Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  "Ye."

  Above the silence in the room, raw lust pulsated around them, hers, his, until she forced herself to turn from his smoldering eyes. "You can't mean―"

  "Ye heard me well enough. I want ye."

  "No!" Her head snapped back to gaze on that perfect face. "Are you mad?"

  "Bewitched."

  The word drew her up short and ignited a fire in her cheeks. "I don't–I don't even know you, and besides," she stammered, "you're betrothed to Gwyneth."

  He shrugged and Kira thought there was something unsettling about a man who could shrug off his engagement as if it held no more importance than what to wear to dinner. "A bargain made when we were children."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I do not love Gwyneth."

  "Bully for you. Your parents should have thought about that before they auctioned you off." She held her breath. "Does she love you?"

  Kira didn't know why she desired to know the answer but something about the scheming woman disturbed her. Gwyneth and the chameleon-like Garrick were up to their eyeballs in subterfuge. Whatever their plan, it didn't bode well for the Prince of Locke Cress. With a sick knot in her stomach, she reminded herself she didn't have time for conspiratorial plots. She wanted to go home.

  He schooled his voice to remain neutral. "I know not of her love, only her wish to be queen one day." He might as well have been talking about flies mating. "She will rule the kingdom if I fall in battle or meet my death through other means."

  For some inexplicable reason, his words cut through her heart. Insane! Two days ago she hadn't heard of this man, and here she stood, kissing him, asking personal questions about his love life.

  He studied her with the scrutiny of a jeweler assessing a diamond. "What about the trade? It is a fair one. Ye get what ye want, as do I."

  "You would surrender The Last Sorcerer's talisman for one night with a woman?"

  He shook his head. "Nay." Then drew the words out. "I would give up my life for one night with ye."

  Breathing became an effort while the Apollonian statute waited for an answer. Running her hands down her shift, her back rigid, she replied, "I don't know about Locke Cress, but where I come from a woman longs to be wooed, flattered, seduced." She knew she should have swallowed the last word.

  "I know this word." He gave a devilish grin. "If that is what ye desire, I will seduce ye."

  Dizzier than a wound up top, she teetered and her voice degenerated to a whisper. "Stay back, don't come any closer."

  He advanced. "I can take ye without your consent."

  "That's right," she croaked, her mouth dry. "You're the Prince."

  He nodded and his eyes flashed victory.

  She lifted her chin. "I swear you won't enjoy it. You might conquer my body, but I'll not give you so much as one teensy morsel in return, not even a kiss."

  "Ye just did," he said. "And willingly."

  "Well, forget about that. It won't happen again." With every step she took back, he took one forward. "Stay away. Don't come near me."

  "Ye don't mean it." Without conscious thought, his every movement oozed confection. Even his words were saccharine-laced. "Ye felt it, as did I."

  Defenseless against this new form of stratagem, she blurted, "I'll run away!"

  "Don't ye ever say it again!" Ribbons of crystal-blue ice cut through his pupils. He yanked her to his chest, so hard her neck creaked. "I will find ye, and I swear I'll flay your backside so ye will not be able to sit for a week."

  "Is that a threat?"

  Dear God, if he'd only let go of her. Sweeter than a cherry torte one minute and cousin to a rabid badger the next, Kira didn't know whether to swoon or run. Everything about the man exuded raw masculinity and she couldn't hold up under another feverish onslaught.

  "Nay, my little she-cat, 'tis pledge!"

  So many warning bells rang in her head—fear, desire and least among them doom—her ears thrummed.

  "Ye almost died in the forest." His voice softened. "The spotted cat will hunt ye down." Her bottom lip trembled when he ran his thumb across it. "The Pantherinae has your scent in his nostrils now, like me."

  "Turn me loose!" she shrieked, hoping to break the dream-like trance.

  He stepped back and dangled the medallion before her. "It will be waiting for ye right here."

  "You're insufferable!"

  She fled from the room to the sound of his laughter.

  Chapter 6

  Stricken with the realization she was caught in a wolf's lair, Kira looked out the window of her room and brooded. From the ornate gold cage in the corner, the love birds cooed and drew her gaze. How strange they looked amid the medieval household goods, furnishings that didn't exist in her world.

