by Devon Monk
If I was the battery, he was the grounding wire. I could throw magic around all I wanted and he’d never loose his hold on me. We fit, so neatly a part of each other, magic to magic and soul to soul.
‘‘What are you?’’ I whispered.
‘‘What do you want me to be?’’
This had such lovely possibilities.
I drew my hand up his butt and rocked my hips to remind him I was also a woman of flesh and desire. Still, magic poured through me, through him, to the earth.
One corner of his lips quirked upward.
‘‘More?’’ I asked him.
‘‘Think you can?’’ he asked.
‘‘Try me.’’
Zayvion kissed me, softly, and the magic swelled between us.
‘‘Bed,’’ I said.
We made it to the bed, though I needed some help getting there and getting my pants off. I was dizzy with power, light-headed to the point of little specks dancing at the corners of my vision. But I didn’t want to let go of the clear rush of magic streaming through me. I wanted to make love to that calm, strong man, and try to break his calm, strong focus.
Once we were on the mattress and sheets—both of which were soft—the room seemed to spin a little and stopped only when Zay was above me, his eyes dark, dark windows into eternity.
He wasn’t just Grounding me, he was sucking the power through me, swallowing me down faster than I could refill, and drinking up more. I ached with the speed of the magic rushing through me. Ached with it, and loved it.
Time to fight fire with fire. I concentrated on holding the magic tightly inside my body, not letting any of it, not a taste, not a glimmer, not a thread of it escape me.
Zay jerked and moaned, and his body, which was naked now, thank heavens, responded to the sudden deprivation. He lowered against me and we kissed. I wanted to feel him inside me in every way, magic and flesh, but I made him work to get my mouth open, made him work to release my hold on the magic, and then, when he had done so, with as much patience as I could tolerate, I gave him all of me, and he gave all of himself in return.
He was hot, sweating, hard. My heartbeat thrummed, pounding in rhythm with the pulse of his mouth drawing magic from the lines against my collarbone, the hollow of my neck. Sliding waves of pleasure rolled through me, and I tangled my fingers in his thick, curled hair, pressing his head closer to my skin. He drew my hands up and above my head, lacing his fingers with mine. The heat of my right hand and chill of my left were uncomfortable so close together, but his hand cradled between my palms felt strong and solid and warm.
Magic coursed through me in waves of heat and ice, wrapping around his hand, wrapping around his body as he lowered against me and paused. I groaned. The weight of him between my thighs and against my hips and breasts, and the pressure of magic beneath my skin, begging to be released, turned every breath into an additional, aching pleasure.
He bent and gently licked my right nipple, and I luxuriated in the nerve-hot sensation.
Yes. Now.
Need shuddered through me as he licked my left nipple, then nipped, and sucked at the magic that filled me and filled me.
He was no longer Grounding me, no longer drinking the hot, fast flow of magic from me, and I was filling too full, too fast. The ache was unbearable. The pleasure immense.
I trembled, gasped for air.
‘‘Ground me,’’ I begged.
Zay plunged within me, within the magic, and I cried out in joy.
I arched against him and rode the pulsing waves of hot, silken pleasure, emptying of magic, emptying of hunger, emptying of need.
We kissed, a little sloppily, a little slow, and didn’t stop until the heat of magic, the heat of our passion, pooled into a sweet warmth between us, until our heartbeats slowed, until we could breathe again.
I rested curled against him, warm and languid. The magic within me was quiescent, satisfied. And so was I. I had never felt anything like that. I now understood why some people willingly paid painfully high prices to use magic during sex.
But this had been more than a dime-store sex toy or three-step spell. Somewhere during the wild storm of magic Zay had called up within me, we had joined together, manipulating the give and take, the flow of a massive amount of magic.
And I felt absolutely no ill effects from it.
‘‘How come I don’t hurt?’’ I asked.
His chin was tucked so his lips were near my ear. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘We used a lot of magic just now. A lot. And we did not set a Disbursement spell. So why aren’t we paying a price for it?’’
His breathing caught, and I counted three strong beats of his heart against my chest before he spoke. ‘‘Soul Complement,’’ he said, as if that explained everything.
I pulled back so I could see his face. ‘‘What is that supposed to mean?’’
