Bear My Soul: (Arcane Affairs Agency)

by Sophia Barron

  His bear growled agreement with Devlin’s line of thought. Later, beast. Or never, if he could distract the bear. Heat rose in his cheeks and his traitorous cock stood at full attention. He grinned and winked in approval; a desperate bid to keep her eyes locked on his face. Last thing he needed to do was complicate things with a client.

  His ploy worked. She returned the smile as she meandered through the living room and out of sight. Presumably to finish hanging the rest of the crystals. Good, maybe now that he couldn’t admire her tempting curves he’d get some actual work done. The beast snapped in the back of his mind, frustrated and demanding a break. They just had to find Michaela’s sister and apprehend a warlock. Devlin turned back to the too-teal room and started with the bed.

  He searched methodically, top to bottom, inside to outside. A couple times he called on his beast to verify what he thought he’d heard or scented but every time they came up blank. Nothing under the pillows, between the mattresses, under the bed. No hidey-holes in the brass bed-frame or the dresser. Hell even the goddamn closet was empty. He hit pay dirt in the adjoining bathroom. Michaela’s sister had done a bang up job of erasing her presence from the bedroom, but she’d missed a few stray hairs in the tub. And had left what looked like a tracking charm or some such in the bottom toilet tank. Devlin flushed, and then fished the pendant and chain out with the handle of a stray toothbrush. He took great care not to touch the trinket, pulled a spare silk handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and wrapped the thing up tightly. Then tossed the toothbrush in the trash and headed for the kitchen.

  The scent of steak searing and the soft chatter of voices drew him like a moth to the flame. “Can I help with anything?” The boys shrugged and continued peeling what had to be garden fresh corn cobs.

  “Sure, just wash your hands first.”

  Devlin soaped and scrubbed and dried in record time. His stomach was growling so loud the boys were looking at him funny. Not a what the hell funny, either. More of an oh, I hope he doesn’t decide we’re on the menu look. Not good for his reputation as an agent, or a shifter. He eased up behind Michaela and peered over her shoulder. She was doing a damn fine job of browning the meat without burning it. He recognize the cut of steak she was making. Definitely not pork, but it didn’t smell like beef either. “T-bone?”

  “Nope,” she flashed a grin over her shoulder at him. “Bison. Local farmer cuts me a fine deal in exchange for special help in his fields and crops.” The emphasis she put on the word special spiked his interest.

  “Magic help?”

  She shrugged, then leaned forward and sniffed the pan. “Needs more garlic.”

  Before she could move, Devlin stepped up behind her until his chest was pressed tight against her back, and reached over her shoulder to grab the spice jar. His breath stopped at the glare she sent him as she took the jar from his hand.

  “You heathen. Those are for emergencies. Only real food gets cooked here unless it’s out of stock.” She rose up on her tiptoes and the slight motion of her body sliding across his front set Devlin’s nerves on fire. “Garlic is most definitely not out of stock.”

  He stepped back before she eased down to a flat-footed stance in a desperate bid to regain his composure. He wasn’t quite fast enough. The feel of her round bottom sliding down him was pure torture. “I’m sorry. I’ve only ever cooked with the stuff that comes in jars.”

  “Definitely heathen,” she winked. Her eyes were fever-bright, and her smile was half teasing, half tempting. “Garlic is in the jar there, the press is in the drawer beneath. I’m sure a smart super-secret agent guy like you can figure it out.”

  Devlin rummaged around in the drawer she’d indicated, picking up and putting down several mysterious implements before holding up the right tool.

  “That’s it,” Eli called out from across the island. “Now you just put the cloves in and squeeze.”

  Devlin glanced back at the boy, but both kids were busy shucking corn again. Maybe he should offer to trade with them? At least that was a task he was familiar with. A soft tsk from Michaela had him re-evaluating that plan. “Scared of a little cooking, Agent Quinn?”

  “Devlin, remember? Not much scares me,” he winked. The press was pretty simple, so he took a closer look at the garlic. There was no way the whole thing would fit in the tiny space. He didn’t dare admit to himself that his attraction to her, his bears insistent refrain of ‘mate, mate’ had him quivering in terror clear to his soul.

