Black Magic

by Angel Lawson

  Two handlers wait for me, tugging at my hair, twisting it into a knot. “What are you doing?” I ask, slapping at their hands.

  “First time in the ring?” the woman asks. She has a gold tooth and a glitter swirled over her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll want your hair back. Close. Otherwise she’ll rip it right off.”

  “I thought the ring was enchanted?”

  She smiles, the cap glinting back. “You won’t die in there but you can still come out snatched bald.”

  I touch my curls and nod, giving her permission to fasten it close.

  The other handler checks my shoes, running his hands over the edge. “Looking for something?”

  “Blades. Spikes. You can’t have weapons in the ring.”

  “But what about the others? The snakes. Diamond Dave had those blades on his hands…”

  “Magical,” he says. “Those are part of him. Just you and your abilities go in the ring. Nothing else.”

  I eye Hildi across the ring. She’s removed her jacket and beneath the tattoos covering her arms I see the lean, hard muscle. She reaches above her head and stretches. My female handler notices my interest. “She’s good. Fast and strong.”

  “What do Valkyries do…mythologically speaking?”

  “They choose which warriors will live or die in battle. The ones that die will go on to Valhalla.”

  I stiffen. “So wait, she can determine if I’m going to die?”

  “Not today. That will be up to you and your skills.”

  The buzzer sounds and the lights flash.

  I’m up.

  It’s then that I notice how big the crowd is around the ring. The lights are bright as I climb onto the canvas mat. I can’t see the spectators—I only hear them—roaring like a giant beast. I look over at my opponent and note the surprise on her face. She didn’t realize I’d be here.

  “Since when do they allow little girls in the ring?” she asks the Shaman.

  “She’ll prove her worth,” he says, then shrugs. “Or not.”

  The strange thing about this moment is that I’m not afraid. Not of Hildi. Not of the possibility of enchanted death. I take deep breaths, attempting to calm the beast rising under my skin. She wants out. She wants to play.

  Most of all, she wants to feed.

  I use all of my concentration to keep her at bay. I’m going to beat her. Morgan, not the Raven Queen.

  Me.

  The second buzzer goes off and the Shaman vanishes. It’s just the two of us and it doesn’t take Hildi long to make a move, springing from her spot.

  My training has prepared me for this moment. The hours Clinton pushed me to my limit. I dodge her fists, her feet, her sharp elbows, and manage to land one of my own in her kidneys. She bends and I take a breath, glancing up at the seats. A shadow moves and all I feel is pain, sharp and excruciating as her fist slams against my chin.

  “Dammit,” I curse, feeling my teeth wiggle. I kick her in the knee and then the stomach. I duck, avoiding another punch and then I take the offensive, lunging at her waist and knocking her off her feet.

  We stumble and I scramble fast, pinning her to the mat. To my surprise she doesn’t fight back, instead staring at me with wide eyes. “Stronger than you look,” she says, her voice sounding far away. I drag my eyes from hers but they’re magnetic. I can’t look away.

  “You have no idea,” I say, but I blink and when I open my eyes I’m on the mat alone—Hildi gone. The crowd roars, amplifying my confusion. I glance behind me and feel her fist before anything else.

  I fly backwards, held in the ring only by the barriers. My feet wobble but I steady myself. I’m ready when she comes at me again. I grab her by the neck, getting her in a messy headlock. “You tricked me.”

  “Did I?” She laughs. “Show me what you can do—he wouldn’t let you in here if you didn’t have the receipts.”

  But that’s the thing. I don’t know what I can do. I can fight—hold her off. I can release the Morrigan and kill everyone in here. But what can I do? What magic do I really possess?

  I flip Hildi over and again I’m in a position of dominance. I avoid her eyes and I think of the last time I was like this in a fight. What would I do if she were Clinton or Dylan or one of the others? How would I over power her?

  The answer comes in a wave of hungry emotion.

  I lift her by the shirt, focusing on her mouth not her eyes. She cries at my strength.

