“Shut up.” I grabbed the bag of clothes and headed into the bathroom as he laughed at me.
After I showered, I put on the shirt Silas had purchased. It read Trouble across the chest in sparkling, cursive letters. His sense of humor left something to be desired.
SILAS INSISTED ON SLEEPING with his back against the motel door while I took the bed. I was secretly relieved. If I had to share the double bed with him, I wasn’t sure I would have gotten any sleep, even fully clothed. I’d certainly had my share of boyfriends and wasn’t shy about sex, but Silas had me on red alert all the freaking time. It wasn’t just his sheer physical presence—although that had somehow leveled up a big, annoying notch—it was his dominating personality, his unexpected humor, and the confident way—
I gave myself a mental slap. No, bad. Lord Asshole was not an attractive, interesting man. He was an untrustworthy henchman for people who would kill me if they got their hands on me.
With those types of thoughts rolling around in my stupid head, I slept only a few hours before I woke with a choked gasp. I’d dreamt that I stabbed Ripper into Marcel and stood laughing over him with bloody hands. I stared at the ceiling until my breathing slowed and returned to normal. The sky outside had begun to lighten over the past hour, but it was too early to be up. The bed creaked when I finally gave up on going back to sleep and sat up.
Silas’s eyes popped open. He stood in one fluid movement, completely alert.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said with a groggy voice. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I sleep light.”
“I bet.” Obviously, Silas hadn’t gotten his sword skills from practice lessons. He was clearly more used to action than peace.
He blinked at me before he spoke. “I had a thought.”
“Just one?”
He ignored my snark. “You should learn to control your powers.”
“I don’t plan on keeping them that long.” I had no idea where he was going with his thoughts.
“If yesterday is any indication, you are on the verge of losing control at the slightest provocation. Learning how to keep the magic in check would benefit not only you, but also everyone around you.”
Welcome back, Lord Asshole. But I had to agree that the fight with the Rakken had been a disaster. Losing control and killing people was not something I wanted to repeat. Reluctantly, I asked, “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m going to teach you a basic conjuring. Every child in Aeterna has mastered it.” Silas sat on the edge of the bed. He flared with golden-yellow energy, and a small ball of light appeared in his palm.
“Put that out! You can’t use magic! Titus will find us!”
He didn’t so much as twitch. “You really know nothing about magic, do you? This level of magic wouldn’t register, even if he were standing outside the door.”
Annoyance flooded me. “Can’t I learn something a little more complicated? I’m not a child.”
The orb of energy disappeared. “Guardians work for years to build their abilities, but if you push too quickly, a conjuring will drain your reserves and still demand more.” I must not have looked convinced, because he added, “When you have nothing left to give, you die.”
I grimaced but didn’t argue, because truthfully, I knew nothing about magic. I would just have to start with the basics.
“First, you need to access the magic inside of you. Calm your mind, close your eyes, and focus inward,” he said. “Connect with the energy until it fills you.”
For the next ten minutes, I tried to calm my mind. Like my earlier experiences, I sensed an ever-present layer of energy around me. But I had no idea how to “connect” with it. My mind drifted to the marks that covered Silas’s body, and I wondered if they were decorative or had a deeper magical meaning like the sigil he’d branded on my arm.
His gaze prickled along my skin and caused the inside of my elbow to start itching. I tried not to fidget, but the itch jumped to my bicep. The tickle crawled up to my shoulder. One eye slipped open, and I peeked at him.
He frowned. “Let’s try something else.”
The little ball of energy glowed in his hand again, and my senses focused on the power it radiated.
“Can you feel the conjuring?” he asked.
I took a deep breath, pulled the orb toward me, and held it in my palm. The magic dissolved into my flesh. A burst of pure energy hit me like a rush of cool, clear water, completely opposite from the terrible blackness of the Brotherhood’s magic. I shivered in pleasure.
“Shite!” he swore.
“Was that wrong?” I asked, my voice pitched high in alarm.