‘‘Didn’t your father teach you anything?’’
That kind of question usually made me defensive. But here, in his arms, I had no desire to put up my guard. ‘‘Other than how to balance a checkbook? No. Is it a magic term?’’
Zay took a deep breath and stared at the wall behind me. I figured he was trying to decide what to tell me, or maybe how much.
‘‘Listen,’’ I said. ‘‘You probably have lots of reasons to be all secretive and such. But my life has been changed by things I don’t understand. It would be fabulously decent of you to let me in on all this.’’
He still didn’t say anything, so I tucked back into the warmth of him. ‘‘Would it help if I promised not to tell anyone?’’
Still nothing.
‘‘Scout’s honor?’’ I offered.
‘‘Are you a scout?’’ he asked in the kind of voice that told me he was smiling.
‘‘Not that I know of. But for you, I’d totally get started on that.’’
He shifted, drew his hand down my hip and thigh, and I pulled back so I could see him again.
‘‘There are terms among the Authority,’’ he said.
‘‘Wow. Why don’t you start with authority? Authority of what?’’
‘‘Magic.’’
‘‘Really. Magic experts? Are there magic lectures? Magic bake sales? Magic bingo night?’’ I had a bad habit of making jokes when something startled me. The idea that there really was a group of secret magic worshippers scared the hell out of me.
He made an exasperated sound and rubbed his face. ‘‘Do you want to hear this or not, Scout?’’
‘‘I’m sorry. Go ahead.’’
He looked back down at me. ‘‘There are terms among the . . . people who use magic. A Magic Complement is someone who can either support or aid another caster, or whose magic style and ability are similar to another caster so that complex spells, like Grounding, are possible between them.’’
He could Ground me without it seeming to hurt him. ‘‘You and I are Magic Complements?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And that’s why we can manipulate so much magic without burning out?’’
‘‘Possibly. There are other ways two magic users can work together. Besides being a Magic Complement, there is also a Magic Contrast. A Contrast is someone whose magic style and ability are at an opposing stance with another caster. Contrasts can often achieve even more power or control when they work together. The conflict of magical styles can bear strange advantages. But there is always a grave price to pay for that kind of magical interaction.
‘‘Complements can also achieve a lot through working magic together, and there is usually a smaller price paid. There are many degrees of Complement and Contrast. You and Cody are Complements on some levels.’’
‘‘That’s why he could pull magic through me?’’
‘‘Right.’’
‘‘So what is a Soul Complement?’’
‘‘The highest joining and expression of two magic users manipulating magic as one.’’
I swallowed to try to find my voic
e. ‘‘Does that happen very often?’’
‘‘It is believed there is a Soul Complement for each person who uses magic.’’
‘‘Believed?’’
His voice softened. ‘‘So few find each other. Fewer still risk death to discover if they can cast magic in perfect complement. It’s hard to prove if there is a Soul Complement for each person.’’ He paused, golden eyes studying me. ‘‘There have been some throughout history.’’
‘‘And there’s us,’’ I said.
‘‘And there’s us.’’
He didn’t look sad or excited about it. Just calm. Patient. Waiting for me to say something.
What did one say to someone who had just told you that they may be your perfect soul match? Predestined companion. Yang to your yin, and all that?
‘‘I think this might get a little complicated after all,’’ I said.
‘‘Mmm.’’ He reached over and gently brushed my bangs away from my face. ‘‘Want to ask me anything else?’’
I laughed. ‘‘Not yet. Let me think this over, okay?’’ And there I was, asking him to give me time, to take it slow. He didn’t seem to mind.
‘‘Sure.’’
I rolled over and pressed my back against his warm, wide chest, and he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.
After what felt like a long time, he said, ‘‘Allie?’’
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘I didn’t expect this.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘You.’’
I was quiet, thinking about that. I hadn’t expected him either. Hadn’t expected to care for him. To need him. Maybe even love him. ‘‘Are you sorry?’’ I asked in a small voice.
‘‘No.’’
I couldn’t help it. I sighed. ‘‘Good. Neither am I.’’
