Arcane Heart (Talents Book 2)

by Angela Knight

  Realization struck. “What did you do?”

  Humphries just laughed and walked away. Erica stared after her, temper flooding her in a burning wave.

  “Two thoughts,” Sharp said. “First, what a bitch. Second…” She flashed very white teeth in a very wicked grin. “Jake’s got it bad if you can make him lose it because of anything that bimbo said.”

  Erica rolled her eyes. “Terrific.”

  * * *

  Jake stepped into Gable’s office and closed the door behind him at a gesture from his boss. The big man settled down at his massive oak desk, leaning back in the executive chair with a grunt.

  The room was decorated with framed newspaper clippings, photos of Gable’s wife and kids, and his diploma from the University of South Carolina. There were also the usual plaques and certificates from the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy and assorted law enforcement training courses the sheriff had taken.

  Jake fell into parade rest in front of the big mahogany desk, fastening his eyes on a framed photo of Gable in a football uniform back when he’d played for the University of South Carolina.

  “Sit your butt down, Nolan.” As he obeyed, the sheriff growled, “You want to explain to me why you lost your shit?”

  He hesitated for a split second.

  “Nolan.”

  Recognizing the warning tone in the sheriff’s voice, Jake surrendered. “Hampton whispered it was too bad the subject was a lousy shot, sir.”

  Gable closed his eyes and rubbed a thumb between his brows as if his head hurt. “Yeah, I had a feeling it was something like that.” He braced his muscled forearms on his desk blotter. “Look, I put you on that shift because I thought you were levelheaded enough to keep an eye on those idiots without letting them get to you. Was I wrong?”

  “Harris almost got killed, sir.” Jake clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t intended to say the words, and he certainly hadn’t intended to say them in that tone.

  “Yeah, she did. I’m not even sure how she managed to stay alive. Three different attempts to kill her in the space of five seconds.” The sheriff shook his head, then lifted a thick red brow at Jake. “That some kind of magic thing, or just combat experience?”

  Jake relaxed fractionally. It didn’t sound as if Gable was about to fire him despite Clarence temporarily losing his fuzzy mind. “She’s always been like that. Her instincts saved our asses more than once during the war. I don’t know whether it’s magic or what, but we learned to listen to her.”

  The sheriff eyed him so long he started to get uncomfortable. “I know you two served together. Is that all this is?”

  Jake stiffened.

  This time there was a distinct snap in Gable’s voice. “If you’re thinking that’s none of my business, it damn well is if it makes you pop claws like Wolverine and go after a fellow deputy. Do not do that shit again, Nolan. I’d suspend you, but I don’t want to leave Harris hanging in case somebody is trying to kill her specifically instead of just cops in general. Are we clear?”

  Jake straightened. “Yessir.”

  “Don’t let your dick get you fired. Now get your ass out of my office and get back to work.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He pivoted, eager to escape before the sheriff changed his mind.

  “Yeah. Don’t make me regret it.”

  * * *

  Out in the hallway, Jake closed the door behind him with a suppressed sigh of relief. God, he needed caffeine. He started down the hall toward the break room.

  “Jake!”

  He looked around as Erica hurried up, her anxious gaze searching his. “Is everything okay?”

  “If you mean did he fire me, no. He didn’t even suspend me.”

  She blew out a relieved breath. “Thank God. When Clarence manifested, I was afraid you were screwed. What the hell did Hampton say? I know it was something -- she all but bragged about it.”

  He repeated the comment, and she glowered. “Why did you let anything that idiot said get to you?”

  Jake ground his teeth. The fact that she had a point did nothing to soothe his temper. “Maybe it had something to do with you almost getting yourself killed trying to prove the length of your dick.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you call for backup?”

  She made a chopping gesture. “Keep your voice down!”

  Jake stepped closer, dropping his volume to a hiss. “You knew that was a high risk stop. For Christ sake, the Camaro passed a cop going ninety in a forty-five on a double yellow line! But instead of requesting backup, you pranced out there…”

  “Pranced?”