His expression went from surprise to narrowed-eyed thoughtfulness. “You absorbed it.”
“That was...” I didn’t have words for what had just happened. “I feel like I just downed a super-powered mega-energy drink. On steroids.”
“That was only a first-level conjuring.”
“A what?” I asked.
“Each conjuring takes a different amount of power depending on the level of complexity. That was a basic spell, the lowest possible use of magic.”
“Does each spell give you one of those tattoos?” I glanced at the marks just visible along his neckline. Something about the symbols tickled my memory, but when I tried to focus on it, whatever it was slipped away.
His face went completely blank. “You can see the sigils?”
“Is that bad?” I asked.
“Which ones can you see?”
Each of the marks on his skin had a three-dimensional quality, which made them hard to describe since it looked as though two or three layers of patterns were stacked over each other. “There’s one on your neck that’s shaped from overlapping circles with these smaller, rounded shapes inside. It’s kind of layered.”
He pointed just above the sigil. “Here?”
“Here.” I leaned forward and ran the tip of my finger just under the collar of his shirt and over the mark, curious if I could feel it on his flesh. He stiffened, and his nostrils flared. I lowered my hand into my lap. Oops. No touching.
He cleared his throat. “Among my people, only Guardians can see sigils, and only if they have mastered the necessary training.”
“Guardians?”
“They are like your police officers—enforcing laws and the will of the Council. We—they—train for years, acquiring combat magic and skill in weaponry. Mastery of the ability to see sigils is required of Second Commanders and above.” His eyes rose to the ceiling as he focused. A single mark on his neck glowed with the same golden power that lit his aura. “Do you see another sigil?”
Careful to keep my hands to myself this time, I pointed to the hollow below his ear. “It’s glowing.”
“Each mark represents a different conjuring the user has mastered. It’s interesting that you can see them even if they’re not active.”
“How many do you have?”
His mouth twisted down at one corner, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I think that’s enough for this lesson.” His aura of magic disappeared. “It’s light outside. We should continue our journey.”
I leaned back on my hands. “About that...”
Silas scowled.
“You heard Officer Radmall—the police have an APB out on our car. Titus and the goon squad showed up after she called in our location. Don’t you think that’s a bit suspicious?”
Silas started pacing. “You’re saying the Earth police are working with the Brotherhood?”
“I don’t know if they’re working together or if maybe Titus has someone on the inside who is giving them information, but it seems likely. Police monitor all the major highways, and after last night... Well, with a dead officer, they’re going to be searching for us. We can’t just keep driving.” I took a deep breath. “If you tell me where we’re going—”
He stopped pacing and full-on glared at me.
“Really?” I snapped. “Am
I in any position to run off? How would I do that? Where would I hide, Silas?” I rose from the bed and poked him in the chest. “Your oath is the only thing keeping me alive, and I’d be stupid as shit not to know that. You need a new plan besides driving around for days and keeping me in the dark. The way I see it, you can tell me where the Fate is, and I can help come up with a plan to get us there, or you can get us both killed.” I rested my hands on my hips and stared him down. “Your choice.”
Chapter Seven
We parked the car at the local dive bar just a little after eleven the next night. With some serious skill, and probably a little luck, I had strong-armed Silas into going along with my plan, but he’d grumbled the whole way.
I smoothed my hands over my newly cropped Trouble shirt and took a last glance at my makeup in the visor mirror. A thrift store pair of red heels, my own tight jeans, and too much eyeliner had transformed me into White Trash Barbie.
“We should go in together,” Silas complained from the passenger’s seat as he eyed the row of Harleys parked in front of the bar door.
“I need them off guard,” I replied, already heading off the argument we’d had earlier back at the motel. Silas glaring at everyone in sight wasn’t going to attract the right kind of attention for what I had in mind.
The bar door opened, releasing a rowdy burst of laughter and country music into the parking lot. A knot of burly men emerged for a smoke.
“Your plan is reckless and has a low chance of success,” Silas said, his eyes on the men.