  “Peel a bit of the skin off and you’ll see that it has sections sort of like an orange. I’ll need three or four of those please.” She winked at him and then turned her attention back to the stove. “Water’s just about ready boys. Hope the corn’s ready.”

  “Almost, Auntie.” Jack grunted with effort, and the sound of leaves tearing increased in speed. “Just a couple more.”

  “Good.” Michaela shook her tongs at Devlin, “You’d better hurry up, mister. Couple of kids are about to show you up in the kitchen.”

  Devlin nodded once, and then set to work. Before long he’d pulled the garlic apart, peeled each section and crushed it over the hot cast iron pan. “Anything else?” He stayed close to Michaela’s side, fascinated by the way she turned cooking into a dance. She didn’t miss a beat, or a cue. Just reached out blindly for the corn and added it to the deep stock pot on the back burner with one hand while flipping one of the steaks with the other. Sweat beaded her forehead, but she kept her focus.

  Dylan watched a drop trace a path down her cheek, under the soft curve of her jaw and down the delicate arch of her neck. He wanted to trace that path with soft kisses and nibbles. The beast didn’t care that witches were bad news for shifters, and the man was starting to agree. Instead of giving in to his baser instincts he asked a question. “Anything else you want me to do?”

  Heat painted his cheeks when she glanced over at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. Damn, she was sexy, and that look belonged in the bedroom, or at least in a kitchen devoid of children. Her icy tone cooled his desire just enough to keep him from embarrassing himself in front of an all-too-impressionable audience.

  “Presumably you can use a knife?”

  “It’s not my weapon of choice,” he patted his holstered Glock, then continued. “But I’m pretty good with one.”

  “Excellent. You can make the salad. Spinach, lettuce, tomatoes, hard boiled eggs, broccoli, mushrooms, are all in the bottom drawer in the fridge. Chop ‘em up and toss them in a bowl please.”

  Devlin grabbed the veggies from the drawer carried them over to the cutting board inlaid into the island. There was no store packaging on anything. “These all from your garden?”

  “I prefer fresh food.”

  “Auntie doesn’t grocery shop like mom.” Eli’s voice was cheerful. “She grows or trades for almost all her food. It’s so much yummier than the stuff in the stores.”

  “Huh. Your Aunt’s an impressive lady.” The boys nodded and grabbed the greens. Before long the three of them had a respectable salad filling a large bowl. Devlin’s stomach was complaining over time and every time it did the boys giggled uncontrollably.

  “Don’t you dare turn cannibal on me, Devlin Quinn. This’ll be done in ten minutes. Max.” Michaela tossed him a rag. “Wipe down the table so the boys can set it.”

  "Yes, ma'am." The dark wood glistened when he finished, and the boys covered the soft maple surface with plates and utensils in record time They worked together better than some agents he’d seen. Interesting.

  “Foods done. Take your seats, boys.” Michaela’s voice was bold and proud. There was nothing but the sound of feet and wheels meeting hardwood until the first serving platter hit the table top with a thunk. Three more followed in quick succession, before Michaela settled in next to Devlin. “Help yourselves, guys. Don’t want it to get cold.” She set the example by snagging a steak and salad and digging in.

  The meal passed in silence except for the random ‘oh this is good’s
’ and sighs of enjoyment. All too soon the food was gone, and they were all cleaning up. Devlin was shocked to realize he hadn’t sat down to a true meal like that since his early teens. Damn, he’d been missing out on the good stuff. Maybe he’d have to find reasons to come visit once in a while.

  He kept a wary eye out the windows as Michaela got the boys bustled off to bed. Once they’d said their good-nights, and the lights were mostly out, Devlin settled onto the couch with a sigh. He fiddled with the charm in his pocket, debating for a moment. “Michaela, could you come here?” He fought to keep his voice low and calm.