  With a sigh, she returned to the view outside again. The keep stood guard over endless acres of woodland and lofty cliffs, not one thing familiar. How she missed her life, her boring, mundane existence of double lattés, hot showers and idle chit-chat with Eva. Poor Eva. She imagined the woman calling her cell phone, insanely out of temper every time it went to voicemail. Eva wouldn't hesitate to tell her a termite possessed more brains than her, punctuating the chastisement with, I told you so.

  Moments later, flipping through the stacks of scrolls she discovered upon first entering the room, she lingered between laughter and tears. Every document was dated—Eight hundred In the Year of The King, one thousand-twenty In the Year of the King, blah, blah, blah. With a sense of surreal empowerment, she couldn't help but think world renowned scientists had nothing on her. They had only to ask once she got home—if she got home—about medieval climate conditions or archaic attire and weaponry and she'd be happy to enlighten them.

  She blew on her fingers. "Hey guys, what about time-travel, and whoever said it wasn't attainable? I'm here to tell you, time-travel is not only possible, it is a viable method of transportation for some people, fantasy characters named Sirene and The Story Mage."

  Her grasp on reality slipping, Kira jumped when someone knocked on the door. Oh, please, God, don't let it be him. She closed her eyes. Make him go away.

  "Lass, are ye well?" The giant's voice. "Open the door now, I must speak with ye."

  Kira crossed the room with a sigh of relief and lifted the latch. Jarlock dangled the medallion before her, his kind brown eyes twinkling. Before she had a chance to snatch it, he dragged it back through the air.

  "Are ye up for a little journey, lass?"

  She narrowed one eye. "One never knows what a little journey means to you people. For all I know I could be transported to Mount Olympus in time for dinner and returned to Locke Cress for dessert."

  "Oh, come now, lass. Ye are not traveling to Mount Olympus."

  She flashed a hand his way, dismissing their conversation about Olympus. "Three questions then, to where, what for, and with whom?" Her mother would be proud she'd used the proper pronoun.

  "'Tis a short journey to see King Roldan."

  "King Roldan?"

  "Aye, Balion wishes ye to tell him about your father and how ye came to claim the talisman."

  Her hands clenched into fists at her side. "He still doesn't believe me! He thinks I'm a spy for this despot Umargo?"

  "Now, lass." Bribing her with another smile, he continued, "It won't harm ye to speak with King Roldan, tell him about your kin and how ye came to be in Locke Cress."

  "Why don't you ask Sirene or this weirdo The Story Mage? They'll tell your Light-Prince I'm not a spy."

  "It will go easier on ye if ye come along with me now. I have a mare picked out for ye and she'll carry ye to…."

  She tapped her foot against the floorboards. "To where?"

  "I cannot tell ye, lass."

  A noise over the giant's shoulder drew her gaze. Balion. Whatever warmth she'd felt from the man that morning wilted quicker than drowned petunias. Common sense told her to submit. The prince, after all, could and would order Jarlock to pluck her from the floor like a potted plant, tuck
her under his arm, and carry her from the room.

  "You can't expect me to ride a horse in a dress. I'll need a pair of boots, long pants and―"

  Balion passed the garments to Jarlock–soft, high-top boots made of animal skins, brown leather pants and a linen shirt. After snatching them from Jarlock's hands, Kira slammed the door in their faces, a minor victory, but a clear demonstration she'd rather go agate-picking than accompany them on a journey.

  Long minutes later, dressed in her new attire, she opened the door. Jarlock leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, smiling as usual. The bright sun slapped her in the face when they walked outside. Mounted on a massive stallion the color of wheat, Balion exuded power and strength. Beside him stood Gwyneth. For some odd reason, the scene rankled Kira. A trio of well-armed guards shuffled their feet and craned their necks skyward to avoid direct eye contact with her. Jarlock lifted her onto the back of the dapple-shanked mare, handed her the reins, and pulled his large frame onto a gray stallion five hands taller than her mount.

