by Mary Hughes
His wings were so heavy. So very heavy. He sank toward the ground. He’d rest, only a moment. Only a moment and he’d be on his way…so very heavy.
Golden power slashed through the morning. His master’s magic flared bright in his eyes, startling a caw from him.
A wave of pure white light rushed toward him, over him. Heart’s magic. It wasn’t for him, so didn’t cure him, but the sheer joy lifted his agony somewhat.
His master was nearby.
The raven gathered himself. It took every bit of strength and will he possessed, but he floundered east, his wings beating erratically.
His shoulders itched with the sensation of being followed. But there was no bitter taste, and the tympani pounding in his head drummed away caution. Pain nearly blinding him, the hope of meeting his master spurring him, he flew on.
The woods opened to a field. And there he was—tall, dark-haired, the grass waving like a green halo around him. Raven’s master.
The wizard’s arms were wrapped around a woman. She was crying, hugging him like she’d never let go. The raven sensed magic in her too, not so surprisingly, because magic called to magic. But his master’s magical scent entwined with the witch’s—as if they were mated shifters rather than witch and wizard.
If the raven hadn’t been half crazy with pain, he would have paused.
Need made him spiral down.
As the raven landed, the change came. First his intermediate form, his body enlarging, arms emerging, wings shifting to his back. Feathers spreading, becoming short silky body hair everywhere except his huge black wings. He stood at the edge of the field, looking in amazement at his hands. His fingers were long, strong, bronzed.
One thing broke clear through the pain. He had thumbs. Oh, fucking finally.
His master caught sight of him. A strange look came over the wizard’s face. His master’s witch caught his master’s expression, then looked toward him too.
“An angel,” she said. He could hear her despite the length of the field, as if his ears were attuned to her voice as well as his master’s.
“Not an angel.” His master’s brow was furrowed in puzzlement. “Someone…connected to me. R-Raven? No wait. Your name… I name you Bram.”
Bram. The familiar’s body convulsed again as his wings receded and disappeared. This time the healing magic was for him. His headache ebbed to a dull throb as the pressure on his brain eased and the damage began to heal.
He glanced down at himself. Black jeans topped solid, well-made boots. A plain tan T-shirt lay under a leather jacket. He was now a normal man in jeans and jacket, stylish without being fussy. He approved.
Bram went to greet his master, a fully functioning familiar at last. Automatically he said the words he’d been rehearsing since that first flare of magic a week ago.
“Master. Good to meet you. I will fetch you a wand, when you’re ready… Oh, and an evil wizard was following me. He wants to kill you.”
* * *
Feelings hit Noah, fast, hard, unsettling.
Love for Raven.
Hate for his father, for killing Raven…who wasn’t dead.
Understanding that Raven wasn’t his pet—wasn’t even a raven at all. This was Bram, his familiar. Proof positive that Noah was the hard man’s son. His father’s son.
Disbelief. Love. Anger. And finally a trembling acceptance of the truth. He clutched Sophia, his only anchor in the maelstrom of revelations.
He was a wizard.
Sophia held him through the swirl of emotions. She hugged him and for a moment he believed everything would be all right.
Slow, sarcastic clapping broke that hope.
Noah whirled.
Sauntering toward them was a man, his aristocratic nose and noble brow almost a caricature of grandeur. His long flowing golden robe trailed through the grass, topped by a necklace that would have looked good on Henry VIII. Perched on his shoulder was a big brown bird, its wings slightly extended in the classic eagle pose. Pretense—it was a buzzard.
The last time Noah had seen this wizard, he’d worn a hoodie and jeans.
Rodolphe.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sophia had thought it was finally over. Naturally that was when the overdressed asshole showed up. “Hello, Rodolphe. Why the hell are you still here?”
He laughed. “Stupid little witch. My dear, I’m behind everything. You didn’t know? Ah, well, I’m not surprised. You always were a bit slow.”
“What do you mean, behind everything?”
