Inked Magic

by Jory Strong

  It required effort on his part not to summon Rhys and arrange for her to be discreetly abducted and delivered to his estate. He wouldn’t allow her to continue this once they were bound.

  Forcing himself to inhale deeply, he breathed in calm. Nothing had changed with seeing what she did among humans, other than the rising urgency to have her in his arms and beneath him, forging a bond first with his body, then later with his heart and magic.

  He wanted her as willing wife-consort, not a dangerous, unwilling prisoner. Meaning that for now, great care must be taken in how he dealt with her. To that effect he decided to wait until her client left before approaching her.

  As Etaín put the finishing touches on Kelli’s tattoo, Bryce emerged from behind the privacy screen. A thin blonde followed him, her ears, nose, and lips sporting nearly as many piercings as he had.

  She paid and headed for the door. When she reached it, she turned and said, “See you in a little while?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She left and Bryce strolled over. “Iraq?” he asked, putting together the photo of a girl in uniform and the signs of crying.

  Kelli nodded, not giving in to the tears again until she took the mirror from Etaín and saw the tattoo.

  Bryce put an arm around her shoulders.

  Etaín sent him a grateful look for stepping in, and started cleaning up her station, letting Bryce handle the emotional fallout. The day was catching up to her and the worst of it loomed ahead, in the defenselessness of sleep.

  Kelli took a final shuddering breath and pulled away from Bryce. Etaín made quick work of applying bandages and going over the care instructions. She rang Kelli up and walked her out, waiting in the doorway until Kelli was in her car before turning back into the shop.

  “So, hot date tonight?” she asked Bryce, who for the second time in one day was taking care of her equipment so she could leave.

  “I’m going to get laid. How about you?”

  A glance at the clock, a moment of temptation arriving with thoughts of stopping at Cathal’s club before heading home. “I wish.”

  “Well, the night’s not over yet. We’ve got incoming despite it officially being after hours. You take him, see what he wants, and schedule him. I’m out of here.”

  Etaín turned and saw Eamon on the other side of the glass.

  The night loved him, caressing his features like moonlight on an ocean hiding rip tides. Seeing him brought back the edginess that had been lost under Kelli’s emotions. It returned full force with a body-tightening vengeance, came laced with raw desire and the need to blow off steam in a purely sexual way.

  Rather than waiting for Eamon to enter, she snagged her jacket and went to him. “This is a surprise,” she said, allowing him to maneuver her so they weren’t standing in front of the glass, visible to the artists and clients still inside the shop.

  “Is it? You had to know I’d come looking for you.”

  The words flowed through her like the notes of a song. “My own personal stalker?”

  “I have questions for you, as you no doubt have them for me.”

  His fingers circled her wrists, lifting and holding them above her head, pressing them to the wall at her back, the restraint exciting her where it might have led to a hard, fast knee to the groin for another man.

  She breathed deeply when he stepped closer, filling her lungs with the sea-breeze scent of him. A moan escaped as his thumbs stroked over the eyes on her palms, sending molten lust straight to her cunt, making her flushed and desperate and wet.

  “And then there is this,” he murmured against her lips before claiming them, the decadent taste and sweet softness of him pulling her into an undertow of desire.

  Where Cathal had demanded, his tongue thrusting, mimicking what he intended to do with his cock, Eamon sipped, turning her need and her eagerness to his advantage.

  He took his time, as if it were limitless. One kiss merging into another, his tongue retreating only to return, twining and rubbing with hers, like waves lapping at the land, eroding all resistance until she was the one to close the distance between their lower bodies and grind against the hardened length of his erection.

  He took his mouth from hers, but only far enough so their eyes could meet. “Come home with me.”

  Not a question. Not really. There was no hint of uncertainty as to what he thought her answer would be.

  The call of like to like, the mingling of hot lust and dangerous curiosity tried to drown out any reason that would lead to no, but failed to. She had to finish what she’d started when she pressed her palms to Tyra Nelson’s skin.

  “I can’t.”

  Eamon’s fingers tightened on her wrists. “Because you intend to go to Cathal? You want him?”

  She avoided the first question by answering the second. “You’ve seen him. What do you think?”

  White teeth flashed in the darkness, making her think of a shark in deep waters. “Men don’t hold any attraction for me. But I can be flexible in what I allow of a lover. Of you, Etaín. I can even share if I have to, though I’ll never believe you prefer him.”

  Heat pulsed through her with his words, coming with the image of lying naked between the two men. She was used to being hit on, but not like this, where the hints of dominance and threat made her wetter. She was open-minded about sex but had never craved what the fantasy he provoked promised, though she did now.

  Eamon laughed softly. “Have I shocked you? Or aroused you?”

  He leaned in, kissing her again in a sensual exploration, his tongue gliding against hers, each stroke making her cunt clench.

  Shifting her wrists so he needed only one hand to keep them held to the wall, he covered her breast and the heat from his palm burned through her shirt and skin, pouring fire into her bloodstream.