  “You know what I mean! You almost got killed three times! What the fuck would I have done, huh?” They stared at each other in frozen silence. He was breathing hard. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Clarence moaned in distress.

  Erica straightened. “This is a bad idea.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She looked up at him, her face so expressionless he knew she was hiding something that hurt. “Cats are territorial as hell of anything they view as theirs. If you can’t keep Clarence under control, we need to break it off before he gets you fired.”

  He stared. “You want to end it because I lost my temper?”

  “It wasn’t your temper you lost control of. It was Clarence, and that’s a hell of a lot more dangerous. Jake, you manifested in a roomful of armed cops!” She raked both hands through her short hair. “You want to talk about me almost getting killed? If Clarence got away from you…”

  “But he didn’t. I reestablished control and I sent him back to BFS. Yes, maybe I lost it for a minute or two, but I didn’t let him tear into that little bitch no matter how much she deserved it.”

  Erica whirled, throwing up her hands in frustration. “Christ, you’d think after Bobby I’d have more sense.”

  Jake clenched his fists. Feeling the prick of claws digging into his palms, he loosened his grip. “I am not Bobby. Anyway, this isn’t about Bobby, this is about your ego.”

  She turned very slowly. Stared. “What?”

  “You’re so intent on proving to those assholes that you’re as good a cop as they are, you put yourself in a potentially lethal situation. You’ve got to quit fucking around, Erica. You know better than this. When you need me, I expect you to call me.”

  “You don’t give me orders,” she growled, her voice low and seething. “You’re not in my chain of command. The fact that we slept together does not give you any right to tell me what to do.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Tell the whole fucking department we’re involved.”

  “Not anymore. This is it. This was a bad idea from the start.”

  It felt as if Clarence had sunk his claws into Jake’s heart and jerked. Pain exploded in his chest, cold and shocking. A full minute went by before he could even speak without screaming at her like a lovesick crazy man. “Fine. It’s your call. But the next time you need backup, you had better goddamn call me. Or I will be all over you every time you answer a fucking call.”

  “Don’t you threaten me!”

  “I’m not threatening you.” His lips felt oddly numb. “I’m trying to keep your ass alive, and you are not cooperating. We’re zone partners. Backing each other up is part of the job. So is knowing when to ask for backup when the situation is spinning out of control.”

  “Fuck. You,” she snarled, her dark eyes blazing. “I do my job. I do my job well.”

  “Yes, you do. But that’s not the issue. You want to talk about keeping something under control? You need to control your ego more than I need to control my cat. Because if you don’t, it’s going to get you killed.”

  “Go to hell.” She whirled and stalked from the room.

  Jake stood frozen, staring after her, wondering distantly how many people had overheard that argument. His hands burned like a son of a bitch.

  He looked down and opened his clenched fists. Blood fill
ed his palms from four sets of puncture wounds. Great. Popped my fucking claws again.

  Jake headed for the sink to wash his hands and look for the first aid kit.

  * * *

  The Alchemist lived in a brick split-level in a thoroughly middle-class development. His neighbors would have been shocked if they’d known he brewed illegal potions in the basement.

  Adrian pulled into the paved driveway, got out, and headed into the garage, but before he could open the kitchen door, Ray Carlisle jerked the door open, stepped outside, and slammed it behind him with a thunderous bang.

  “Ray, damn it…” A female voice yelled from somewhere inside, sounding a little panicky.

  “Shut up, Meghan!” Ray bellowed back. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit excuses.” Stalking past, he told Adrian, “Come on out back. I’ve got your Stroll.”

  Brows climbing, Adrian followed the other Talent out of the garage and behind the house.

  A massive play set built of cedar loomed in the center of the back yard -- a mash-up of a tree house, a slide, monkey bars, and swings, all jutting off the central structure at various angles.

  “This is new.” Adrian settled into the wooden seat of one of the swings, which was more than sturdy enough for his weight.