  Yes, the Morrigan begs.

  No, I shout back. Fucking no. I fight the desire. The want and hunger, but I succumb, pulling her face close to mine.

  One kiss. Just one. Kill this bitch who came on to your man. Who talked about his body. Spoke of what and who belongs to you.

  I look into her eyes hoping Hildi will do whatever it is she did before, but all I see is blatant desire in return.

  Fuck.

  The shimmer of sliver catches my eye just to my left and I can taste her breath she’s so close, so very close, but the glimmer flashes, the reflection blinding me and I blink.

  “Do it.” Hildi breathes into my ear but I’m looking at the mat and the object that suddenly appeared. “Do it.”

  I don’t know what she want me to do; kiss her or kill her when both are the same. And isn’t that what I’m supposed to do anyway? This is a game to the death.

  But I push her back and reach for the shiny sword. The one that fits perfectly in my hand. The crowd gasps, wondering where it came from. How did it appear? And I have the very same questions but Hildi has picked herself up off the ground and charges at me full force.

  I swing the blade, slicing it across her arm.

  I flip it over, smashing her along the jaw with the hilt.

  She falls, knees first, and the auditorium grows silent. I stand over her and step on her hand with one foot and her stomach with another.

  “Remember this day,” I tell her. I look up into the crowd. “The Raven Queen did not do this.” I stab Hildi through the heart, her blue eyes shocked until the blue drains to a pale gray. “I did.”

  I leave her body on the mat and walk back to where I’d entered. The handlers are there, eyes wide and faces pale. The sword is heavy in my hand and in a quick motion I slash the ropes off the ring and they fall quickly to the floor. I step down, searching the crowd, the faces, finally feeling relief when I see his face.

  “I fought her,” I tell Clinton when he’s pushed through the crowd.

  “I know.” He takes the sword from me and catches me when my feet falter. “You did good, Morgan.”

  His words warm my heart and my head spins. His gray eyes are the last thing I see before the world turns black.

  Chapter Eight

  Dylan

  Sam and I are in the middle of a game of chess in the library when the front door bursts open.

  Davis runs past the doorway shouting, “Hurry, it’s Mistress Morgan.” The chess pieces fall as Sam and I both leap from our seats.

  Footsteps thunder down the staircase and Damien appears, brandishing a sharp blade, but drops it when he sees Clinton carrying Morgan in his arms.

  “She’s okay. I promise. Just worn out.” He moves to the staircase. I step in front of him and hold out my arms. He twists away like a child refusing to hand over a treasure.

  “I told you it was too much. I told you it was too fucking soon.”

  “She’s fine!” he roars and his voice echoes to the top floors. Surely Bunny has been drawn from his attic studio. Sam touches Clinton’s arm and gives him a short nod. He inhales and reluctantly hands her over. I feel a tiny bit better with her safely in my arms, able to feel the warmth of her body and beat of her heart. She’s bruised along the jaw and her pants are torn. Raw scrapes line the top of her knuckles and I push past the others to get her up the stairs.

  Bunny meets us at the third floor and opens the door to her suite. I carefully enter, making sure not to bang her head on the door frame, and lay her on the bed after Sam
pulls down the linens.

  She takes a deep breath the instant her head hits the pillow, followed by a small sigh. Her dark hair fans out like a halo. The bruise on her cheek only makes her look stronger—like the warrior we all know she’s meant to be.

  Sue appears and shoos us out of the room. She’ll clean and dress her.

  I look at Clinton and ask, “What the hell happened?”

  He walks across the bedroom and out to the sitting room. There he finds a bottle of whiskey and takes a gulp straight out of the top. He hands it to Sam who does the same and before he speaks we’ve all had a drink. “I took her to the fights. I was going to enter her—match her up to someone she could easily beat. Just to test the training. But she went to the ladies’ room and, fuck, I don’t know what happened. Next thing she’s in the queue and on the mat squaring off against Hildi.”

  “Hildi,” I repeat, thinking of the blonde, incredibly dangerous Valkyrie.

