Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  How arrogant of me.

  My stomach churns. Oh god, what if this is all in my head? What if I’ve imagined the entire thing? Embarrassment flares in my cheeks and I take a step back from the door and turn, but it’s too late. I hear it open up behind me.

  I turn around, my eyebrows raising in confusion at the person who has answered the door. It’s Emma…from Mum and Dad’s coffee shop. But that can’t be. She’s missing…the police are looking for her.

  “Emma?” I step forward, coming further into the light that spills from the doorway. She looks different and yet somehow herself—blonde, petite, pretty, but her eyes are hollow.

  “Emma?” I ask again and reach out a hand to her, my forehead furrowing further.

  Heavy footsteps sound out behind her and she’s yanked away from the door. It slams in my face when I try to follow her inside. I stare at the closed door open-mouthed.

  What is she doing here?

  I am about to knock again when it reopens and there stands Mr Breckt’s…what? His bodyguard?

  “Yes?”

  “I, erm…was that Emma? What’s she doing here?” I ask, trying to peer round his large frame.

  “What are you doing here?” He reflects my questions, and I squirm under his intense stare. His dark brown eyes burn into mine.

  “I’ve come to see Mr Breckt, actually.”

  He raises a questioning eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth turned up. He holds the door wide open for me. “Come in then.”

  I hesitate, looking back towards my car, towards sanctuary. This has to be done though; I need to get this off my chest. Seeing Emma here only reiterates that something isn’t right with Mr Breckt…with everyone over here.

  I step inside, moving out of his way while he shuts the door behind me. He turns and walks off down the corridor without saying another word.

  I look around for any sign of Emma, and when I look back, the large man is far down the long corridor.

  “Hello? Should I follow you or what?”

  Or what? I shake my head and hurry after the silent brute of a man. As I walk, I notice that the house is sparse of furniture, yet it’s opulent in rich materials: marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and rich wooden banisters with gold beading sculptured into it. We pass through a long corridor lined with tall windows; heavy, red velvet curtains frame each one. As we enter a circular foyer, my eyes stray to a large bookcase laden with beautifully bound books.

  The house is silent apart from my heels tip-tapping over the floors as I trail after my guide. He comes to an abrupt halt in front of a large wooden door, and I slam into his back so preoccupied I am with looking around.

  “Oh.” I flush, embarrassed, while he looks down at me. “Sorry about that.”

  He looks back at the door, knocks once, and waits. I don’t hear a reply, but after a moment he opens it and precedes me in. I step inside and he backs out, shutting the door behind him and leaving me to take in my new surroundings.

  My heart thumps in my chest when I see Mr Breckt on the other side of the room. He stands staring out of the window, lost in thought as he takes a sip from a crystal tumbler. He’s wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, his dark hair rugged around the nape of his neck. He drains the golden liquid swiftly and turns to look at me with a heavy sigh.

  “Mia,” he states softly; a smile flickers across his features.

  My body responds to him without my consent upon the utter of that one word. The way he says my name is so possessive and carnal, as if his tongue is caressing his most prized possession. I watch him move to his desk where a crystal decanter sits, and he refills his glass. The image of his strong hands on the crystal sends a shiver down my spine. I feel those hands on me…pinning me in place. Those lips that part to swallow the golden amber liquid—how would they feel upon me? I gulp and break myself free from the fantasy.

  “I’ve only come to say that, that…that, you have no chance with me.” My hands are on my hips, and I feel vaguely like Wonder Woman but without the costume, and so I quickly remove them. “You and me,” I gesture with my hands back and forth, “this…thing, whatever it is that’s going on, it’s not going to happen. Wait, what I mean is . . .” My heart picks up its pace, beating harder against my breastplate.

  Mr Breckt smiles at me, a gleam in his eye. He looks away and pours himself another drink. “Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing to his glass. I shake my head. “Do you want one?” My mouth feels dry, arid of any moisture.

  “No,” I snap, and then, “No, thank you.”