  Ray plopped down the next swing over. “Meghan bought it for the brat.” The Alchemist was a pudgy man nearing forty, with a round face, thinning red hair, and bitter blue eyes. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that said, Want to see my magic wand? The lettering glowed faintly phosphorescent.

  One of the most talented Alchemists Adrian had ever known, Ray could have been making good money in pharmaceuticals. Unfortunately, he’d gotten himself fired from his last such job for punching a supervisor and threatening coworkers. Self-control wasn’t Ray’s best thing. “Here’s your nice long walk.” He handed over a plastic bag full of a familiar selection of exotic plant life, including a variety of magical marijuana he grew in his basement combo grow room and alchemist lab.

  Closing his eyes, Adrian studied the bag’s magical contents. The leaves emitted shades of green from emerald to peridot. Reaching into his wallet, he extracted a few hundred. The drug was well worth the money if it helped him brainstorm a solution to the Harris problem. Nothing encouraged his creativity like smoking a bag of Stroll. It also brought him down enough to sleep, which had become something of a problem on this job. “Looks like a good batch.”

  “Have I ever sold you one what wasn’t?” Ray demanded, his tone biting.

  “What did you say?” Adrian stared at him, letting enough of his true personality show that the Alchemist started looking unnerved.

  “Sorry. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s that bitch, Meghan. She smoked a whole fucking cookie of Tink Wednesday. By herself.”

  Adrian blinked, startled out of his irritation. “It’s a miracle she’s still alive. That much Fairy Dust…”

  “Four hundred dollars worth of Dust, man. I spent two days brewing that shit. I told her she’d better fucking well pay for it. So what’d she do? The dumb bitch tried to rip off an old lady at her store and got caught. She’s lucky she wasn’t charged. Christ, she’s stupid. I’ve had about enough of her.” He held up a plump hand, thumb and forefinger a fraction apart. “I’m this far from using her precious brat in my next spell.”

  Adrian blinked, intrigued. The boy was seven. “What the hell spell would you work? Be a shame to waste that kind of power on a potion. Like using a brick of C4 to kill a wasp’s nest.” And considering human sacrifice was a capital crime, it wasn’t the sort of thing you did for shits and giggles.

  “Spell’s not the point. Teaching that bitch a lesson about stealing from me is the point.” His eyes narrowed. “Hell, I could use the blood connection to take out Meghan too.” A slow, nasty smile spread over his face. “Do it in a spell circle and make her watch. Bleed the kid. Do it slow.”

  Adrian’s eyes widened as inspiration struck -- and he hadn’t even had to smoke the Stroll. “How’d you like to make a shitload of money, Ray?”

  * * *

  Erica spent the rest of the shift mentally reliving her assorted close calls like a rat on an exercise wheel.

  Diving across the trunk of the Camaro… The howling instinct that drove her to duck the instant before the shotgun thundered… The terrified faces of those kids when she’d almost hit the school bus… The cluster of trees looming in front of the hood of her car as she fought to stop in time.

  Yet even after all that, what really made her want to scream was the fight with Jake. Damn it, she’d thought they had something. Thought that after all the years of loneliness, she’d found what she was looking for -- a man who understood where she was coming from because he’d been there.

  The times they’d made love… God, it’d never been better with anybody, not even Bobby. Not just because of Jake’s incredibly sexy body, face, and skill in the sack. She’d felt a connection with him. They fit together like puzzle pieces. When they made love, he’d seemed to touch parts of her she hadn’t even known were there.

  The problem was Clarence.

  When she’d gotten involved with Jake, Clarence had started seeing her as a member of his pride, just like the two lionesses. And a male lion would not put up with anybody encroaching on his females.

  That possessiveness, added to the tremendous power of a Feral, created a package roughly as explosive as a truck-full of fuel oil and fertilizer. Take that, add the fuse of Jake’s emotional reaction to her close calls, and it was no surprise he’d lost his shit.