I slept soundly and deeply, which was rare for me. First of all, I had a million thoughts spinning through my head. Second of all, when I’m first sharing a bed with someone, I wake up all night long, forgetting and remembering that I have someone in the bed with me. But Zay’s sheets were soft, his body warm, so warm we had to drape the sheet between us so we didn’t stick together, and his steady breathing lulled me. If he snored, I did not notice.
A beeping alarm clock, however, I did hear. Zay rolled away from me and turned it off.
‘‘What time is it?’’ I asked.
‘‘Five thirty.’’
I groaned. ‘‘Why would anyone want to get up at this hour?’’
‘‘Well’’—Zayvion rolled toward me—‘‘I can think of some good reasons.’’ He kissed my lips, even though I had severe morning breath after the lasagna. I gave him points for being brave.
‘‘What sort of good reasons?’’ I asked innocently.
‘‘It’s a good time to read the paper,’’ he said.
‘‘Uh-huh.’’ I wrapped my leg over his hip and scooted closer to him. ‘‘What else?’’
‘‘Sometimes I get in a run before breakfast.’’
‘‘So you like to work out first thing in the morning?’’ I asked.
‘‘It’s a good way to get the blood pumping.’’
‘‘Then by all means, you should work out.’’ We kissed, and I savored the feel of him against me. I was sleepy, warm, and sated. We took some time kissing before getting into the full swing of things. But then, I’d always been told it’s best to stretch before any strenuous activity.
It was fun sex, casual sex, the kind of sex that didn’t have anything to do with magic, Complements, Contrasts, commitments, or complications. Just warmth, togetherness, and pleasure. I thought it was a perfect way to start the day. From the look in Zay’s eyes, he thought so too.
When we finally rolled away from each other, I stretched out on my back, arms over my head, toes pointed, and moaned. ‘‘So good.’’
Zay put his palm on my bare stomach and kissed my breast. ‘‘What are you making me for breakfast?’’
‘‘Ha-ha. Who’s the guest here? I expect coffee and homemade eggs Benedict to be waiting for me when I get out of the shower.’’
‘‘How about cold cereal?’’
‘‘Do you have milk?’’
‘‘No.’’ Zay absently ran his fingers up my stomach, then down over my hip bone. ‘‘I could see what else Nola packed.’’
I grinned. ‘‘Perfect. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’’
I rolled out of bed, away from his teasing hands. I suffered a twinge of modesty when I realized I didn’t have a robe to cover up with. No matter. It was still dark in the room, and I liked to think I had a pretty healthy body image. Just in case, I kept my shoulders back and sucked in my stomach as I headed toward the bathroom. Good body image or not, posture could do wonders for a woman’s figure.
‘‘Save me some hot water,’’ Zay called.
I crossed the hall into the bathroom. My little stroll had cooled me off and I was prickly with goose bumps. I opened the clean chrome and glass shower door, and turned the hot water on high. I opened a couple cupboards—one was apparently a medicine cabinet, as it had one bottle of aspirin and an extra bar of soap in it. Another held towels. Neatly folded. Of course.
A good, thick steam was fogging up the room, and I stepped into the shower, added a little cold water, and took my time savoring the heat.
Unfortunately, my only choice of soaps were both heavily scented with pine. Another reason why Zay always smelled like a walking forest.
Smelling like a car freshener wasn’t exactly a goal of mine, but since I didn’t have any of my own bathroom stuff, including deodorant, toothbrush, and lotion, it looked like I was going to do with or do without.
And I was so beyond the finicky-girly stage of life. I thought it might even be kind of nice to smell like him.
I washed up and thought about the meeting with Violet. The disks being stolen during a break-in and fire seemed a little hard to swallow in the light of day. More likely there was someone on the inside, maybe even someone she was trying to protect who was behind the theft.
Could it be some of the Authority that Zay had mentioned?
Secret society of magic. I couldn’t begin to count how many ways that freaked me out.
It was just as possible that Violet might be looking for some way to dodge the corporation’s claims to the disk research and development process so that she could either sell the patent or put the technology, and herself along with it, up to the highest bidder.
That kind of tech—portable magic—would go for billions. Violet could be assured whatever kind of life she most desired.
But she’d had that with my dad. Or at least she said she did. The Daniel Beckstrom I knew was not beneath marrying a woman for her mind, then dumping her as soon as he got her intellectual property signed over in his name.