“I’m still waiting for your genius idea.” I’d already told him how I’d spent my twenties winning impossible bar bets. But Silas was a doubting Thomas who didn’t have any better ideas. We needed cash, and we needed it fast.
He looked over my outfit. “I don’t understand how your ripped shirt is supposed to distract them. And are you trying to fake a bruised eye?”
I re-checked my makeup in the vanity mirror. I’d put it on thick, but it wasn’t smudged. Some people apparently didn’t appreciate a smoky eye. “Keep digging, Don Juan. Why don’t you tell me how big my ass looks while you’re at it?”
His eyebrows scrunched. “I—Come again?”
“Just give me ten minutes before you come in.” I sighed and stepped out of the car. Before I closed the door, I glanced back at him. “And try not to piss anyone off in there.” I smirked and added, “Maybe don’t talk.”
The over-muscled bouncer didn’t even check my ID. He gave me a lingering once-over before letting me through the front door and into a wall of smoke, stale beer, and country twang. There were no other women inside, and I drew appreciative looks from the leather-clad bikers. I smoothed damp palms over my hips, touched Marcel’s charm in my pocket for good luck, and worked my way past the stares and a whistle from the bar. I sat down and forced a smile as two guys rushed over, jostling for the chance to buy me a drink.
Thirty minutes and two beers later, I spotted Silas at a table near the back. With his own leather jacket and perma-scowl, he didn’t stick out as badly as I’d feared. He raised his beer to me, and I nodded at him before turning to laugh at whatever the guy next to me had just said. “Thanks for the drink,” I said, glancing at the clock. Time to play.
When I rose from the stool to the grumbles of my companions, Silas’s eyes were on me. They traveled over my body, and in the dim bar light, with more than one drink in my system, I could have sworn he looked... interested. I flushed at the unexpected reaction his gaze caused in my body, but his expression disappeared almost as soon as I noticed. I shook my head. Of course he was watching me. We had a plan that depended on what I was about to do next.
I may have put extra swagger in my step as I walked to the pool tables in the back of the bar; it was my turn to show off. My excitement built as I surveyed the rowdy group of dart players tossing back beers and throwing cash around. I leaned against a well-worn jukebox and watched. When one of them finally won and collected his cash, I pushed off the wall.
“You boys ready for some real competition?” I waved the last of Father Mike’s cash in front of my face.
Three large, muscled bikers looked me over. One guy openly leered, and slow smiles spread across their faces.
“Wanna play with the big boys, sweetheart?” the creeper drawled.
Within an hour, I had a crowd around me, a pile of cash on the table, and a growing knot in my stomach. The attention made me nervous, but I was so close to getting the money we needed for our plane tickets. If I won this round, we would be all set.
Silas scooted closer, moving slowly through the excited crowd. As much as I hated to admit it, I was a bit relieved. He was my backup if the bikers turned out to be poor losers.
I focused on the target on the wall and threw my final dart. It landed dead center on the board. The crowd cheered, the losers complained, and money exchanged hands. A biker with a large tattoo of an elaborate cross on his neck glowered at me before he tossed his money onto my pile.
“Okay, okay! Show’s over.” I laughed, enjoying my moment as I grabbed up handfuls of cash. Silas was an idiot. My plan was awesome. And I couldn’t wait to rub it in his face.
Neck Tattoo grabbed my upper arm, roughly stopping my cash collecting. “Nobody throws that good. Double or nothing you’re a cheat and you can’t do it again.”
I pushed down a spike of fear. The guy was big, really big. I couldn’t tear my eyes off his thick, roped neck. The giant cross didn’t inspire confidence either. As usual, instead of responding to my very reasonable brain telling me to be afraid, I let my mouth do what it wanted. “Sorry, I already took all your cash.”
People snickered.