  He could have gotten away with a certain amount of that crap in the Arcane Corps. Ferals were expected to maintain discipline when it came to their Familiars, but senior officers were also inclined to cut them a little slack. Plus, unlike Hampton, people in the Corps knew better than to poke a fucking lion with a sharp stick.

  But she and Jake weren’t in the Corps anymore. He was lucky he hadn’t been suspended for roaring at Hampton. What was worse, that possessiveness would only get more extreme as they got more involved.

  Like it or not, Erica couldn’t afford to let either of them destroy their careers for the sake of sex. No matter how good that sex might be.

  And yet the thought of walking away hurt. Hurt so damn bad.

  By the time she got off shift, she was almost vibrating with the need to hit something -- anything.

  She considered heading home to the bottle of white zinfandel she had in the fridge, despite the hangover she’d probably suffer in the morning. Unfortunately, drinking really wouldn’t do a damn thing for the stew of frustration and anger she was barely keeping contained.

  But she knew what would.

  * * *

  Erica walked into the sheriff’s office carrying the bag of workout gear she kept in the trunk, ignoring the metal detector that beeped as she strode through the double doors. The desk sergeant buzzed her in.

  The narrow hallway’s beige corridor walls were lined with framed photos of past sheriffs and recipients of department service awards, interspaced with corkboards covered with everything from bake sale flyers to wanted posters. She headed past the offices of various divisions and admin offices, rounding one corner after another in the warren of hallways.

  When she passed Mary Hampton on the way to the stairs, she seriously considered stopping to feed the bitch her fist. Better not. Don’t want to end up suspended. Erica pulled the metal door open and clattered down the steps instead.

  The Laurel County Sheriff’s Office had once been the corporate headquarters of a manufacturing firm that had moved to better digs. In exchange for a sizable tax break, the company had sold the sprawling building to the county for use as a law enforcement center. The LCSO and its three hundred sworn officers had long since outgrown the basement of the county administration building that had been its previous headquarters.

  All that extra room had allowed the sheriff to indulge in some luxuries. The LCSO gym occupied what had once been the building�
��s cafeteria, while the kitchen had been converted into a pair of locker rooms.

  Erica shouldered through a swinging door marked “Women.” Long and narrow, painted in shades of slate blue and oyster white, it was barely big enough for a single wall of lockers, a couple of showers, and a toilet. The men’s version was decidedly larger, since there were far more male deputies.

  She dropped the bag on the bench, stripped, and changed into black shorts, cross trainers, and a LCSO T-shirt. Taking a seat by the bag, Erica spent the next ten minutes encasing her hands with layer after layer of fabric hand wrap. The wraps were designed to reinforce and immobilize the small, relatively fragile bones of the hand so they wouldn’t shatter when they slammed into the thicker bones of someone’s skull. Since she fully intended to beat the shit out of something, she needed that protection.

  Hands thoroughly encased, she banged out the door and into the gym, with its assortment of equipment donated by various Laurel County businesses. Mirrors covered three of the walls, showing multiple reflections of Erica when she flipped on the lights. At one end of the room stood a couple of racks of free weights, four weight benches, two treadmills, and three exercise bikes. Erica headed for other end, where the department conducted hand-to-hand training. It was mostly empty, except for several exercise mats rolled up and stashed along the wall. An eighty-pound Everlast heavy bag dangled from a thick chain, beside a speed bag attached to a metal platform bolted to the ceiling.

  Just what the doctor ordered.

  Erica started slow, tapping the speed bag with the side of her fist, letting it rebound on the board three times between strikes. Working the little bag was an exercise in eye-hand coordination more than power, a good warm-up for the heavy bag that was next on the menu.

  She settled into a comfortable rhythm, speeding up gradually, the bag rebounding faster and faster with rhythmic thump-thump-thumps. There was something almost soothing about it, like a Zen meditation for the fists.

  Erica’s muscles warmed as her blood flowed faster, wrapped hands stinging from multiple impacts. She began punching faster and faster until the bag blurred, each blow a matter of rhythm and instinct as the stress of the day bled away.