Master of Passion

by Angela Knight

  “Who the hell is that?” Adam demanded.

  “Branwyn, we’ll gate you here,” Ulf said, raising his voice to be heard over the phone.

  There was a long pause. “Fine. I see a parking spot I can pull into. Can you pinpoint my location, or do I need to go somewhere specific?”

  “We can gate you from there,” Opal said. “Just make sure there’s no one around.”

  They listened to the rumble of a car engine cutting off, then the click of boot heels on pavement. “Okay, I’m in an alley.”

  Opal gestured, and a gate appeared in the middle of the kitchen. Branwyn stepped through it and stopped dead, her jaw dropping in astonishment. “Good God,” she murmured, gazing around in growing awe. “Is this… Is this the Mageverse? It’s…”

  She turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide. “The magic is so thick, it’s like honey. It’s just right here.” She gestured, and sparks followed her fingertips.

  Adam eyed her, as assorted weird events from their mutual past made sudden sense. “That time the Taliban fighter didn’t see us when we were standing right in front of him -- you cast a spell on him, didn’t you?”

  “No, that was me.” Something moved behind the thick curtain of her hair, emerged onto her shoulder and scuttled down her arm. It looked like a cat-sized Chinese dragon with a long snaky body and stubby legs, green scales gleaming with iridescent streaks of violet and gold that rippled as it moved. A bright red frill ran from between huge golden eyes to the tip of a long, whipping tail.

  Adam recoiled. For once, his brain provided no useful information about something weird and magical. “What the hell is that?”

  “The fella who saved your ass a dozen times,” the lizard retorted in a thick Irish brogue. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re the one she was talking to,” Adam said, feeling a little stupid.

  Branwyn smiled down at the creature fondly. “This is Finvarra. He’s a magical being, and he’s saved both our lives a dozen times. We were lucky to have him, because I don’t have that much power.”

  “Where did you get him?” Adam badly wanted to touch those elegant scales, but he didn’t want to tempt the needle-sharp teeth Finvarra bared at him.

  “The Mother of Fairies. But he’s been in the family for generations.” Branwyn turned to the two Magekind. “Now, does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on, and why those Fomos just busted up my newsroom?”

  * * *

  “Fuck. Me.” Branwyn leaned back in her chair, scrubbing her face with both hands. Ulf and Opal had left them alone to discuss the situation, and they’d spent the last half hour hashing it out. “What a mess.”

  Adam’s fascinated attention slid back to the lizard yet again. Fin was a gorgeous little creature, but he didn’t look real. “How the hell do you have enough brainpower to talk in such a tiny head?”

  Finvarra glared up at him. “Not the only thing that’s tiny around here. Don’t think you’ll be getting lucky any time soon.”

  “Fin,” Branwyn said. “Quit antagonizing him.”

  “Jesus.” Adam braced his elbows on his knees, staring at the lizard. “My entire life has gone loony tunes. Vampires. Witches. Escapees from Disney movies…”

  “I’ll show you a Disney movie…”

  “Fin!”

  He ignored the byplay. “How can I trust anything they tell me when they can make me believe anything?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, you’ve never had a talent for trusting people.”

  He flicked her a look, then gestured at Fin. “Which is a mystery. I mean, just look at how honest everybody in my life has always been.”

  Fin glared. “Would you have believed Branwyn if she had told you about me?”

  “If you’d popped out of her hair, yeah.”

  “You saw a fire-breathing dragon and bloody blue aliens last week, you gobshite, and you’re still denying what’s right in front of your face.”

  “She could have told me.” The words came out far more naked than he’d intended. Worse, they sounded hurt. He instantly wanted to take them back, hide the gaping vulnerability they exposed. “Do you really think I would have betrayed you?”

  “I couldn’t take the chance. If it had been just me, it would have been different. But it wasn’t just me. The existence of magic isn’t just my secret. It’s Conal’s, and my sister Aislyn’s, not to mention the Magekind’s, and all the other Sidhes’, and even the werewolves’. Adam, you’ve built your entire life around revealing shit people want to keep hidden. You see how everybody on the planet is reacting to this -- they’re all losing their damned minds. World leaders are preparing for war, Evangelicals are saying it’s the end times, Alex Jones says your neighbor may be an alien -- and I’m who he’s talking about. We always knew it would be like this, and it always scared hell out of us. I couldn’t tell you.”

  Adam raked a hand through his beard, fighting to keep his reaction off his face. He felt naked enough as it was. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “I never really thought you would…”

  “Except you did, or you’d have told me.”

  “Well, now you’ve been told,” she snapped. “Question is, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to deal, or are you going to keep being hurt and pissed off? You’re one of the Magekind now, whether you like it or not. Fact is, you always have been.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll blend right in,” Finvarra told him. “You’re an arrogant wanker too.”