He laughed, mellifluous but with an artificial, practiced edge. “The break-in and theft at the bookstore that got you here? My doing. I was here for another, shall we say, project, and imagine my delight when I discovered Linda Blue was your aunt. After you were here, I started slow. I wanted you humiliated before I killed you. When you went to interrogate Marlowe, I rousted Killer from his whore and drove him to the trailer to accost you, to harass and manhandle you and maybe even break a few bones. Although he failed to get the job done.” Rodolphe sniffed. “Killer and Attila’s attack at the bookstore was also me, and their attacking you and your alpha at the wolf couple’s house. Too bad your shifter friends showed up at the same time, or you’d have been comfortably dead.”
She rolled her eyes. The ass was monologuing. Well, he always did love hearing himself talk—then what he said filtered through and made her blink. You and your alpha, not her dual. If Rodolphe was the wizard following Noah’s raven, how could he not know? Brain chewing furiously on the implications, she only said, “You want me dead? But why?”
His lip raised in a snarl. “You ignorant slut. You thought you could send the human police after me and not pay the price? Of course I want you dead. Piddling-in-your-shoes scared and totally humiliated first, then very, very dead.”
Noah stepped between them. “You’ll have to go through me.”
“So be it.” Rodolphe bowed mockingly, then swept out a theatrical hand, palm up.
He had good fingers for it, long and artistic, but Sophia was no longer buying based on image alone.
The buzzard materialized a jewel-encrusted wand in its beak and dropped it into Rodolphe’s waiting hand.
“A battle? You’re kidding, right?” Sophia edged out from Noah’s shadow. “I’m a multi-element witch. You’re just a water wizard. You’ll run out of power long before I do.”
“Not anymore.” Rodolphe flicked imagined dust off one sleeve with the tip of the wand. “I can get more magic.”
“You mean more power.”
He slashed the wand in frustration. Bits of glitter flew off. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Magic isn’t the problem. There’s an abundance of possibility. It’s the power to use it that’s the issue. I have more power.” And far better control of her temper.
“Semantics.” He eyed her with distaste. “You university-trained witches are such pains. Fine. I can get all the power I want.”
It wasn’t the university that set her apart, but she only said, “How?”
“Ah. I’m glad you asked.” With his free hand, he reached into the breast of the robe, and slid out a long rod.
It was maybe ten or twelve inches, and a rosy pink. Talk about phallic substitutes. She wondered if it vibrated too.
Rodolphe dealt her a smug smile. “This sucks magic—pardon me, Miss Valedictorian, power—from shifters. Life energy. I have as much as I want to drain.” He thumbed the rod and it started glowing. “Let me show you how this works.” He pointed the rod at Noah. “On him.”
“The hell you will.” She leaped in front of her mate. Immediately the rod started beeping.
“Get out of the way. You’re fucking up the readings.” Rodolphe jabbed his wand at her. “I said, get out of the way. Or I’ll hurt you.”
Growling, Noah pushed her behind him. “Don’t you dare threaten her.”
The rod, now pointing at Noah, kept beeping. Rodolphe glanced down, then frowned. “Damn foreign cra
p.” He shook the rod.
Noah stalked, wolf-silent, toward him.
Rodolphe’s gaze rose. He went sheet white and snapped the rod up again.
Noah halted, palms up, his posture easy, ready.
Rodolphe said, “Screwed readings don’t matter. I can drain any shifter, even an alpha.”
Synapses fired in her brain. Again he’d said alpha, not dual. And “misreading” his instrument.
Rodolphe didn’t know Noah was a wizard.
She sucked in a breath. Rodolphe wasn’t the evil witch who’d tagged the raven Bram. But then who…?
“Are you so sure you can drain me?” Noah deliberately took another step toward Rodolphe. “Before I can reach you?” Another. “Before I tear you to shreds?”
“Y-yes.” Sweat broke out on Rodolphe’s forehead, glinting in the light of the sun. His hand, holding the rod, shook slightly. He glanced at his quaking hand and paled. “I could, but I won’t. Because I don’t want you.” He tucked the rod away, then jabbed his jewel-encrusted wand at Noah. “I want her. Stand aside.”
Noah stood his ground, arms crossed. “You’ll have to get past me.”
