Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  Soaked clear through to her skin, she rose from the stump and headed for a cave ahead. Nestled between clusters of tawny cliffs, the shelter looked as good as the next place to sort out her thoughts, and, it would be dry. Tired, hungry, and oh so wet, she entered, slumped against a wall near the entrance and slithered to the ground.

  She closed her eyes, and moments later opened them, her gut-wrenching sixth sense screaming danger. Low-pitched growls heaved the stagnant air, paralyzing her with fear, tenfold in comparison to the day The Scarlet Angel held the knife to her throat. A primordial scent filled the cavern, the same odious aroma that drifted over her the day the beast chased her in the forest.

  The cat advanced, his golden eyes flaming with an odd mixture of lust and death. With nauseating dread, she knew she had looked into those orbs before. A series of vignettes rushed forth—Garrick entering a room and leaning against the trunk of a tree. Her suspicions had been right, impossible as it seemed. Mother of Jesus help me, Garrick and the cat were one in the same.

  Feral heat enveloped her and hot breath fanned her cheeks as the great predator moved in at a foot-dragging pace. She'd left the spear behind, and nothing fell within her grasp as her hand searched the ground, no heavy sticks, no steel pipes this time. Kira's short life flashed before her, and her mother's violet eyes and father's strong jaw.

  She whispered a prayer, "Let it be quick."

  Lethal, white fangs gleamed when the spotted leopard opened his mouth and let loose a savage roar. Mammoth paws clawed the air as he closed the empty space between them. He could have killed her in a heartbeat, but Kira sensed he wanted something from her before he devoured her. Hot, primal arousal drifted over her, under her. In a moment, she would upchuck her breakfast. Retracting his claws, his paw reached out and scraped her cheek, unadulterated desire emanating from every pore of his furred body.

  Before she knew what had happened, the massive paw slid around her neck and thrust her face down to the ground. She heard the sickening sound of leather ripping, felt the cold brush of air whisper against her naked bottom. His breath warm and fetid, he pinned her to the ground with one paw, slid the other beneath her and raised her hips high into the air. Nausea swirled again in her stomach. Something hard pressed against her buttocks―a hot, seeking probe—sending convulsions coursing through her. A heavy stone lay within her grasp. She reached for it, her fingers digging into the earth as the beast purred and ran his sandpaper tongue along her upper spine. With stone in hand, she slammed it against his leg and cringed when the bone snapped and he released a tortured howl. In that infinitesimal moment, she slipped from under him and flipped onto her back.

  Icy fingers of fear snaked up her spine as she looked into the beast's eyes. With teeth barred, his enormous head descended until it was inches from her face. More terrifying than anything she had ever seen or imagined, including the wild boars, the masked assassins or the black serpents inhabiting this godforsaken land, she let loose a blood-curdling scream.

  Kira closed her eyes and sent a prayer skyward.

  * * *

  Balion returned to his bedchamber. Glancing at the night table, his stomach churned. The medallion was gone. A commotion near the door spun him around on his heels.

  "My Prince," Gwyneth said. "The lass stole the medallion."

  He closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning. "Where is she?"

  "Take leave of her, Balion, the evil creature means to use it against ye."

  "Nay, Gwyneth." The truth emerged with acute simplicity. "Kira thinks to use it to return to her world."

  "Let her go, my Prince. Ye don't need her. Before she came to Locke Cress, ye had eyes only for me." She stepped into the room with open arms. "Come, I will make ye forget the traitorous wench."

  In a daze, Jarlock's words came to him as the man scurried into the room. "A rider brings news—Umargo prepares for battle."

  Ignoring his words, the Light-Prince crossed the room and retrieved his broadsword.

  "Did ye not hear me, Balion?"

  Balion plucked his war shield from the corner.

  "A spirit dwells in your eyes, a dark, foreboding portent," Jarlock said. "What daft thoughts are running through your mind now?"

  "She is gone."

  "Who, man? Who is gone?"

  "Kira."

  "I'm sure the lass is somewhere in the village with Simon. Do ye wish me to find her?"