  She moaned, shamelessly grinding against his cock as he teased a hardened nipple, circling and stroking it with his fingers then clamping onto it to send a jolt of sheer need straight to her clit. She wanted him inside her, wanted to feel the press of his body to hers, skin touching in a hot meld of desire. It’d been so long and everything about him called to her.

  A whimpered protest left her lips when he ended the kiss. “This isn’t all I want of you,” he whispered against her mouth before leaving it, kissing his way to her ear. “This isn’t all I have to offer you, but it’s a start.”

  He took her earlobe between his lips and sucked, each pull arrowing molten lust straight to her swollen folds. She tried to free her shackled wrists so she could explore him with her hands and feel his skin beneath her palms but he didn’t allow it.

  “Come home with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  His tongue slid into the sensitive canal of her ear, delivering heated desire in a thrust that had her channel clenching, hungry to be filled by him. He squeezed her nipple, delivering pain with the pleasure, a punishment for denying him along with the promise of an exquisite reward for surrendering.

  He remained in control, but he wasn’t unaffected. His breathing was fast and his cock hard, his eyes a turbulent blue sea.

  “Then come back to Aesirs for a drink.”

  “And a fuck?”

  Irritation showed in his face but his voice was smooth confidence. “For starters, Etaín, if that’s what you want to call it, but don’t think I’ll always settle for a meaningless physical act. I’d prefer the comfort of a bed, but as I said earlier, I can be flexible when it comes to you.”

  Danger rolled off him, an emotional threat, not a physical one. She stiffened in reaction to it, both repelled and attracted, believing he had answers if she was willing to ask the questions.

  “I’ve got to get going,” she said, tugging at her captured wrists.

  He freed them, accepting her retreat but not without a thinning of his lips. “I’ll walk you to your bike.”

  They walked in silence. When they reached the Harley he took her wrists in his hands again, this time holding them behind her back,

using them to imprison her in a way that arched her spine and forced her pelvis against his.

  “I can give you some of the answers you’re looking for,” he said, reinforcing his point by stroking his thumbs over the eyes on her palms. “I can give you so much more.”

  He leaned in, taking her mouth with his as if trying to storm her defenses. His lips and tongue more demanding than they had been before, more blatantly carnal. Renewing the desire and sending it crashing through her in hot, stormy waves that had arousal flowing from her slit to wet her panties.

  When she was trembling with need he released her and stepped away. “Call Aesirs at any time and for any reason. A car will be sent for you. Or come to the door. Day or night, you’ll be brought to me.”

  “That could be awkward if you’re with someone.”

  “I won’t be now that I’ve met you.”

  The declaration sent emotion skittering through her, too much and too varied to process. In the course of one day, she’d found herself hungering for two different men, caught in twin snares of attraction unlike any she’d experienced before.

  She unlocked the helmet then straddled the bike, acutely aware of the way her cunt throbbed where it touched the Harley’s saddle. Danger and desire were part of a chorus warring with caution, with the echoes of her mother’s warnings against getting involved, and her own experience when it came to letting others close enough to hurt her, or be hurt by her.

  “See you around,” she said, putting on her helmet and fleeing his presence.

  Eamon watched her as she sped away. A car left the curb and followed, the humans assigned the task of shadowing her.

  He moved in the direction of Aesirs, aching with need and seething with frustration. And yet the encounter with her had also left him satisfied as well.

  She would come to him of her own free will, of that he was certain. And when she did . . .

  Desire pulsed through his hardened cock. Lust heightened now that he knew her taste and scent, and the heady feel not just of her body touching his, but the magic filling her. She was a seduction of all his senses, a siren call he doubted he could resist even if he wanted to.

  She would belong to him. And undeniably, because she was seidic, he would belong to her as well.

  Her foundling status gave him the advantage of knowledge. Her being changeling gave him the upper hand when it came to magic.

  He intended to use both. Guiding her into her Elven heritage and away from human concerns. All while teaching her that he would also be her Lord, though she would be cherished no less because she yielded to his will.

  Six

  Seeing her act like a cat in heat had made him angry. It sickened him, the way she’d let herself be touched like a whore.

  The beautiful gold surrounding her had darkened then turned ugly with streaks of red and blue when she and the blond-haired man kissed. It had made him queasy, looking at them together.

  He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth to keep from doing what he knew he shouldn’t do.

  The blond-haired man was going back in the same direction he’d come from. In a minute he would cross the street. If the van hit him, then the man would never be able to touch her again.

  “She’s not your choice yet,” he whispered in the darkness, rocking harder and not stopping until the man was out of sight.

  Cathal leaned against the bar, surveying his domain. Despite it being a Monday night, the club was packed. Wealthy tourists occupied as many tables as the regulars, and beautiful, long-legged waitresses hurried to keep up with drink orders.

  Onstage five brothers performed, two of them singing a perfect duet, their sound a great blend of folk and rock delivered with passion. The talent and the turnout should have left him satisfied, instead he felt almost as edgy as when he’d arrived at Saoirse.

  He didn’t need to wonder at the reason. Etaín.

  His fingers tightened on the glass in his hand, a defensive move to keep from reaching for his phone. Behind him, the bartender asked, “Get you another drink?”

