by Alisa Woods
Ever had never felt so free.
The one thing she could never have—the one thing she feared above all else—was lifted, gone, swept away by the impossibility of ever hurting Zane. Her kiss would never make him die. Her magick would never surge and kill him. Even a stray ripple of the most powerful chaos magick—the kind she tapped into when she was lost in passion—wouldn’t harm this man. He needed it like others needed air.
A voice from somewhere was chastising them. “Fuck! Zane, no!” Zane was working his mouth to her chest when he was savagely shoved off her body. She was lying flat on her back, and the absence of him pinning her down made her shudder—the ripped-away pleasure was like a vacuum pulling on her skin, painful in its absence.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, God. No no no.” It was Zane’s voice, and Ever had to force her eyes to blink open. He was curled over on himself, hunched on the floor, face in his hands. Arrow stood between them, fists clenched, crouched in a fighting stance like he might have to physically beat Zane. But Zane wasn’t any threat. He was nearly weeping, mumbling into his hands.
Ever’s body felt immobilized, like she was waking from a dream, but she had enough ability to move that she could scowl at Arrow’s back. Then he twisted to look down at her in horror. “Oh, shit.” He turned and fell to his knees next to her. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”
Of course, it was. Why was he worried?
He placed one hand on her forehead and another on her chest, right above where Zane’s lips had been a moment before. She much preferred the lips. And the bliss—the ecstatic release—that came from Zane pulling all that magick through her. Arrow was seeking to heal her… but she wasn’t broken. Stunned, maybe. Dazed, yes. Ragingly turned on… absolutely.
But there was nothing wrong with her.
She blinked and shoved away his hands. He rocked back on his heels, watching her, amazed as she sat up. Her body still had a few residual aches, but they were from being blasted by Pawel’s magick and thrown against the wall. Everywhere Zane had touched—and all the places his magick had reached—were pulsingly, erotically alive.
“Are you okay?” Arrow asked. As if he wasn’t looking straight at her.
“Fine.” She coughed a little. Her throat was dry, mostly from the heavy breathing, a little from the acrid gas that still tainted the air.
Zane dropped his hands from his face and looked up at the sound of her voice. The expression of horror and fear in his eyes—it struck a blade right through her.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, directly to him.
He just shook his head, like he disagreed—as if it wasn’t possible that she’d kissed an incubus and lived. She had to fight a smile, but not for long, once her senses came back to her. Bodies lay all around the control room. Gunned down. Blasted by magick. And Willow was gone. Pennies had taken her.
“Where is he?” she asked Arrow. “Did Pennies escape?”
The man cringed and swept a look over the dead all around them. “He took out the SWAT team. I couldn’t stop him and his crew on my own. They disappeared into the yard, taking the girl with them. I shut down the perimeter, but I don’t know if we have them. I thought…” He twisted to look at Zane. “What the fuck happened?”
“It’s not Agent Walker’s fault,” Ever said quickly.
Both looked at her like she was a ghost. Like she shouldn’t even be alive much less making excuses for the incubus who appeared to have attacked her. But Ever knew better.
“Pennies attacked him with a mirror spell.” Ever’s legs were still a little shaky—from the whole trauma but also the residuals of magick still surging through her body—but she could stand. Arrow hurried to help her even though she didn’t need it. “Agent Walker was nearly dead before I helped revive him.”
Arrow gave her the most comical look. “You… helped…” He turned that look to Zane, who was also standing, much more shakily than she was.
Zane refused to look at her. To Arrow, he said, “Pennies was going to take her. And the other girl. I tried to stop them, but he had some kind of protection spell. It took me down.”
“That girl was Willow,” Ever insisted. Had Zane put it together?
He finally glanced at her. “Right. I don’t know if you guys caught it over the mics, but Willow’s the CharmCare girl, the one missing from the morgue. Pennies is hip deep in this. The missing bodies. The overdoses. The murders. All of it. And that madness he was spewing about the drugs—” He cut off as a stampede of boots clanged up the stairs outside the door. Several agents in SWAT gear stormed into the room. They stumbled to a stop over their fallen comrades.
“Dammit,” one of them cursed.
There was a moment of silence as the gravity of the deaths weighed them all down.
Zane stepped forward and took Ever gently by the elbow. To Arrow, he said, “I’m getting her out of here.”
That comically skeptical look was back. “Are you sure about that?” Arrow flicked a look at Ever like he might need to intervene. As if Zane were still a threat to her.
As if he had ever been.
“Zane is the one you should worry about. I’m fine.” She gave a look of annoyance suitable to having to repeat herself.
Arrow grimaced. “Okay. Um… check in once you’re settled,” he said to his partner.
Zane gave a curt nod and urged her forward. She had to step over one body, then steered around the others. The SWAT members were standing there, as numb as she was feeling. She had no idea where Zane was taking her, but anywhere was better than here.
But as horrible as it was, they finally had a real lead… and a chance to find her father.
