Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  * * *

  A knock sounded at the door, distracting Dion from the two blondes in his bed. He'd told Pavlo not to disturb him unless it was an emergency or unless something happened in Jersey. As much as he mourned prying the tag team of skilled mouths away from his dick, Dion sat up and told the women to play with each other until he returned. He heard them giggling as he made his way across the elaborate bedroom to the set of double doors.

  The knocking repeated, louder this time. "I'm coming, Pavlo. For gods' sake, this better be good." He opened the doors wide to reveal a fair-haired man with brown eyes, about five-eight in height. Two horns jutted straight upward from the top of his cranium, the physical characteristic of the Boeotian satyrs. Not one to be abashed by the display behind him nor his current nudity, Dion waited for Pavlo to explain why a disturbance at two o'clock in the morning was called for.

  "I bring news, sir. Pan has abducted the girl." Always straight to the point. That's why Dion liked him.

  "Splendid." He turned to his guests. "Ladies, try not to wear yourselves out. I shall return shortly." Grabbing his silk robe from the hook beside the door, Dion slipped it on. He followed Pavlo down the stairs to the study on the first floor.

  "Tell me everything," Dion began, but then he noticed the phone was laying face up on the desk, the light on the charging unit indicated the line was on hold. He arched a brow and waited for Pavlo to explain.

  "Cynthia Martinez is on the line, sir. She is demanding your presence in New Jersey." Pavlo stood straight and tall, hands at his side. Dion didn't offer Pavlo a seat but sat down himself, placing the phone to his ear, and taking it off hold.

  "Dion Bach speaking."

  The woman on the other end had been crying. He heard her sniffle and take a breath. "I am so sorry to disturb you..."

  "Not at all. Mrs. Martinez, was it? Whatever is the matter?" He feigned complete obliviousness.

  Another sniffle. "It's Kat. That thing... That thing took her. It's real! It's really real, Mr. Bach. The Jersey Devil flew off with Katerina Silverton." She sobbed heavily through the phone.

  Dion's grin felt so wide his face could have been cleaved in half. But, of course, he was all sincerity and compassion on the phone. It wouldn't do at all to let his contentment color his words. "Wait, slow down. Did you say someone attacked Dr. Silverton?" He mimicked a shocked expression for Pavlo's benefit, which was met with a contrary roll of the eyes. That bastard Pan never could pass up the opportunity to fuck a redhead. It was almost too easy. Everything was falling into place. He hadn't expected the dimwit to abscond with her though. But Dion could work with that.

  More sobs muffled Cindy's voice. "Yes. It had wings and horns, oh, and the tail! It was awful. And we can't find her. It took her. There is no telling how far into the Pine Barrens it went or if she's even still alive..."

  "Have you contacted the local authorities?"

  "Of course. We called them first thing. They had to send someone to get us because the thing knocked over our van. They didn't believe our story. Our footage had sounds but not visual proof. It stood directly in front of the camera but didn't show on the film, so it lacks credibility. They think we are attempting an elaborate hoax, and they threatened to arrest us if they discovered that was the case." She blew her nose.

  "Don't worry about the film, Mrs. Martinez. What's important is finding Dr. Silverton alive and well. For her sake, do not alert the media or her family. We don't want to raise a panic, not yet. There will be a gag order faxed to the hotel for you and your husband to sign within the hour. I will catch a flight first thing in the morning to New Jersey. Perhaps I can help influence the police to make a serious effort in searching for her." Because money could buy cooperation. Not that he would really involve the police. "If we can't locate her within the week, the gag order will be lifted and we will bring in the media to help with the search. I am only issuing it to keep the press and fanatics out of the way in finding her."

  "Thank you. I understand the reasoning. I am so sorry to have disturbed you so late."

  After a few more encouraging words to the woman, he finally got her to hang up. He curled his lip at the mock sympathy. Then he chortled. Pavlo cracked a ghost of a smile.