  Her feet whispered across the hardwood and the cushions of the couch dipped as she took a seat beside him. She’d found time to change, and her nightgown highlighted her curves in a way that her jeans and polo hadn’t come close to revealing. Devlin’s mouth watered, and his hands twitched with the need to caress her, run up her ribs, loop around behind her and pull her close. Instead he pulled out the charm he’d found and unwrapped it carefully.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  Fear flashed in her eyes, and Devlin’s heart sank.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Michaela bit back a shriek and stared wide-eyed at the amulet nestled in Devlin’s outstretched palm. To her human gaze it looked perfectly normal. Harmless even. But when she really looked, used her broken magic to look at it, that facade was revealed for the deception it truly was. The thing was saturated with dark magic, to the point that tendrils were actively escaping and reaching out for something.

  “Wrap that back up now!” When he just looked at her in confusion Michaela reached out with trembling hands and snatched the silk kerchief from Devlin’s other hand and wadded it around the amulet. Even with the silk insulating her from the magic, her hands felt slimy. Icky. She stared at the bundle in her grasp and shivered.

  “Was that a yes? Or a no?” Devlin’s voice was rough with confusion, but his hands were rock steady as he plucked the cursed thing out of her grasp and tucked it in an inside pocket of his jacket.

  “It’s cursed. I don’t know by who, or to do what. But that is bad bad stuff…” Michaela patted his chest right over the pocket he’d tucked the evil object into, looking for any hint of magic escaping. She couldn’t feel anything through all the layers, which was a huge disappointment to the part of her that wanted him in her bed, and a relief to her witch-half. Not that she could put much stock in the accuracy of her magic, but she’d definitely sensed big evil in that tiny package. “So bad I’m not sure you should even carry it on your person at all.”

  Devlin flinched under her warning gaze, but he didn’t reach for the cursed object. Too bad. She’d have been much happier if he’d locked it away in a silk-lined leaden box. “Do you want to keep it safe?” He started to reach for it, and Michaela stepped back quickly with her palms out.

  “Oh no. My magic is too broken to keep that thing from doing damage.”

  “So you can’t say who made it? Or why?”

  “Not without setting it loose on something living.” She shook her head at the bright curiosity in his eyes. “No, I won’t take that risk either. I simply don’t have the magic to offset that thing. My talents are in plants and potions, not amulets, charms, wards or curses.” She didn’t dare tell him about the last time she’d tried to craft a love spell. Things had backfired so spectacularly her mom had had to call in the coven to clean up the mess.

  “Do you know someone who could?”

  “Sam. For sure.” Michaela thought carefully. “I suppose my supreme could, but we’re not precisely on good terms.” Not on good terms because they don’t think potions matter. “Otherwise? It’d have to go up to the Grand Supreme.”

  “Could you call her?”

  “Who? Grand Supreme Fiona Crow?” Michaela shook her head vehemently. “Oh no. I’m in enough hot water with my coven as it is. No way I’m skirting the lines of command like that.”

  “Fair enough.” Devlin’s voice was soft, and his big hand patted her shoulder gently. “So you’re saying we’re on our own with this?”

  Michaela thought for a moment, foot tapping rapidly on the smooth hardwood. “I think we have to get help. Isn’t there someone you could call? Another agent or something?”

  “My partner’s on an extended vacation if you will. And since they literally gave me this assignment before I’d wrapped up the last one... ” Devlin shrugged. “Not really.”

  “I guess I can call Supreme Maura Blake. I don’t know that she’ll help, but it might be worth a shot. Unless you’d rather call her?” She hated the tremble in her voice. A quick glance toward the boy’s room proved at least Devlin was the only one privy to her weakness. Supreme Maura was terrifying, not because she was a bad person. Oh no. She was simply competent. Extremely, endlessly competent. At everything. Michaela couldn’t take any more pitying comments about half-assed witches with broken magic not bothering to try and better themselves.

  “That’s not a bad idea. She’d be obligated to help me.” Devlin frowned, and his gaze darkened. A low rumble vibrated through the air. Michaela couldn’t tell if he was growling at her or content to be the one contacting help. Determined to overcome her fear, Michaela pulled out her phone and passed it to him. She ignored the flash of heat that raced through her at the momentary brush of fingers across her hand.