  “Oh boy,” Damien mutters. “Bet that Viking was pleased to see her in the ring.”

  “She was jealous when she saw Morgan with me. I let it pass. Took her drink in good will. Offered her good luck in her match.” He looks over at Morgan sleeping in the other room. “Somehow those two got into it.”

  “Morgan or the Darkness?” Sam asks. There’s a difference.

  “I think a little bit of both,” Clinton replies. “The Morrigan was looking for a victim. I thought she was going to take her and I don’t think the enchantments would have held against her kiss of death. But our girl, she held strong. Conjured up her sword and beat both Hildi and the Darkness.”

  Damien raises his eyebrows. “She beat the Darkness?”

  “Yes.”

  “And conjured her weapon?” I ask. The implications are huge. It may mean that Morgan is strong enough on her own to do this. She may even be strong enough to survive the spell she’s so determined to cast.

  “Yes,” Clinton says again. “She’s weak, obviously. It took a lot out of her. But she made it off the mat in one piece and slayed the Valkyrie. The entire crowd was stunned.”

  “So they know she’s here,” Bunny asks, pointing out something we’d all been avoiding. “Everyone in the community is aware that she’s alive and what that means.”

  “I suspect they’ve known for a while,” I say. “Although now they’ll know for sure and not everyone will want the same outcome we do.”

  The five of us stand over her bed, watching her sleep. Thing are going to get harder before they get better. I glace at Sam and say, “Stay with her,” knowing it’s likely she’ll need comfort and sustenance before the night is over.

  Chapter Nine

  Morgan

  I wake, swaddled in warmth, achy and filled with a hunger that burns deep in the pit of my belly. The room is dark but I know it’s mine, the twinkly star lights I hung when I arrived blink over the window. I shift but the cocoon tightens and in my ear I hear, “Slow. You’re injured,” in Sam’s soft, comforting voice.

  Eyes closed, I stay in my spot, knowing he’s right. The last thing I remember is killing Hildi, then Clinton’s face. I feel the ache in my cheek and down my ribs. There’s another sensation, the soft caress of fingers along my jaw and fussing in my hair.

  I shift just a little, realizing I’m not in the clothes I left in. I feel the soft cotton of a nightgown from my drawer.

  “Sue changed you.” It’s as though he’s read my mind. “And cleaned you up.” With my eyes still shut I sink into the sensation of his lips along my ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, gently wrapping an arm around my waist. We’re spooning. He’s the big and I’m the little and relief stretches and groans in my muscles.

  “Yeah, that feels nice.”

  Sam. Beautiful Sam. With the strong jaw and Jolly Rancher green eyes. With the gorgeous face and kind smile. My friend. The man who has fingers that make my blood boil. Whose kisses bring me peace.

  I need him now.

  I want him desperately.

  I’m hungry.

  I’m wounded.

  I need everything that he can give me.

  “I heard you slayed a Valkyrie,” he says. Some of the pain dissipates when his hands run over my skin.

  “She made me mad.”

  He laughs. “I bet.”

  “And the Morrigan?” he asks.

  “I told her to fuck off.” I push my backside closer to him and he snuggles in just the same. I feel the hard length pressing against my back and my belly screams with need.

  He lifts my hair and peppers hot kisses along my neck. Each one sends a flare of energy through my body. I’m learning every day the connection between my health, magic, and sex. If I want to be strong I need to be with my Guardians. Right now I need to heal and I’m quite certain he’s aware of my condition.

  His hands bunch the nightgown around my waist and his fingers wander down my stomach and between my legs. I reach behind me, feeling for him, and it’s not difficult to find his enlarged cock. He’s clothed and I fumble for the buttons, wanting his skin next to mine.

  “I need you to get undressed,” I tell him. “And get back in the bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There’s a hint of amusement plus desire in his murmured reply.

  He vanishes for a moment, slipping off his clothes. The bed cools behind me but when he returns I’m rewarded with the heat and impact of his body. Sam doesn’t wait and I don’t want him to. He eases me on my side, pushing my top leg over just a bit.