Sophia’s heart filled with pride even as she clenched her fists to keep from smacking him upside the head. Her mate was no coward, but that bravery could get him killed.
Rodolphe’s eyes narrowed. “You’d oppose a wizard of the Council? You, a mere shifter? You’re insane.”
“Not insane,” Noah said. “In love.”
Her jaw dropped. The hex talking? Except the hex was broken.
Noah had said the words. He truly was in love with her.
Her heart soared. Noah and her and true love, the kind with a future. Loving together, living together, making a home together…having children…puppies…what the hell would they have?
“Isn’t that cute.” Scorn dripped in Rodolphe’s well-heeled voice. “I’m in luuurve.” He started circling his wand, a tighter and tighter spiral aimed at Noah. When it pointed directly at him he’d release the spell. “That’ll make it even more fun to kill you.”
Didn’t matter at this moment whether Noah’s love was true or a trick of magic. Sophia had to stop Rodolphe.
“Wait.” She stepped to the side, out of Noah’s cover—and incidentally closer to her own wand where it lay in the grass after piercing Noah’s spells. “It’s me you want. Fight me.”
Rodolphe’s arm hesitated, putting a hold on the spell. Then he grinned.
Noah, with a short growl, stalked back between them. Sophia used the moment to snatch up her wand.
Rodolphe slid sideways to see her. “Are you challenging me to a duel, little witch? You know I’ll win, even without draining fur-face there.”
“You?” She matched him, again sliding out from behind Noah. “Puh-leeze. I could beat you with my learner’s wand. A baby is stronger than you.”
“Puh-leeze,” Rodolphe mocked, still grinning, damn him. “You’re an academic. All theory, no bite.”
“Oh?” She motioned behind her back to Mason, to gather the pack and get them out of there, out of harm’s way. Magical duels could get messy. “Let’s find out.”
Rodolphe was right—she’d never fought a duel for real. And right again, Beginning Magical Warfare (known familiarly as Spell Slinging 101) was her only official experience with the subject.
But she wasn’t all theory, no bite. Her brother had tutored her.
Breathe, Sophia.
* * *
“Breathe deep to immerse yourself in the now.”
Gabriel’s slouchy college sweater vest, canvas slacks, and deck shoes were totally at odds with his six-five frame and shoulders that filled doorways. “Magic is a distance technique.”
“Right.” Sophia snapped her wand at him. Gouts of flame shot out, engulfing him.
When she released the flames, not a hair on him was scorched. But more, his vest was clean.
Mock duels were like paintball. Hits scored blobs of color. She hadn’t even touched him.
He hit her with a powershot that knocked her off her feet. She went flying onto her butt.
She blinked up at him. “Why didn’t my fire score?”
Gabriel shrugged. “I shielded.”
Her whole body, on the other hand, looked like a bottle of ketchup had exploded on her. “Stars and comets.” She scrambled to her feet. “What did I do wrong?”
“First off, you should have breathed. Then shielded.”
Or she could be sneaky. She whispered, “Kat!”
Her familiar, in her favorite form of a tall, buxom redhead, her painted-on black catsuit dripping armament, drew two knives lightning fast and shooped them at Gabriel.
A foot from him they clanked like they’d hit a steel wall, and dropped.
“Shield, remember?” Gabriel said. “Guns and knives are good, but they need to be bespelled to get through.”
“Fine.” Sophia flicked her wand at Gabriel’s familiar, a panther in his animal form. The panther was fast and agile but she used bullet magic, tight bursts of power, almost impossible to avoid.
The magic splattered like raindrops an inch away from his skin.
“Aw, come on! Familiars can’t cast shield.”
One dark brow rose. “They can wear amulets.”
Which of course was when the panther leaped onto her, too fast to avoid, and the match was over.
“Your magic is better,” she grumped. The panther was sniggering, a very annoying, self-congratulatory sound.
Gabriel helped her up. “It’s not about magic, sis. It’s about breathing. And preparation. Oh, and refusing to lose.”
* * *
Sophia stood in the field, facing Rodolphe, and breathed as she readied her wand. Refusing to lose, hell yeah.