  Kira eyed the alien creature beneath her, patted the beast's neck and whispered, "Nice little horsy."

  Balion's expression revealed zilch when he reached down and kissed the back of his fiancé's hand. Gwyneth looked stoic, too stoic, her guarded duplicity as clear as the mole above her upper lip. The woman seemed anxious for them to leave, no doubt so she could resume her devious shenanigans, whatever they entailed. A casual observer might think the couple nothing more than friends. That thought pleased Kira.

  Kira clutched the pommel of the saddle and sent a prayer skyward as the mare fell in line between Balion's and Jarlock's steeds. By her world's standards, one wouldn't call the contraption a saddle. Made from leather and decorated with animal motifs, felt, and threads of gold, it included a girth and leather stirrups. On a whole, the seat proved to be quite comfortable.

  Streams of sunlight played chase with the clouds overhead, and the fair breeze smelled of pine, damp moss and a variety of pungent wildflowers. Now and then, the point guard stopped the procession and listened for something only his skilled ears could hear. On these occasions, Balion's hand slid to his sword, and when Kira turned to look at Jarlock, his watchful eyes scoped out the towering mountains ahead. Whatever danger the guard had sensed failed to materialize, and before long, they were on their way again. With sickening dread, Kira realized peril lurked behind every monstrous boulder, skulked behind every whistling creature of the forest, of what type or from whom she didn't know, but it hounded the travelers with the tenacity of sinister evil.

  Within the star-studded cloak of heaven, a half-moon fought for position. By the time Balion signaled to make camp, every muscle in her body screamed in pain. Crying never came easy for her, but she could make an exception. A deriding smirk from the Light-Prince steeled her resolve.

  Cry she would not.

  Escape at the first opportunity she would.

  Her sagging spirits plummeted with the thought she lacked a plan for flight—other than to get her hands on the medallion and flee into the forest. In her dazed brain, she repeated the chant. Satisfied her memory had served her well; she prayed the medallion would send her tumbling through the great abyss—away from here, away from him. It was a terrifying, reckless plan, but hey, desperate times called for desperate undertakings. This journey might be the only opportunity afforded her to get away.

  She couldn't rely on King Roldan to help her. The old cliché, like father, like son, breached centuries and worlds and had no doubt withstood the test of time backward and forward. In her case, backward. The King wouldn't believe her, couldn't overrule his son in favor of a slip of a girl who appeared to be one oar short of a row boat. King or not, if the Light-Prince issued a command, one could choose to obey or relinquish their body parts.

  "A bully, that's what he is," Kira mumbled under her breath. "A tyrant of the highest degree, and no doubt a depraved molester of women."

  Jarlock lifted her from the saddle and delivered her to an animal pelt on the hard ground. A guard started a fire, skewered a wild hare and set it to roast. Exhausted, her mental faculties taxed, Kira hadn't even noticed the man leaving camp to hunt for their meal. In a fog, she stuffed several morsels into her mouth, laid her head down, and thanked Jarlock when he covered her with another animal skin. An owl screeched in the distance as she closed her eyes and allowed the land of sweet dreams to claim her.

  * * *

  Eyes still closed, Kira heard the gentle stirrings of camp. Horses nickered, leather creaked, and then Jarlock knelt before her with a piece of crusty bread and a gourd of water. From his other hand, a black strip of cloth and a length of short hemp swayed in the morning breeze.

  "Sorry I am, lass, I must cover your eyes and bind your hands now."

  In alarming surprise, Kira bounded to her feet. "Good heavens, it isn't necessary! I wouldn't know where we were if you drew me a map!"

  Near his horse, Balion twisted around to glare at her. In the ensuing silence, Kira heard a prolonged hiss as a guard doused the fire and the others shifted their weight from one hip to the other. She met Jarlock's eyes and had the distinct feeling the man would rather prune weeds than carry out the Prince's order.

  In the breath of a heartbeat, Balion crossed the distance between them, grabbed the blindfold and the rope from his friend's hand and next a shank of her hair. "It is for the King's protection. If ye lead Umargo's men to him, they will kill him."