  He pulls another glass from the cabinet and places some ice cubes in it, ignoring my answer.

  I roll my eyes. “Well maybe just the one.”

  I watch him pour the whisky into both glasses, keeping hold of one glass, he slides the other one along to the opposite end of the desk, and then leans back, resting his backside against the top of the desk and nods his head towards my glass.

  “I, erm…thanks.” I fumble with my bag and coat before dropping them onto a chair in a messy pile, and make my way over for my drink.

  I watch him as I get closer, his gaze following my every move. I need to keep my distance from him. I know what he’s like: he gets under my skin. If I can just say what I need to say, put him straight on a few things, and ask him what I need to, this can all go to plan. I pass him as I reach for my drink. His top button is open, and I gulp loudly when my eyes stray to his firm chest underneath. His steady gaze watches me while I take a long drink of the whisky; it is both hot and cold in my mouth, burning as it goes down.

  “What I came for really,” I say, calmer now, “was just to say…to acknowledge really, that I see the way that you look at me. It’s not to say that I’m not flattered. I am, obviously, but…”

  He strides towards me, his long, lean legs reaching me in just a few steps. He takes the glass from my hand and places it on the table next to us.

  “Beautiful Mia,” he says my pet name and runs a hand down my face. I feel the spark shoot between us. “You feel that?” he asks almost shyly.

  “It doesn’t matter what I feel, Mr Breckt.”

  “I told you to call me Robert, Mia.”

  “It doesn’t feel right calling you that, Mr Breckt.”

  He chuckles softly. “You’re so defiant, Mia.”

  I flush under what I feel is praise. “Well, anyway, like I was saying. I just need you to be aware that nothing is ever going to happen between us…”

  His hand reaches for my bobble, my body tensing when he gently tugs my hair free. It cascades around my shoulders in what I can only assume is a mess. He runs his fingers through it, and I moan in response.

  “That is what you’re saying no to. Can you really deny yourself this? There is something special between us, Mia. Something beautiful just waiting to happen.” He rips his shirt open dramatically, and buttons fly in all directions. He takes my hand, placing it on his muscled chest. “Now, tell me that you don’t want this.”

  I almost snort at his arrogance and the cheesiness of the move. It’s a low blow really, but regardless, sensations pulse through me, running currents up and down my thighs. His skin is cool under my hot palm, smooth and sensual when he traces invisible patterns over the back of my hand. My body is quavering for him, and he’s so confident that it’s sickening.

  He leans in close. Too close…as if we are in conspiracy, almost.

  My breath hitches in my throat. My heart hammers for release against my ribs, and I am trapped in his smouldering gaze. He knows what he is doing to me, and is enjoying it to the point of smugness. I try to peel myself away from his intense stare, the greens of his eyes burning into me. I flush hot, and then cold.

  Jesus, I’m burning up. Combusting, and still he moves closer.

  Mr Breckt stands before me, a beautiful man.

  An Adonis.

  A god.

  His look is heated and his sculptured lips open to reveal perfect white teeth. “You want this.” His voice is cool and c
lipped. He places his hands on my buttocks, squeezing and pulling my body against his. I feel him hard against my thigh and shiver involuntarily in eagerness.

  “No.” I swallow hard. My loins shriek in disgust with me.

  Yes you do!

  “Of course you do,” he says dismissively, as if suggesting something of less importance than this. Nevertheless, I feel his yearning. I see it in his eyes as they move over my body, drinking me in.

  And I do. I want him so much it burns every inch of me. I would do anything to give in to the desire that he causes within me. To feel him on me, our bodies moving in harmony.

  His hands move to my waist, caressing upwards, and touching every inch of me to my shoulders. I flinch, and his jaw clenches at my response, the ghost of a frown on his forehead.

  He’s so handsome… so damn handsome. His smell is overpowering me. It’s both bewildering and intoxicating. I feel dizzy and weak with wanting.

  I am weak.