  Simon entered the room, his shoulders slumped, his eyes bearing the humiliation of failure. "The lass tricked me, sent me to the village for the healer swearing she ailed. When I returned―"

  "I knew it!" Gwyneth spat, turning to Balion. "The witch stole your sacred amulet and fled into the forest. She is a spy, I tell ye. The Story Mage conjured her, sent her to destroy Locke Cress."

  "Ye lie!" Balion shouted. "If it be true, she would have known of Umargo's return, would have delivered the medallion to him." His heart beat in triple thrums. "She wishes to be gone from here, gone from me."

  "Balion, listen to me." Jarlock stepped toward him with a groan when the Light-Prince closed his eyes. "Ye can not save the girl when ye have an entire people to save. Ye must let her go, medallion or no."

  Balion’s voiced roiled with anguish. "I care naught of the talisman."

  "'Tis glad I am to hear it." Jarlock released a long breath of air. "We must defeat Umargo once and for all, and ye must have your head attached to your shoulders now."

  "How much time do we have before the Jangamoors attack?"

  "One day, mayhap two."

  "There is still time to save her and the Kingdom."

  "What if ye are wrong, man?"

  "I am not wrong, my friend; I am the Light-Prince."

  He wanted her, wanted the taste of those sweet lips on his, the scent of her filling his nostrils, longed to bury himself deep inside her. Now she was gone. Madness. That was a good word for what he felt right now. The Pantherinae would find her, or the assassins. The thought pushed him to the edge of lunacy. He swept past the stunned spectators.

  "May the Gods ride with ye," Jarlock said to his retreating back.

  Balion mounted his stallion and fled through the forest like a man possessed. Time was his enemy as the steed cut through the dense belly of the woods. Small critters scattered before him, seeking refuge from the mighty hooves pounding the forest floor. Hideous visions of the spotted cat touching her, tearing her velvet skin to shreds splayed his heart. Squelching the agonizing terror, he dug his knees into the stallion's sides, urging him to go faster. Its eyes bulging with fear, the mount bucked and reared against the scent of a wild beast in his nostrils.

  Desperation propelled Balion forward as an image of Kira fighting the wild boars loomed behind his eyelids. The panic he felt now paled in comparison. Not like this, don't let her die like this.

  A voice came to him, a soft caress carried on the gentle breeze. "In a cave, the cave ye knew well as a nestling. Hurry, my Prince, hurry."

  Sirene.

  He spurned the stallion onward and veered right at a fork in the path. It all came rushing back, the dank confines of a musty cavern he and Jarlock had discovered hunting one bright summer day. Too far,'tis too far and I have so little time. A curse left his lips, and next a promise. "I will release her if ye let her live."

  A deafening roar bounced off the adobe-colored cliffs ahead. He dismounted on a dead run and unsheathed his sword from the hilt as he sprinted toward the mouth of the cave. Visions of the Pantherinae feasting on her tender flesh stormed through his brain. His heartbeat reverberated through his chest. A woman screamed and a sickening howl of triumph reached his ears.

  The cat had found her.

  * * *

  A commotion near the entrance drew Kira's gaze. Her heart stood still. Balion, his eyes shining like summer lightning, stood before them. For a heartbeat, and not a second longer, he pulled his gaze from the cat and looked at her. Immeasurable relief and love blazed in his eyes before he drew his broadsword and
faced the Pantherinae. The beast leaped through the air and brought Balion down. Bodies tumbled and rolled, locked together in a battle of man and leopard. Cat became man, and man cat as a deafening roar filled the cavern. Steel flashed beneath the muted light and again Kira saw the fangs of the beast as he tossed back his head and screamed. The breath stuck in her throat and frantic prayers left her lips. She rose to a sitting position and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Please help him, please don't let him die.

  A bone-numbing snarl cut through the still air and bounced off the stone walls. Kira had no doubt the cat possessed powerful strength and momentum. She had seen the beast's speed, sensed his inhuman power, and the thought only served to cement her worst fears. Balion, much less any other man, stood little chance of survival against such an inhuman predator. A knife-edged scream echoed around her. Kira inched her way to her knees and lifted her eyes to face the beast. The seconds ticked by, her only thought that if Balion had died, her life seemed meaningless now. No longer would the sun shine upon her, and all the sweet trills of the songbirds would vanish. Gone was her chance to tell the Light-Prince he had captured her heart, her soul.