  Cathal glanced down, frowning when he saw only ice cubes. “No.”

  He refused to anesthetize himself with alcohol, though given the number of times his drink had already been refreshed tonight, he suspected passing out might be what finally stopped his thoughts from repeatedly returning to Etaín. He wanted her and he wasn’t used to having a woman say not tonight.

  Looking away from the stage he scanned the room, seeking a distraction. There were plenty to choose from, some natural feminine forms, and others sculpted in expensive Swiss clinics by doctors who made a fortune creating perfection and hiding the effects of age.

  A blonde caught his attention, and held it long enough for her to meet his eyes. Pouty red lips promised oblivion though they didn’t inspire him enough to push from the bar and go to her.

  When it became obvious he wouldn’t, she leaned in, saying something to the women sitting at the table with her before rising and coming to him. “Dance?” she asked, her voice smoky and purposefully alluring.

  “Why not.”

  He placed a hand at the base of her spine and guided her toward an area rapidly filling with couples attracted by the slow ballad.

  “I’m Trina,” she said, slipping easily into his arms, her lush body pressed to his as if they were already lovers.

  “Cathal.”

  His cock stirred but didn’t harden fully until he closed his eyes to savor the music and the sensation, and the woman in his arms became Etaín. Desire returned with throbbing insistency then, a demand to fuck and find release.

  She made a purring sound of pleasure at the obvious interest pressed to the juncture of her thighs and belly. But when the song ended and he opened his eyes, she became Trina again, and he knew he wouldn’t take this any further despite her sultry smile and sensuous clinging.

  His pride and personal code prevented it. He wouldn’t take what she offered while pretending she was someone else.

  He wanted Etaín. Tomorrow he’d call her. He’d have her.

  Etaín rode, sticking to city streets until she crossed the Bay Bridge. Then she headed for the darkness of canyons, places that seemed a world away, roads close, and yet remote enough that people could live a lifetime in Oakland and never be aware of them.

  Occasionally she glimpsed headlights behind her. But a car wasn’t a match for the bike and soon there was no light but what the moon and stars provided.

  Keep going, the phantom voice of her mother whispered. Leave and re-create yourself somewhere else.

  Too late for that, she silently replied, and why should she listen to the woman who’d abandoned her?

  She gunned the Harley. Letting speed and curvy roads force her mind to quiet, to consume her attention until finally fatigue settled around her, threatening to become a shroud unless she slowed down and went home. She made her way to the apartment, parking then climbing the stairs to the studio above the garage.

  Enough light streamed in from the streetlamps, passing through open blinds, that she could navigate through the tiny space. She took a shower in the cool anonymity of darkness, soaping her hands and sliding them over skin.

  Cathal’s image came first, bringing heat along with his erotic threat. Then Eamon’s, bringing temptation and the fantasy of having them both.

  She touched her nipples, grasped them, remembering the feel of Cathal’s hand, the torment of Eamon’s. Fatigue retreated as one hand slid downward, between her thighs, rubbing, stroking her clit, dipping into her slit as her fingers became a substitute for Eamon’s tongue, for Cathal’s cock.

  Cathal and Eamon, neither of them dominated when it came to imagining herself beneath them, above them, between them in a tangle of arms and legs.

  The hot water struck her skin and streamed downward, licking over her and heightening sensation as her breathing quickened and she found a small measure of relief.

  She needed more. The pressure was building inside her from too much ink, too much touching—and yet, conversely, not enough touching.

  Leaving the shower, she dried skin that felt too tight, as if it would split away and spill out who she was at her core. I chose this, she reminded herself. I decided to stay in one place.

  Thoughts of Eamon intruded as she dried her hair, tempting her not only with pleasure, but with the possibility of answers. At a cost. Everything always came at a cost. And his?

  Resistance rippled through her. Rebellion, as she remembered passing through the doorway of Aesirs into a place where the rich and powerful felt at home. A place the captain and his wife probably frequented.

  She turned away from the mirror, blocking thoughts of the man she still thought of as Dad in unguarded moments, with contemplations of Cathal. It didn’t bother her he was comfortable at Aesirs. Maybe because his public kisses and possessive touches had proven he was a man who dared to do what he wanted, openly and without worry about censure. Maybe because underneath the potent masculine charm and expensive clothing, there was a raw edge of suppressed emotion.

  She pulled on a tank top and boxers then left the bathroom, no longer able to avoid or delay. There were tablets and pencils on a worktable, on the counter separating what served as a kitchen from the rest of the room, on the floor next to the mattress she slept on.

  She lay down and finally let her mind go back to the one place in her day she didn’t want to revisit, the hospital room and the woman left barely alive by the Harlequin Rapist. There was no point in willing Tyra’s memories forward, they would come regardless. And though she wanted to sleep, a part of her fought it in an instinctive reaction to the horror waiting for her there.

  It seemed like she lay on the mattress for hours before slowly succumbing, scenes passing through her mind, a montage of images, carnal and poignant and somber. Glimpses into other people’s lives that were like looking into a shallow pool, reflections in ink, not stolen existence.

  Salina with a girlfriend. Holding a leash attached to a collar.

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