  "This is excellent." Dion went to the wine rack in the corner of the room and chose a choice bottle. After popping the cork, he poured a glass without offering any to the other man. It wasn't that he was being rude, but Pavlo always rejected the offer. Ever since the ordeal with Syrinx...well, the other man had been more closed off. Yet he remained with Dion anyway. He could have followed Pan regardless of his appearance. All the Arcadians had curled horns. Pan had offered to take the Boeotians with him that wished to go. Surprisingly, none had.

  "Yes, sir. Your plan seems to be working as you anticipated."

  "Indeed. I cannot wait to see the outcome." He took a sip of his drink. "Call Melancton. Tell him it is time to reveal Pan's location to Silenus."

  Pavlo cringed and then nodded. Dion knew he had a history with Silenus, much like Pan did. It was part of the reason there was a middleman having to pass the word down the line. Dion had noticed, of all the Boeotian satyrs, Melancton was the only one Pavlo trusted. Even though Pavlo had remained with Dion of his own freewill, he didn't particularly seem to enjoy his company. But Dion paid him well and kept him living comfortably throughout the centuries as a personal assistant. He could leave if he wanted to, but he would not be welcomed back. Dion was sure that was why he stayed. Why they all did. Loyalty brought them benefits they wouldn't survive in the modern era without.

  "Also, we fly to New Jersey in the morning. Make the arrangements, will you? Oh, and fax those gag orders to the hotel we drafted in case Pan acted out, and then call the police station and warn them to keep it under wraps as well." It was a command, not a request. Dion would simply flash himself to the airport in Atlantic City once the other satyrs landed. He had provided them a way to change to human form during the day. A gift Dion much like Pan had given the Arcadian satyrs when they followed him to the other god's homeland.

  Pavlo nodded once more, bowed, and left the room.

  Finishing his glass of wine, Dion then made his way back up the stairs to his bedroom. As he entered, one of his women screamed in the throes of an orgasm, compliments of the other's tongue.

  "Don't think that means you're finished for the night, my dear." Dion stripped back out of the robe and tossed it to the floor before climbing into the deep red, nearly violet, silk sheets. He plunged his cock into the wet folds of the blonde who had climaxed seconds ago. The other female he positioned to where he could lick her at the same time.

  The god of debauchery was a title he'd oft heard in reference to him. If he had to be a god of anything, there was nothing better, and he damn sure lived up to the hype.

  Chapter 7

  Mornings sucked. Kat opened her eyes and the events from the previous night assaulted her memory and she groaned. Peter was sitting on top of the chest of drawers, hands resting on the wooden edge of the piece of furniture visible between his denim-clad thighs. He arched a brow and smirked as she become aware of him.

  "It wasn't a nightmare, was it?" Her fear wasn't with her anymore. Instead, she felt the pull of sadness gripping her heartstrings. What would to happen to her? Cindy and Rick must be freaking out. Oh God, I've been so focused on myself that I've not given them a bit of thought.

  "I'm 'fraid not, vixen. I owe you explanations, and now that you slept off your denial and panic, you might be able to handle it." He snorted. "You know the word 'panic' is derived from the god Pan's enjoyment of hiding in bushes and startling trespassers as they wandered through the Arcadian forests?"

  Ugh, Greek gods again? She didn't know why he found his comment so amusing. Why encourage him? However, she couldn't prevent herself from asking, "Vixen?"

  Peter released a great sigh, probably because she wasn't biting at his baited hook. Was he disappointed she'd asked about that and not his strange Pan
comment?

  "Your hair and your spirit. Reminds me of a fox because of the color and your cunningness..." He scrunched up his nose. "Is cunningness a word? Anyway, you're female, ergo, vixen. I would have thought the comparison would be straightforward."