  Relief came in a debilitating rush. Balion stood before her, blood oozing from a deep gash across his cheek. His jerkin hung in tattered shreds, his muscular torso crisscrossed with jagged tears and angry scratches. Was he an illusion of her fragile stability? If she touched him, would he disappear like the morning mist?

  "Balion," she whispered, and then said it again. Crawling on her hands and knees to reach him, her head swam with a piquant mixture of gratitude and love. Yes, that was the word for it, love. The gravity of the situation constricted her breathing. She pressed her breasts into his hard calf and clung to him. "Forgive me," she sobbed. "Please forgive me."

  Gruesome visions of what might have happened to him, to her, banished now as Balion reached down and pulled her against him. Her heart banged against the wall of her chest. He said her name before he claimed her mouth with his. She shivered, not only from the kiss, but from the cold seeping through her wet shirt and bare bottom.

  A whimpered protest came from the back of her throat as he set her back and looked into her teary eyes. His voice hoarse, his breaths erratic, he scrutinized her. "Ye are shivering."

  He removed the shreds of his jerkin and next his shirt, wrapping it around her. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the nearest wall and laid her on the ground. In a daze, she watched as he gathered several scattered branches and built a fire. His long, bronze fingers manipulated a narrow piece of wood until tiny sparks ignited. Warmth spread through the cavern. Flames sparked and hissed, casting a surreal ambler glow against the interior walls.

  At the entrance lay a man's body, a dagger buried in his throat. "Garrick," she whispered.

  The pain of treachery transformed his beautiful features. "Aye."

  She waited until he collected his battered emotions. "Gwyneth knew about Umargo's return."

  As if the pieces of the puzzle had come together, he drew an exasperated breath. "The spell has been reversed and the warlord has come back from The Sixth Realm."

  "Who sent him there?"

  He plucked a stick from the fire and studied the red-hot end as if fascinated before he laid it against the festering cut on his cheek. He clenched his teeth, but not a sound came from his lips as the stench of burning flesh reached her nostrils. His right eye was swollen shut, had already begun to turn a bluish-purplish. He glanced at the multitude of scratches covering his arms and torso as if they were no more annoying than mosquito bites.

  He removed the stick and tossed it back into the fire. "Sirene sent him to the black void."

  "But, why?"

  "It is a muddled story, little one. I have my doubts ye would understand―"

  "Tell me, please, I must know."

  "The sorceress Sirene was delivered of a babe, a son christened Barrett. The Mage stole the child, cast a spell, and sent him to The Sixth Realm, denying Sirene the great love she held for the boy."

  A sick knot twisted in Kira's belly. "Then what happened?"

  "A nestling myself at the time, I know only what the elders have recounted. A brutal battle took place, Umargo's army and the warriors of Locke Cress. With all hope lost, Sirene came. Her powers diminished by her grief, she faced Umargo, and with her last ounce of strength cast a final spell."

  "Delivering Umargo to the black void?"

  "Aye, but now he has returned."

  Kira shuddered. No one had ever described The Sixth Realm, yet she imagined it in her over-active mind–sub-zero temperatures where armor-plated reptilians rose from toxic sludge to snap your leg in two, where gargantuan gargoyles and one-eyed monsters roamed about on a quest to destroy life in any form.

  Removing the medallion, she held it out to him. "I return it Locke Cress on behalf of my father."

  "I did not come for the talisman." His ravenous gaze peered through the window of her soul.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. "What did you come for then?"

  "Ye," he said.

  He came to her with a catch in his breath, his lips crushing and demanding, every inch of his hard body pressing into hers. Her heart pounded in bass, skipped a beat and then continued on its frenetic path. Nothing mattered now, not Garrick's lifeless body by the entrance, not Gwyneth's deceitful eyes or Umargo's wrath. Only Balion existed, and his strong hands kneading, caressing her breasts through the fabric of his shirt. He removed the barriers between them, tossing the shirt and jerkin aside before embarking on a demanding assault of her senses.