  "Be damned with your King and Umargo." She struggled against the searing pain at her scalp.

  "By the Saints, woman, one way or the other ye will cover your eyes."

  "But…."

  An exasperated sigh left his lips. "What is it now, little hell-cat?"

  She stared at him. "I'm afraid of the dark."

  "Then ye should close your eyes and pretend ye are not in it." Without further ado, he spun her around, slapped the blindfold over her face, and cinched it at the back of her head. "And close your mouth for a spell, too." Scooping her up, he plopped her into the saddle and then secured her hands with a piece of twine.

  Rage boiled up from her belly. "You are a despicable man, a tyrant!" In the nastiest tone she could summon, she added, "An oppressor of women, the lowest being on the planet and I-I hate you!"

  If she thought it quiet before, nothing compared to the oppressive stillness enveloping camp. She couldn't see him, or anything else, couldn't imagine what he might be thinking of doing to her.

  With his hard shoulder pressed into her thigh, his shallow breath came to her on a whisper. "Should I yank ye from that beast and show ye how much ye hate me?"

  Stunned by his words and their meaning, she lifted her chin and turned her head away from that silky voice. Feet shuffled and the groan of leather rippled through the air as men mounted. The mare jigged beneath her and they were off again. Tears stung her eyes behind the coarse fabric. Black enveloped her, and hideous visions stormed through her mind, like they had as a child when darkness came. Her claustrophobia kicked in until her misery became so acute she spent the next several hours expending all her energy on what she'd do to her tormentor at the first opportunity.

  The riders left the open plains at the same time the sun deserted them. About her, frogs croaked from a nearby swamp, night creatures screamed, and the gentle breeze that had kissed her face that morning had surrendered to a heavy, oppressive stillness.

  Her spirits sagging when they stopped hours later, strong hands untied her wrists and lifted her from the saddle. When someone removed the blindfold, she blinked, her light-starved eyes doing their best to adjust. A crude hut made of sturdy logs and chinked with moss and mud rose from the ground. The timbered roof, stuffed with straw and more mud, sagged in the middle. Kira found it difficult to believe a King resided within the humble abode, but when hiding out from assassins, anything was possible. Balion disappeared and his guards joined the others encircling the unimposing structure.

  "Come along now, lass." J
arlock cupped her elbow. "King Roldan awaits ye."

  "Why is a King hiding from his enemy anyway? I thought Kings were supposed to be courageous."

  "King Roldan is a very brave man. He must stay alive until he can lead his people against the Jangamoors. Without him, our warriors might falter."

  Beyond drained, and never missing her mother and father more, Kira allowed the giant to lead her through the door. A cauldron over the hearth bubbled with something that smelled like beef stew, and the faint aroma of fresh-baked bread spiraled up her nose. She'd had nothing to eat but a piece of crusty bread that morning, had been led on a forced march through desolate plains and tropical jungles, and enslaved behind a pirate's blind. But she would not cry, no matter what they did to her.

  A man rose from a nearby chair and turned to face her.

  Everything about the King reeked supremacy and commanding authority. Although she hated to admit it, his son had inherited those admirable traits. The King stood as tall as Balion, yet despite his advanced years, his body bespoke of compact muscle and strength. Tied with a leather thong at the nape of his neck, his long, white hair cascaded down his back. His periwinkle eyes, the same size and shape as his younger version, reminded her of a Montana sky on a cloudless day. Kira tried to imagine Roldan in his prime and had no doubt he was a formidable opponent not to mention a heartthrob with the feminine gender. Beyond his father, Balion stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring into the flames of the hearth.

  The King's resonant voice drew her gaze. "My son has treated ye fair?”

  Kira fixed him with an icy glare. "If you consider trussing me up like a turkey and transforming me into a blind bat, yes."

  His expression passive, a glint of admiration cut through the clear, blue eyes. "He has not defiled ye?"

  "No," she whispered, and wondered why she longed to answer yes.

  Deep furrows creased his forehead. "Ye are mired in trouble, lass." The words lingered in the air until he spoke again. "Balion tells me ye come from another land and claim to be the daughter of Nicholas."