  He pushed himself off the chest of drawers, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did so, and onto the floor. He landed lightly on his bare feet—the toed variety, not the hoofed ones. He was dressed in only a pair of jeans. If he was attempting to entice her with those scrumptious abs and the thick, corded muscle that led into the waistband of his jeans, well... Then she should probably be deeply ashamed it kind of worked, and that made her increasingly uncomfortable.

  As strange as the whole situation was, her body still reacted to his. Not as strongly as it had the first time, but the arousal was there, beneath the surface. Too afraid to notice it the night before, it had reared its head once more. Her reaction was beginning to concern her. It couldn't be natural, yet it didn't feel wrong.

  I'm losing my mind.

  Peter held a hand toward her, and she warily accepted it. He pulled her to her feet and led her into the hall. Kat half-expected human hands holding elaborate candelabras to extend from the walls, moving with them as they passed, like in The Phantom of the Opera. Except Peter would turn around, half demon-faced, and proclaim he was the devil of New Jersey rather than the Opera Ghost.

  Then he did turn around and gave her a reassuring smile and her stomach fluttered. She told herself it was fear, but she wasn't exactly sure. Why did she feel things she shouldn't with this man?

  Leaves and debris littered the upstairs floor, blown in from the broken windows that lined the path. She could smell the pines and also something else. Bacon? Kat fidgeted, hating to have to ask the question she needed to ask. "Um, which way is the bathroom?"

  Momentarily startled, Peter opened a door not far from the room they'd exited. "I apologize. I nearly forgot."

  Light poured through the small window at the back of the room he revealed, made brighter by the dirty white floors and walls. The porcelain tub was old, with the lion claw feet at the bottom lifting it off the floor. The enamel of the sink was cracked down the center, and the toilet looked like it hadn't been used in years. A bucket of water sat next to it on the floor and an unopened package of toilet paper beside it.

  "Do you not use the bathroom?"

  He shrugged. "I do, but not as often since I don't need to eat regularly like humans. My body doesn't produce waste unless I eat or drink daily. And I haven't been really living here much lately. I move around from place to place."

  She didn't think she'd ever had a stranger conversation. He'd considered himself not human, yet he looked perfectly human at the moment. Nothing like the creature she'd seen the night before. She shuddered involuntarily. "A satyr thing?"

  "Not quite. I believe I'm one of a kind among them."

  Kat waited to see if he would elaborate, but he pointed to the water pail instead. "As I haven't been living here frequently, the utilities are not turned on. About ten years ago the plumbing was updated, but if I turn it back on, the company will trace it, and I find I'm not in the mood for more visitors. I poured water in the toilet last night, but in case more is needed for flushing, I have provided more. There is a well behind the house. I'll be happy to carry the bucket up the stairs for you when you have need of it."

  Kat guessed Peter had been quite spontaneous with the kidnapping if he hadn't even turned the utilities on to accommodate her. Or maybe she was giving him too much credit and he was only playing nice to get in her pants, and then he'd kill her afterward. Therefore, utilities were not necessary in the grand scheme of things. It was a secluded spot in the woods. The chances of surviving his little fiasco were looking worse by the minute.

  After ushering him out of the room, Kat practically flew to the window to judge her chances of climbing outside. Her heart sank. Not only would her hips not fit through that frame, but she would have to drop all the way down where a wicked looking tree stump twisted out of the ground. She slinked back to the toilet and did her business. Then she washed her hands and face with the freshly unwrapped bar of soap using the bucket of water. Since the shower was obviously out of the question with no running water, and filling it full of lukewarm well water to bathe in would be quite the hassle, she made do with a quick rinse with the water she had. She'd refill the toilet tank the next time she came up here. And she figured Peter telling her where to find the water meant he wasn't going to hold her hand as she moved about the house. Or at least she hoped so because convincing him she wouldn't run provided an opportunity to, well, run.

  When she exited the bathroom and joined him at the top of the stairs, Peter picked her up. Kat stiffened, and he explained that the stairs, like most of the house, were in need of repair and dangerous. She didn't question why he thought putting two people's weight into one would be any safer but went with it. If they fell through, he'd be a cushion to land on.