Chapter Eleven
“Where are we going?” Ever asked.
Zane ground his teeth a good long time before answering. “Your apartment.” They were in his car—his private car, the one he used for his work with Pennies. “He won’t come looking for you now that my cover is blown.” And Zane had gladly blown it to save her life—she should never have been put in danger in the first place—but that wasn’t what was setting his teeth on edge. He’d attacked her. What’s more, she’d sought it out. What the hell was she thinking?
His body still thrummed with the massive draw of magick he’d fed off her. His hands twitched even as he gripped the steering wheel. An unsettling lust still pervaded every fiber of him, and she just sat there in the passenger seat, calm and collected, as if she hadn’t just volunteered for an assault by an incubus. More astonishingly, she looked… radiant. As if the drain hadn’t hurt her at all.
It turned his brain upside down.
She was thoughtfully watching the street lights pulse by. “I don’t think your cover’s actually blown.”
“Huh?” She utterly confused him. “What are you talking about?”
She turned to face him. “He thought you were greedy. That you wanted to keep me.” The look in her eyes was so intense, he had to use the excuse of keeping his eyes on the road to look away. “The FBI SWAT came in after you were already down,” she continued. “You couldn’t have called them. He never found my mic. Or yours.”
He threw her a quick, pinched glance. “You think he’d take me back.”
“He was super disappointed to lose you.” She drummed her fingers on the seat as she thought it through. “He left you to die. You could say you fed off me to survive then fought your way through a bunch of FBI agents to escape. It could have happened that way.”
He just shook his head in wonder. She was thinking this through with more calm than he, a supposed FBI agent, could even contemplate at the moment. “Why did you do it?” He was surprised how angry it came out. “Why did you imagine kissing me?”
Her eyes went wide. “You saw that?”
“Not exactly. I sensed it.” Hell yeah, he saw it. Bright and pulsing and hot. That scent—true lust by a powerful witch—was the elixir his beast could never resist. It was powerful enough to bring him back from the brink of death. The anger surged ba
ck. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”
The corners of her mouth turned down. She blinked then slowly turned forward and stared out at the city lights just starting to surround them. They were getting close to her downtown apartment. “I…” She stopped.
His heart stuttered. She did. There was some part of her that wanted to die. Was he just a convenient way to make that happen? His horror at this only grew as the silence stretched.
Ever pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze from the cityscape to her hands lying in her lap. She turned them over, palm up. She’d conjured with those hands, recently—he could still sense the magick on them.
“You were dying,” she whispered.
“But that’s not why you did it.” Again, far too harsh. What the hell, Zane? Why was she getting so deep under his skin?
She looked up at him, eyes luminous in the scattered light of the street. “I did. That part is true. I was trying to save you.”
He was holding his breath. “But there’s something else.” Would she tell him? He suddenly had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road, drinking in the tormented and slightly horrified expression on her face, searching for clues.
“I didn’t think…” She swallowed and stared out the windshield again. “Years ago, I killed a boy.” It was a whisper. “I loved him, and I killed him.” She looked to him. “I never paid a price for it. They called it an accident, but I know what I did. What I got away with. I know it’s because I’m rich and adept and from a powerful family and…” Her expression went haunted. “I always knew my work with the charmers was a way to… to pay that back. They don’t have wealth to protect them. No magick to save them. So I try. I try to save them because I couldn’t save him.” She looked forward again. “But I never thought of it as a death wish. Maybe that’s why…”
“Why what?” He flicked his gaze forward. They were going to fucking crash if he didn’t keep his eyes on the road. He turned into the parking garage of her apartment.
“Why I’m so attracted to you.”
Oh, shit.
Her eyes went wide again. “Is that part of being an incubus?”
“What?” He swung into a parking spot. He had no idea if it was legal or not. He just needed to stop the damn car before he crashed.
“Is that some kind of natural lure that incubi have?”
He turned off the car and gave her a horrified look. “What are you saying?”
“Are you actually hot or is that some kind of mental magick you’re using on me?”
“Is that a real question?” He couldn’t help the tug of a smile—she was starting to smile too.
“I guess not.” Her smile dimmed. “Well, this is embarrassing.”
“Why?” He turned in his seat to face her. He was in no hurry to go inside. The cramped quarters of the car were too intimate, and yet… he couldn’t pull himself out of this conversation.
“Well, now you know that I think you’re hot, and you’re, well, kind of horrified by the thought of kissing me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, he almost missed the pain underneath it. Almost.
The air was suddenly feeling thick. “I’m not horrified. I just can’t be with someone like that.” His voice had somehow gotten lost. “No adepts. Not even a charmer.”
She huffed a little laugh. “Neither can I. We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I have a problem with my magick.” She dropped her gaze to her hands again. “It’s powerful. Too powerful. I lose control when I…” She looked up. “I killed that boy while loving him.”
Zane’s mouth dropped open. Like a bolt of magick had leaped from her words and electrified his heart.
