neither fish nor fowl, a warlock’s spell casting was different from both a wizard’s and a witch’s. Where wizards took their time, creating powerful spells with lengthy rituals, and witches cast on pure instinct and emotion, warlocks had to appeal to the entities their powers were linked to. If the entity chose not to allow the spell to be cast, the warlock was out of luck, no more than a human with a funny look on their face as they realized they weren’t being granted what they’d asked for. It happened, but rarely. Most entities, even the demonic ones, granted their chosen warlock’s request. It was in their best interests to do so, or they never would have bonded in the first place.

So while she could appreciate the beauty of Gareth’s ritual, unless he explained it to her or she’d seen it before, she’d have no clue what he was up to.

“Oh, I think you’ll be more help than you realize.” That smirk was back, the one that made her heart beat faster and her palms sweat. But he couldn’t really be looking at her like that, as if she were the last bacon cheeseburger on the planet and he was hungry like the wolf.

I really have to stop listening to the oldies channel when I’m driving. Even if they do play the best music from the eighties and nineties.

“I
really
have to go now.” Something about the way he was staring at her made her want to flee the workroom. Gareth was up to something. And she’d learned, from her brief time at Christopher Beckett’s home, that when Gareth Beckett wanted something neither Heaven nor Hell would stop him.

The thought that he could possibly want her, as improbable as that was, was electrifying. And it was why Gen so desperately needed to leave. He might not hate her, but…

But she was still a Godwin. Still a warlock.

No. She wouldn’t allow herself even the hope of him until her family was dealt with. She smiled at him, and patted his cheek before taking a step back. “Good-bye, Gareth.”

He stood as she backed away to the door, and for a split second she thought he would physically restrain her. Instead, he reached behind him for something on his work table, a little smirk on his face, one she was familiar with. Gareth had a trick up his sleeve, but she had no idea what it was. “Gen?”

She opened the door, ready to flee both whatever he had planned and her own conflicting emotions. Thank the Goddess she wasn’t a witch, or she’d be utterly useless to Gareth right now. Whether he knew it or not, he needed protection that only she could provide. “Yes?”

“Catch.”

Chapter Four

“Oh, shit.”

Gareth grinned as his mate’s eyes went wide, her lips parting as she clutched the Beckett ring in her hand. He quickly covered her clenched hand with his own, completing the circuit.

He could feel the spell settle inside him as warmth flowed up his arm, twining around them both like a sleek silken rope, binding them together for all time. Heat raced through his system, filling him with the desire to take the next step, to take
her
and bind her physically to him.

The last step would place the shadow wolf on her shoulder, marking her as the chosen mate of a Beckett. If Gareth had his way, that mark would be there today. But unless she fully accepted the mating he could chant the last bit of the spell until the universe ended and her shoulder would remain distressingly blank.

So Gareth put aside casting the rest of the spell, knowing full well she was hesitating, intent on leaving him. His wolf howled in protest, demanding he claim her, keep her chained to his side.

Gareth would do what he could to accommodate its wishes. The thought of Gen running back out of his home to confront her brothers gave him hives.

“What have you done?”

Gareth growled out loud. Instead of horror, or sadness, or even confusion, Gen was…

Was leaning toward him, her pupils dilated, her lips wet and inviting.