  Bare flesh to bare flesh, his manly scent spun her world into a tailspin. With one hand on her back, he lowered her to the ground, and there she lay, her chest burning, her throat drier than the Sahara. Opening his mouth over hers, he took her lips, sweeping his tongue through every crevice as if to memorize the taste of her. A vibration of wild pleasure thrummed through her blood.

  His hand drifted downward until he found her breast and then her nipple, rubbing the sensitized bud between his thumb and forefinger. A strangled moan left her lips, the depth of her desire for the man astounding her. He quit her mouth and lowered his head, suckling her breast until she writhed and gyrated beneath him. With the taste of his lips fresh on hers, she licked them, deciding he tasted like pine needles and honey rolled into one.

  With a confidence she didn't know she possessed, her hands wandered over that hard-muscled chest until she found his nipple. Tweaking and caressing the hard nub, a deep groan of satisfaction left his lips. He rewarded her with open-mouthed kisses along her ribs and her belly, lingering over the mound of curls between her thighs.

  "Ye are bewitching," he whispered, spreading her legs to insert a finger.

  Shuddering breaths claimed her as he plunged and withdrew, stopping to rotate the tip of his finger against her hot clitoris. Her body trembled beneath this tortuous onslaught. She wanted everything he had to offer, had wanted nothing more than to touch him, lick him form the moment she first saw him. While mindless with her need, he withdrew his finger and lowered his head to her sex, his wicked tongue thrusting in and out in bold sweeps that left her gasping with raw desire. Her hips arched up to meet his mouth, his strokes playing her like a fine musical instrument until she undulated on the ground and cried out his name. Her body screamed for release. She floated for a timeless moment and shuddered against him. Imploding from the inside out, she tumbled through a blissful chasm and shattered like a falling star crashing to earth.

  Struggling to control her runaway heart as she came back to earth, she looked into his eyes. "My God, you are wicked, magnificently wicked." Even as she spoke the words, the muscles in her womb contracted again. She prayed there was more, yearned to feel every inch of the Light-Prince inside her.

  He didn't respond, but ran a nimble finger along her lower lip before pushing it into her mouth. It tasted of sex…of her. Erotically perverse, it heightened her need to feel the full length of that h
ard erection driving into her.

  With deliberate slowness, he ran his warm hands along her collarbones and next her breasts while studying her. Choking on her breath, she moaned when he pulled away from her. He removed his leather pants and loomed over her again. Relief and brazen lust pounded through her veins.

  She felt her breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest when he lowered himself to her and pinned her down with his legs. The decadent whisper of his naked skin on hers hummed around her, setting her blood to boil. She twisted and writhed under him, her hands searching for that hard cock pressing into her leg. A moan escaped her lips when she found it.

  "Easy, little forest nymph," he whispered. "I have waited a lifetime for ye, and I do not wish to hurry."

  Hurry? Was he mad? He'd loved her with infinite patience already and now she burned hotter than firestorm. "Balion, please, oh, please."

  Trying to control the waves of passion surging through her, she guided his shaft to her sex. Her body vibrated with liquid fire when he cupped her bottom and glided his cock into her. Her body convulsed and little gasping breaths came from her lips as inch by tortuous inch he took her. Stunned by her own aching need, and the flames of pure lust he'd awakened in her, she arched up to meet him. He groaned and she felt his body tremble in response to her desire.

  "Ye wanted me like I wanted ye," he said. "Didn't ye?"

  She nodded.

  "Nay, 'tis not enough. Say it or I will stop."

  "Yes, oh yes, I wanted you, all of you, like this inside me."

  He shuddered as he drove in hard and deep, and then lay against her as if trying to pace his need. She ran her hands over the hard, ridged muscles of his back in an attempt to draw him closer and waited an eternity it seemed before he moved again.

  Sliding one hand beneath her, he held her hips immobile and plunged, only to retreat seconds later and drive in again. She met him thrust for thrust, matching every demand he pulled from her body. Her womb contracted around his shaft, until like her, he gasped for breath. Her body screaming with need for release, she urged him on with her lips on his, her hands raking the skin on his back like a wild cat.