  “This is…this position is new,” I confess.

  He pauses. “Too much? Would you rather?”

  But the spot between my legs is already wet and I crave the feel of him inside me. I lay my hand over his and encourage him. Without pause he enters me slowly from behind.

  “Oh,” I cry, not only from the sensation of our bodies joining, but from the surge of energy flowing through my limbs. The bruises numb and my ribs cool while everything else is centered on Sam taking a tentative rock.

  “I won’t break, you know.”

  I feel his smile against my neck. And he pushes in before pulling out. I sink into the motion. Again and again and again.

  He moves in quick, even thrusts, perfectly timed, and one hand holds my ass while the other is looped under my body, kneading my breast. The spot between my legs aches and I move my own fingers down to relieve the pressure.

  To my surprise he slows dramatically. His kisses, his hips, slowly moving in and out. I pant from desire wanting more, faster, but with every excruciatingly, intense thrust my muscles turn to jelly. He feels so good. It feels so good, I bite my bottom lip and let him lead.

  I’m drifting into the all-consuming sensation when I hear him whisper in my ear, “I’ve spent my life waiting for this moment. To share such intimacy with a goddess of such strength.” In and out. In and out. “I’ll never leave your side, Morgan. Not in a fight. Not on the battlefield. Not in your bed when you need my touch to heal.”

  I cry out, because of his words and because I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.

  His mouth is on my neck and I turn to meet his lips with mine and it provides the greatest twist of pleasure below. “Harder,” I command, barely able to stand it. He grins and bites my lip, gladly picking up the pace, moving with increased speed. I no longer feel the pain from the fight, just him. Just his hands. His cock. The magical warmth of healing.

  His hands dip between my legs and out bodies are melded into one. His breath coats my neck and the little grunts coming from his chest sound feral and wild. I’ve stopped listening, only feeling, only aware of my body aching in a different way. The coil deep in my core twists and twists, my legs lose their ability to stay apart, I scream when I finally come, a long, satisfying groan. Sam shudders behind me and his teeth clamp into my shoulder. I feel every twitch, every pulse, and we slump together in a mass of worn-out exhaustion.

  Moments pass and the haze clears. I hear Sam’s breathing even out and I slip from his arms. Walking to the ba
throom, I flick on the light over the mirror. My hair is wild, my eyes bright. In a quick movement I pull the nightgown over my head and stare at my reflection. The injuries fade—healing with passion and shared energy.

  I’ve learned much tonight about my body and its abilities. Things I hope will be of use in the future. But one thing I know for sure, I think as I slip back in bed. Once a night may not be enough.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam

  I’ve got a mouthful of eggs when Bunny walks into the kitchen the following morning. He grabs a cup of coffee with his good hand and sits across from me at the table.

  “She doing okay?” he asks.

  I nod and grunt, swallowing the food. I’d woken up an hour before, with an empty stomach, a raging hard-on, and Morgan snuggled against my side. She looked a thousand times better than the night before and I didn’t want to wake her so I showered, rubbed one off, and came down to eat.

  “She just needed to rest and to heal.”

  He arches his brow on the word ’heal’. “So she took to the healing?”

  “Like a champ.” Again his expression is more annoyed than anything else. I sigh and rub my chin. “What do you want me to say, Bunny? That we fucked and she healed and then we fucked again because we wanted to?” Because that’s exactly what happened. An hour or so after we’d made love the first time she woke me up to do it again. No healing wounds. No magic. Just sex. It was nice and felt more like bonding than I could have imagined.

  “I’m just curious about the process, that’s all. If her runes are still protecting her. If she’s really holding the Darkness back.”

  “You don’t think she is?” I ask.

  “I think the Morrigan is a tricky bitch and we all need to be careful.”

  I stand and walk over to get more coffee. I mix in cream and it turns the perfect shade of brown. Leaning against the counter I take a sip and say, “I’m not letting my guard down.”

  “No?”