Noah stalked between Rodolphe and her again.
With a throttled noise of exasperation, she grabbed his shirt and tried to tug him out of the way. Like pulling on a cliff. She gave up and bonked her forehead on his back. Asshole alpha. Though potentially powerful as the son of a wizard prince, he had no training.
Rodolphe laughed. “Hide, Sophia. You never had the stomach to do the hard jobs. You hid behind rules and regulations then, and you’re hiding behind a wolf now. You haven’t changed. Oh wait, you have. You’re out of practice and even weaker. I’ll beat you easily.”
Her fingers clenched her wand. Was he right? As a university student she’d been an overconfident, dogma-ridden witch, easily tricked. She’d gotten past that, but had she merely become a self-righteous mundane, hiding behind her bankerly pumps and pearls?
Not. Happening.
She tore off her conservative suit coat and dropped it to the grass. Kicking off her heels, she pushed up the sleeves of her white blouse. Too bad Kat was in the Bahamas. But in a way, this was better. Now she’d prove to everyone, including herself, that she wasn’t hiding behind anything or anyone. That she had the guts to do the job.
Fighting was about breathing—and refusing to lose.
Free of her mundane carapace, she breathed better than ever. She moved out from behind Noah, her hand relaxed on her wand. Refusing to lose to this loser.
She was vaguely surprised when Noah didn’t stalk between them, but whirled toward her, eyebrows raised.
“Wait,” he said.
“Noah, stand aside. This won’t be over until he’s neutralized.” Her eyes did not leave her enemy.
“Will it be over even then? Think. He doesn’t know about my past.” Noah pointed at the raven familiar, still standing there, staring obsessively at his hands. “If Rodolphe wasn’t following Bram, who was?”
She’d thought of that, but one thing at a time.
Problem was, shit didn’t come in gentle showers. It came in storms. Behind Bram, an ivory-robed man had appeared.
“Bravo. The father’s son is worthy.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The man looked ordinary, like an accountant—except for a very dangerous glint in his winter-pale
eyes. He walked around the still-absorbed raven familiar, his calf-length robe far more utilitarian in the long grass than Rodolphe’s. Quite plain for a wizard, except for his fur collar. That fur collar… When he raised his wand, it was without the ornate swoops and tells Rodolphe loved.
Without another word, he shot a bolt of magic straight at her and Noah.
Sophia hadn’t done magic in years. Unsure of herself, she swept up a side-shield that would deflect rather than confront. The bolt of magic skittered off.
The unknown mage motioned to his neck, then to Sophia’s right. His furry collar uncurled itself, jumped down and ran like a humping millipede to where the man had pointed.
A ferret familiar.
Memory flashed. The ivory robe, collar detaching… This was the evil wizard chasing Noah. The man who’d tagged the boy’s raven familiar—the bastard who’d murdered Noah’s family just to suck out Noah’s power for himself.
He was so going down.
She slashed up her wand. Shouted “Sword”, and skewered him with a blazing blade of flying magic.
He smiled.
That ripsaw smile sent a blood-curdling chill shuddering through her, the likes of which she hoped never to feel again.
He’d wanted her to strike at him.
The air stuck in her throat. Too late she remembered that, if this mage had gotten his hands on Burgot’s shifter siphon, he could have also worked out how to siphon a witch’s active magic, too.
Or worse, use her cast spell like a bomb’s fuse to steal her inner power.
She couldn’t call her spell back. She could only watch with sick horror as, one hand splayed on the breast of his robe as if he was idly posing for a picture, he swirled his wand with the other. He spun a vortex before him like the maw of a small tornado. The magic blade shot into it—and disappeared.
His vortex had eaten her magic.
Okay, that wasn’t so bad. She pulled a deep breath through her nostrils and used the rush of oxygen to try to figure out what to do next…and then he flicked his wand.
Flecks of power, glittering a malignant red, emerged from the vortex and traced back along the line of her thrown spell. Like lighting the smoke trail of a snuffed candle lit the candle, those flecks were tracing back to her.