  Kat observed her surroundings as they descended. The banister was thick and solid wood. It had seen better days. The windows on the first floor were all cracked or broken in. In fact, the only one she'd seen still intact was in the bedroom Peter had taken her to the night before. More leaves were scattered around the first floor. Dense cobwebs hung in all the corners and from the unused light fixtures. Dirty, dusty sheets draped what little furniture remained in the house. There were no pictures on the walls, and other than the room upstairs and the things she noticed crawling through some of the webs, no signs of life existed within.

  Peter returned Kat to her feet and reclaimed her hand. Wordlessly, he led her through the next doorway, brushing the cobwebs aside to allow her entry. After she passed through a short, dark corridor, they entered a wide, spacious kitchen and dining area. It had been scrubbed clean. Two plates of eggs and bacon were placed on opposite ends of the long dining room table, which could seat about sixteen people. Along with the food, there were utensils and glasses of orange juice. The food smelled delicious, and glancing at the dish in the center of the table, she saw there was enough for second helpings. He'd cooked for her.

  Kat's mouth watered. She glanced at Peter, seeking an explanation.

  "I cleaned it while you slept. Went into town..." He narrowed his eyes. Kat's first thought was there must a town nearby or he must have a car, which meant getting away wasn't as futile as she'd assumed. "I flew."

  So much for hoping.

  She gestured at the food. "I thought you didn't have utilities." Like electricity or gas.

  "I don't. I cooked over a small fire in the yard. Like campers do these days—how people cooked in the past. The juice isn't cold, but it is freshly squeezed.

  Kat decided the thought of Peter gently squeezing the oranges, coaxing the juice from them, was more than she could deal with imagining at the moment. Her filthy mind imagined his hands squeezing her breasts, causing her feminine juices to...well... Since her mind was too easily influenced, she'd throw away her romance novels when she made it home too.

  * * *

  Pan led Katerina to the table, pulled out the chair for her, and pushed it in when she was seated. He then took his time strutting to his own chair and sat down, instantly regretting that he'd placed himself at the opposite end rather than next to her. Yet he'd hoped she may appreciate a little space while she came to know him.

  He picked up his fork and peeked through his lashes at her. Katerina sat, hands in her lap, scrutinizing him. Pan put his fork down, the clank of silver against the stoneware echoing in the large room. "Aren't you going to eat?"

  Her stomach growled in response, making her cheeks pinken. "How do I know it's not poisoned?"

  "If I wanted to kill you, Katerina, you'd be dead already." This answer seemed to placate her enough. Why would he go through the trouble of cooking only to murder her later? Pan watched as she frowned at her plate and stabbed a fluffy, yellow piece of scrambled egg with a fork before she lifted it off the plat
e. She sniffed it, turning her blue gaze toward him. She popped the food into her mouth and chewed. Closing her eyes, she sighed.

  Damned curse. Surely he wouldn't have been turned on by a woman eating scrambled eggs without it. Surely.

  Satisfied his woman wouldn't starve to death on his watch, Pan ate his own breakfast. The flavors hit his tongue and he stifled a groan. When was the last time he'd eaten a cooked meal rather than fruit or vegetation? He didn't have to eat daily to stay alive, but being around humans made him feel awkward if he wasn't mimicking their actions to blend in. Otherwise, he could go weeks without a single bite to eat. Pan enjoyed food though, and bacon was delicious.

  Taking a sip of orange juice, he began wondering how to explain his existence to a human. He'd never had to. Before the curse, gods were accepted by the mortals. The human women and nymphs he'd bedded had known who he was, what he was, and had accepted him for it. After the curse, things became...more difficult. There'd not been a choice in honesty with the human women he'd slept with since then. Pan kept his illusion of human form firmly in place, or did as far as they knew, and left them directly afterward. Still, he hated hiding any aspect of himself.