Neck Tattoo slipped out of his leather jacket, revealing a shoulder holster with six throwing knives—three on each side of his ribs with a strap across the back. He unclipped it and laid it on the table. He pulled out one of the knives and slammed it into the wood, where it stuck with a solid thunk. Crafted from a single piece of stainless steel, the six-inch double-sided blade curved to its widest point in the middle before tapering back to a sharp point at the tip. It resembled a spade, but it was sharp enough to kill a man. Black cord wrapped around the flat handle. It was a beautiful set and a hell of a lot more expensive than any I’d owned.
Then Neck Tattoo produced a roll of twenties and plopped it on the table. “Double or nothing you’re full of shit.” He pointed at the knives. “Let’s see you do it again with something bigger. Winner takes all.”
“The cash plus the knives,” I stated.
Surprise flashed across his features, but he recovered quickly. “No problem, sweetheart.”
I could walk away without a scene, but the bet included all the cash we would need, plus a full set of gorgeous throwing knives on the line. I couldn’t wait to wrap my hands around those knives. My itching fingers pushed my brain to the back seat. “Deal.”
I avoided looking in Silas’s direction as I pulled the knife out of the table and tested the balance in my hand. I’d spent enough hours practicing with throwing knives to know that it took time to learn the right amount of strength and spin for each blade before the thrower had any accuracy. The bet was risky and probably extremely stupid, but I couldn’t help myself. I knew I could win it all.
We agreed to the terms quickly: three throws each, best throw wins everything. Unless he nailed every throw, I would have a little wiggle room to get used to the knives.
Neck Tattoo scanned the growing crowd. I was a stranger, but his reputation with his drinking buddies was at risk. If I won, he wasn’t going to be friendly about it.
Silas moved closer, shaking his head, presumably at my poor life choices.
A flurry of side bets settled down as Neck Tattoo lined up for his first throw. He held the knife by the handle, bent his arm back in line with his shoulder, and threw. It hit the outer ring of the board.
The bikers cheered.
It was a good throw, but he’d sacrificed accuracy for force. The strengt
h he had put behind it could have impaled something twice as far, which was good for a fight but bad for target practice. His second throw hit just as hard, but it landed inside the middle ring, closer to the center.
My confidence slipped a bit. He was damn good. Unlike darts, knives weren’t easy to throw accurately. The tiniest wobble would throw the much heavier projectile off course, and this guy was getting better, not worse.
He lined up for his third throw. It sank into the board next to the previous one. Three solid throws. His buddies cheered and clapped him on the back. I would have to do better to beat him. I shook the nerves out of my fingers and took a deep breath. I had spent countless hours playing darts for cash and countless more practicing throwing knives for fun. I could do this.
Someone freed the knives from the dartboard and brought them to me. They were heavier than practice knives, meant for incapacitating someone. I wondered if Neck Tattoo might have been ex-military. Not many people carried knives in holsters or threw with his excellent form. I certainly didn’t.
I set my stance and took a deep breath. Every throw had to count. I aimed for the bull’s-eye, pulled my arm back, and released the knife. It spun toward the target, headed for the center. The hilt slammed into the bull’s-eye and dropped with a metallic clang against the floor.
The crowd laughed drunkenly. I grimaced and made a point of avoiding Silas’s gaze. I didn’t need another dose of disapproval.
“Nice throw,” Neck Tattoo mocked.
Ignoring the jeers, I flipped the next knife and held it by the tip. I lined up my throw and focused on not over-rotating the knife. The metal blade flashed and landed in the middle ring.
Half the crowd cheered for me, but Neck Tattoo had nothing to add.
I had missed the thrill of something on the line, the anticipation from the crowd. Taking a deep breath, I focused on steadying my nerves. My last throw would have to be perfect to win. Best shot wins all. I hefted the third blade, already more comfortable with the weight and balance. I pulled my arm back and steadied my breathing. The rowdy crowd fell away, as did the argument I would soon be having with Silas and even the pressure of winning the bet. All that mattered was the centered feeling between me, the knife, and my target. With a fluid movement, I released the blade.
Fate Forged Page 7