“I know.” She choked up and looked away. “It’s a uniquely horrible way to die. Struck down when you think you’re safest. When you think someone loves you. Instead, they lose control of their fucking magick, invite in a surge of chaos, and your lover becomes your executioner.”
“You’re not an executioner.” He couldn’t breathe.
She gave him a grim smile. “We’re not that different, Agent Walker. But at least you can control your dark side.” She turned and fumbled at the door, like she was trying to flee the car, but the car lights had gone off as they sat, and she couldn’t make it work.
“Ever.” He reached out and stopped her, pulling her arm back. Her eyes shone with tears. “It was an accident. It happens. I’ve seen it happen. You wouldn’t believe the stuff we see come through the Magickal Crimes Division.”
“You get a lot of sex-magick murders, do you?” She pulled out of his grasp. “From non-incubi?”
“It’s not murder.” He swallowed because this was way too fucking close to home. “You can’t carry that—you have to let it go.”
“Life advice from an incubus?” She was trying to piss him off, but it just bounced off him—now that he knew. She was carrying a secret, just like him, only hers was far less horrible. Far more forgivable.
“I killed someone, too.” He held her gaze, but he had her attention now. “We were just kids, but I loved her. Oh man, did I love her. She was everything. My ticket out of the brothels. Did you know I grew up there?”
Her eyes were wide again. She just shook her head.
“My mom was a sex-worker.” He never talked about this. Not since he first joined the bureau. But telling it couldn’t hurt him, not anymore—and it might help her. “Her father abused her, so she ran away from home. She barely had any magick. Hardly even a charmer. But it was enough to do magickal sex work. She was smart. Took her shots, made her clients use protection. She would never have gotten pregnant except one day an incubus contracted her out.”
Ever was rapt with his story. “Your father.”
“She never told me about him.” Which was mostly true—his mom always said Zane was the only good thing to come from her past. “But he must have abused her a long time for the contraception to wear off. I’ll never understand what the fuck the point of that was, but here I am, the result.” He grimaced, but that was an old wound. “With a kid to care for, my mom never made it out of the brothels. Then I made it worse when I came into my Talent.”
“How old were you?” Ever asked, breathless.
“Sixteen.” Zane winced. This part he really hadn’t told anyone else, except his background investigator for his application to the FBI. “Sixteen and in love with Starla, the charmer daughter of another sex worker. We were in one of the family brothels. Fairly respectable. We both were dreaming of Talents so amazing they’d lift us right out of the brothels and into some kind of magickal life together.” He had to look away from the intense concern on Ever’s face. “I didn’t mean to kill her, of course. I didn’t know what I was capable of. But when it happened, my mother and I were tossed out.” He looked back to Ever. “It got much worse from there. My mother was forced into the illegal brothels. Things you don’t want to know about happened there. And one day, I nearly killed her pimp, trying to stop him from killing her. We were on the run for a while, but he caught up to her. Killed her when I wasn’t home. Tore her apart with magick as a “lesson” to the other sex workers he kept in chains, both magickal and otherwise. So they wouldn’t be tempted to run away. And then I had a choice.”
Ever had leaned across the console between the seats, drawn in by his story. “What choice?”
“Legal magick… or illegal magick.” Zane drew in a breath. It had been years since he’d thought about his mom—and avenging her death. “I could hunt down the man and kill him. I had that power. By then, I knew exactly what I was and what I could do.”
“But you didn’t,” she insisted.
He smiled a little. “Who’s telling this story?”
Her eyes lit up. “Well, I know how it ends. I know the man you are today.”
That hit him unexpectedly hard. “Do you? Why do you trust me, Ever Strange?” The leftover lust was still humming in his body. Or maybe it was the way she was lo
oking at him now. Holy magick, it was getting warm in this car. He wasn’t using his Talent to reach into her mind and see the sexual imaginings there… but he could see the dilation of her pupils. Hear the soft whisper of her breath. The slow way she blinked and slightly parted her lips. He was incubus—he knew attraction when he saw it. Which just made the fact that he could never be with her all the more frustrating.
“I trust you,” she said, slowly, deliberately, and he was pretty sure seductively-on-purpose, “because I know you can control it.”
He wasn’t so sure. Not with her. “I think that’s your death wish talking.”
She frowned. And hesitated. Then, she said, “So you made a choice…” She lifted her eyebrows for him to finish the story.
He drew in a breath and leaned back, away from the close space they’d both been drawn into. “I chose to track my mother’s killer. And gather evidence that he was still trafficking in illegal sex magick. Then I brought that evidence to the FBI. That’s how I got my start at the bureau. I was still a kid, just seventeen, but an agent took on the case, and they eventually put my mother’s killer behind bars. It was the first time I felt right about something since that night when I found out what I truly was. I might be incurably addicted to sex magick, but I’m hooked more on justice—and putting men like my mother’s killer behind bars. The FBI saved me. And that agent—Special Agent Woodward—encouraged me to go to school and apply. He became my mentor at the bureau.”