  How can I want him so much and say I love Oliver? I have come here to put an end to this, whatever this is. A tear springs at the corner of my eye. What to do? It’s so simple in my mind, yet my body quivers under his touch when he pulls me closer, my heaving chest against his.

  Traitor! I want to yell at it, yet still it yields to him, receptive and alert, begging for his touch.

  Mr Breckt tips me back across his arm, his face hovering over mine. His face is cloudy with lust, and my traitorous body clenches from the feel of him so close. Heat bursts from his groin when it grinds against me.

  “You want me, Mia,” he states, unwavering and confident.

  Bastard! I cannot lie. I do want him, and I hate myself for it. Tears slide down my cheeks at the realisation of what I am about to do, but I’m unable to stop myself from making perhaps the biggest mistake of my life. He leans in, his mouth open to kiss me, to slide his warm tongue on to mine; my stomach is doing somersaults at the thoughts that are intruding upon my mind. His hands touch places they shouldn’t. His lips brush against my most secret spots.

  His warm breath washes over me again. He smells so sweet, so sickly sweet it turns my stomach. He nips at my neck, licking along my jugular.

  Just give in to it. My body begs for him, my legs unsteady.

  His lips touch mine delicately, teasingly. His hands fist in my hair, grasping the nape of my neck when he tilts my face up to his. His face has a look of wild anticipation, a wicked gleam to his eye. I see myself in those eyes, my face reflecting back at me, tinged green from his irises. I see myself frozen and lost. Shamefaced.

  Oliver. My heart calls out for him and I pull away with force at the last possible moment. Mr Breckt stumbles and then straightens himself, looking at me bewildered.

  “No.” My voice shakes. I’m panting for him, even as I take another step back.

  “No?” He tries the word out. Rolls it around on his tongue and tastes it for good measure. He looks at me deadpan, his beautiful face contorting in confusion. “No? What do you mean no?” His voice raises. He’s still in control, though I can see some of his coolness wearing thin now.

  With a wolfish grin and a shake of his head, he takes a step towards me, and I take two back. “Don’t be so ridiculous, come here.”

  “I said no.” My voice is barely audible, but he hears me. My body is crying out for his touch, begging to feel him thrusting into me. But my heart is bringing me to my senses.

  “Mia, it’s just a little fun.” His sensual lips curl up in amusement. “You want me.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question. “I want you.” His voice is deep and husky and he looks me over like a prize cow at fair. “Let me take your body to places of exquisite pleasure. I know you want to.” He smiles.

  “But I love Oliver.” My voice sounds weak and pathetic but I have at least said it to his face. At least he knows where he stands.

  “I don’t care.” His smile drops and he moves towards me again.

  “Well, I do.” I reply, stronger now.

  “I want you!” he snaps like a petulant child, his eyebrows furrowing in fury.

  “Tough.” I shrug. I finally see him for what he is.

  “Tough! You can’t say tough to me. I want you and I’m going to have you, Mia. And you’re going to enjoy it.” He roars, finally losing control of his calm, his temper exploding from him.

  He doesn’t look like the man I thought he was. His handsomeness is gone, replaced by a deep-rooted ugliness. He’s a spoilt, arrogant bully. It’s as if I’m breaking out from under a spell. All I want to do is leave…just get away from him. He makes me sick.

  “No one says no to me,” he spits out the words with a snarl.

  “Well I just did.” I can see the anger coursing through his body, his breaths coming in quick succession. “I only came here to see if you knew anything about Oliver. To see if you would help me find him…to see if there was any humanity left in you.”

  I don’t want him. Not now…not ever. He growls again, his eyes locked on mine menacingly, even as I back away.

  “I can see now that there isn’t. Because if you knew something, you wouldn’t tell me anyway. Would you, Mr Breckt?” I say his name, feeling the distaste for it on my tongue and turn to leave.

  He growls in conclusion to my decision. “Don’t do this, Mia.” His words are almost a whisper.

  I step further away from him, my head held high that I have made the right decision. Finally, I feel free of him. I look back at him with pity.