  “Her number’s the only one in there besides Sam’s.” Michaela lifted her chin, glad her voice had lost its fearful tremble. “You can use my phone, but it might be better to use yours. Assuming she’ll answer an unknown call.”

  “Not a problem. Lets just say a perk of the job is that my number is always recognized.” Devlin grinned and keyed the number into his phone. His grin was not nearly so cheerful as it had been earlier. No, there was a distinct predatory bite to it. Good, Supreme Maura could use a bit of a set-down as far as Michaela was concerned.

  She debated between staying to listen in on the conversation or retreating to give him privacy. The slimy sensation of cursed magic still coating her hands decided for her. She’d hit the shower, try and erase that magic before it contaminated the only good bit of her own magic she had. If running water didn’t undo that clingy crap she’d have to try something a bit more drastic.

  Michaela gestured toward the master suite and mouthed the word shower at Devlin. He nodded, short and sharp, phone pressed tight to his ear. From the look on his face, he wasn’t going to give up until he got the answer he wanted out of her Supreme. Good. That meant she’d have at least a good fifteen minutes, stubborn as the coven leader was. More than enough time to deal with the problem on her hands.

  ***

  Steam fogged the mirror, and Michaela’s damp hair dripped warm water down her back. It had taken more than running water to cleanse the dark magic off her hands. Much more. She’d had to resort to special soaps she’d made specifically for dispelling curses. Soap making was close enough to potion making that she’d been able to make some damn fine spelled bars and liquids. Making them was taxing though, magically, and mentally. She rubbed her fingers against her thumbs, glad that her hands felt squeaky clean. So did the rest of her, for that matter. She hadn’t been taking any chances in contaminating herself; liberal use of her only soap had made certain she'd be free of the remnants the cursed amulet had stained her with.

  A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Hold on, I’m not decent.” The shrill tone of the words hurt her own ears. Laughter echoed outside the door, and then the door creaked open just an inch. “Wait, don’t you dare come in here.”

  “I won’t, but you need to hear me loud and clear, babe.” Devlin’s voice was gravelly with laughter. “Your Supreme refused to help. Bitch threatened to essentially excommunicate you from the coven if I contacted her again.”

  “I see.” Michaela’s legs went weak at the news. Her heart raced and her breathing followed suit until she felt dizzy. Overwhelmed. Lost. Her eyes closed and she hit the cold tile floor with a thud and a yelp, and then
the tears came hot and fast.

  “Hey, are you alright?” The deep concern in Devlin’s voice just made the tears fall faster as she gasped for breath. “Michaela, answer me. Are you hurt?” His voice was all growl but she still couldn’t reply. Her throat was choked with tears and betrayal. “If you don’t answer me, I’m coming in.”

  His threat had no teeth, no purchase on her fear. No, that was reserved for the witch, the Supreme she’d granted her utmost respect. And the coven that followed blindly in their leader’s wake. The door opened, steam rushed out and cooler air rushed in. Devlin appeared almost as if summoned by magic through the haze. His eyes were wide and worried, but his touch was gentle as he knelt beside her on the floor. Not that it mattered. Not that she mattered any more. A witch without a coven—couldn’t really even be termed a witch, could she?

  Sobs wracked Michaela’s frame, but she didn’t care. Strong arms wrapped around her and gathered her close, and a soft humming sound surrounded her. Michaela tucked her face against Devlin’s shoulder and gave in to the pain. His gentle ‘shush, it’s alright’ and the soothing motion as he rocked her was a sharp contrast to the beating her core self was taking. Despite his solid support, Michaela felt like she was drowning in betrayal.

  Until Devlin distracted her. He slipped an arm under her legs, pulled her still wet body tight against his chest and stood up smooth and steady. Her arms looped around his neck and she held tight with a gasp. Part of her wanted to be scared. Terrified he’d drop her, shifter or not. Worried he’d take her current state as invitation for things she just wasn’t ready for. Even though her skin pebbled at the thought and fire roared through her veins.