  He stares at me beseechingly. “Mia…please.”

  The bubble, which has surrounded me from the moment I first met him, finally pops, and I turn from him. I am going to find Oliver, no matter what it takes.

  “Don’t go.” It’s a simple statement. Too short to even be considered a sentence. It’s not a request or a question, yet there’s something in those words, something in that tone which makes me stop. I steady myself before I turn back around to face him.

  Mr Breckt stands before me a broken man, pitiful man, with blood red tears spilling from his eyes. They paint a colourful picture down his face and clothes and I gasp at the horror of the image.

  My heart stops in my chest and time freezes.

  Twenty-Three

  Mr Breckt

  It’s over…I’m over…I’m finished.

  I take a long drink of the whisky which sloshes wildly in my glass. I feel nothing as it goes down. No afterburn, no heat, no satisfaction. I can feel nothing without her, knowing that I am unwanted and unworthy of her.

  I was so sure…so damn sure that killing him was the key to getting her. That with Oliver out of the way she would turn to me.

  Then what? She’s special, without a doubt about it. She’s special. I can practically smell it pouring from her in waves. The power she emanates is so strong it’s ridiculous. There’s not a chance the Queen will let me keep her.

  I shake my head in disgust and take another long swallow of the whisky. What does it even matter now? I go to the table to refill my drink. As I lift the crystal decanter up, my hand freezes in midair. The drink slowly begins to fill my glass.

  I pause in my movements, listening intently. Could it be?

  I hear wheels spinning as they hit the gravel at the front of the mansion, and a screech as a car comes to an abrupt halt. And then I let my senses out, probing and searching for the visitor until they touch upon her…

  …Mia!

  I place the decanter back down and close my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut so I can feel her. She is here. She’s here to see me. I try to stop the smile creep across my face, biting the inside of my cheek until I draw blood.

  This is it, I can feel it, she’s here for me. The pleasure is almost palpable on my tongue, the excitement raring in me, and I take a deep breath to calm myself. I can hear her inside. She’s coming to me.

  I rush to the window, standing with my drink in hand, giving off a blasé look—nonchalant, almost. She doesn’t need to know how eager I am. How pathetic I have bec
ome.

  I swallow my giddiness and my drink down in one when I hear the knock at the door. I feel Donovan sensing me out, and wordlessly I reply for him to enter.

  Silence descends upon the room when she enters and the door clicks shut behind her. I steel myself to look at her, turning confidently.

  My breath catches in my throat. “Mia.”

  She stands before me, a goddess dressed in peasant clothing. A long, dark coat covers her, but beneath I can see tight blue jeans that frame and sculpt her long legs, and a black T-shirt that clings to every curve of her heavy chest.

  Her pupils dilate at the sound of my voice. She wants me. She won’t be able to resist me…not this time. I watch her carefully, letting her ramble on, not really taking in what she’s saying. Keeping my gaze steady, every muscle within me yearns for her, begging to touch her. My hand shakes as it holds on to my now empty glass.

  She looks so beautiful.

  Her glossy, black hair is tied high upon her head like a warrior princess. Her sculptured cheekbones so perfectly formed on her pale face, which at the moment is flushed as she blurts out some nonsense about nothing happening between us. I almost snort in laughter. Instead, I move to my desk and begin to pour myself another drink.

  “Do you mind?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Do you want one?”

  “NO,” she snaps. Then more politely, “No, thank you.”

  Liar! I smirk.

  She licks her plump, red lips and I sense her thirst not just for a drink, but also for me and it’s all I can do to keep my calm and control. I grab another glass, this is going to be fun.

  “Well, maybe just the one,” she adds in defiance before shrugging out of her coat and throwing it, along with her bag, on to an armchair in the corner. She moves across the room gracefully, like a panther, watching me—stalking me with her eyes. Her chest heaves beneath her tight clothing as she gulps down the expensive spirit. She takes a steadying breath before she continues with her ramblings.

  That’s enough. I decide as I move towards her.