  Ignoring her scaly pet -- or accomplice, or whatever he was -- Branwyn tried to lighten the mood. Evidently, she realized how flayed he was feeling. “Look at it this way. Being immortal wouldn’t exactly suck. Where will humanity be in a thousand years? You’ll see the future, Adam.”

  “Assuming we haven’t blown ourselves up, drowned ourselves, fried ourselves…”

  “Unlike the rest of us, you can do something to keep any of that from happening. Why the hell wouldn’t you want to?”

  He rose from his seat and began to pace. “Yeah, I want to. But Opal still fucked with my head. They could make me believe anything. And what else could she do?”

  Branwyn picked up the bottle of Scotch Opal had left and poured each of them a refill. “Look, I’ve watched these people in action. So have you. They were willing to go up against a dragon alone to save mortal lives. They really are the good guys.”

  She had a point. The death toll last week would have been even higher without the Magekind. And yet… “Being a good guy doesn’t keep you from doing some pretty appalling shit.” He thought of some of crimes he’d seen committed by people who believed their actions were fully justified.

  “Look, the Mother of Fairies told me that if we didn’t have the Magekind, this planet would be a radioactive rock now. Khrushchev and Kennedy were about to declare World War III during the Cuban Missile Crisis until Magekind agents convinced them both to back down. Humanity has had the bomb for seventy-five years, and that includes the Pakistanis and the Indians and a bunch of other people who hate each other’s guts. The Magekind are the reason none of those narcissistic asshats have nuked each other. These guys say they need you, Adam. I understand your doubts -- and I’m going to miss you like hell -- but you have to do the right thing.”

  He blew out a breath and studied her. “So you think I should accept the Gift?”

  Branwyn shrugged. “According to this Alys, it’s that or die.”

  “Yeah, but I’d have to sleep with Opal. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. Plus, she hates my fucking guts.”

  Branwyn smiled. “Hating you is a lot harder than you think it is.”

  “Now, I wouldn’t go that far,” Finvarra said, looking up from the Scotch glass he’d had his scaly muzzle buried in.

  “You’re just jealous, Leprechaun.”

  “Yeah, Thor wannabe?” He reared on stubby hind legs and gestured lewdly. “I gotcha hammer right here.”

  * * *

  A half h
our later, Opal closed the kitchen door behind Ulf. She’d already gated Branwyn and Finvarra back to the reporter’s car.

  “All right, I’ll do it.” Adam said the words quietly. He stood by the bar looking grim. “I don’t like this, but the eight hundred people who died last week probably didn’t like what happened to them either. If I can keep anyone else from dying, it’s worth taking the chance.”

  The tension ran out of her so fast, a smile of relief bloomed across her face. “Thank you, Adam.”

  He nodded shortly.

  They stared at each other. Oh, Jesus. Now what?

  “Now what?” he asked, echoing her thought.

  “Ahhh… Alys told me we need to get this started now, because if we wait until the shit hits the fan…”

  “When is the shitstorm scheduled?”

  “I have no idea.” Opal studied him as he stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, with that glorious mane of blond hair. She’d loved it when Joaquin had worn his hair long, but it had gotten in his way in combat, and he’d usually insisted on keeping it cut. Remembering the thick, shimmering waves of black falling around her face as he took her, Opal felt her heart constrict. Am I really going to be able to do this with him?

  But she knew her duty. So she was, by God, going to seduce him if it killed her. Opal stepped closer, curving her lips in a smile.

  Adam jolted back a step and eyed her warily.

  She stopped. “Do you want to do this or not?”

  “Yeah, I just don’t want to do it with someone who looks at me as if she scraped me off her boot.”

  She frowned in chagrin. “I do not. And it wouldn’t matter if I did. I’d still do my damn job.”

  “Yeah, there’s a recipe for passion.” He studied her dubiously. “So Alys says I need the Gift. But the… thing, the spell you put in my head, says it will still work if we do the three times one right after the other. We don’t have to start tonight.”

  “In theory, but you’ll need at least one Daysleep to complete your transformation. Which means the process is going to take at least a day. We can’t afford to waste time, or you won’t be ready when we need you.”

  “Okay, fine.” He stepped over to her. She controlled the impulse to retreat. “But if we’re going to do this, I want to call the shots.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean I take the lead this time instead of you pulling my strings.”

  Opal met his gaze and blew out a breath. Tried not to think about Joaquin. “All right.” She waited for the kiss, but it didn’t come. Instead Adam just stared into her eyes. Opal shifted uncomfortably, but she had discipline, by God, and so she made herself wait.

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Leave it all to me.”

  “Fine,” she said, and started to cross her arms. Realizing that was self-defeating, she dropped them again and forced herself to meet his eyes. Found herself staring. Joaquin’s had been a warm, velvet brown, but Adam’s were a vibrant turquoise. He really was ridiculously handsome, with that straight nose, high cheekbones, and a neatly trimmed honey beard framing his jaw line. His hair was the most gorgeous she’d ever seen on a man, a hundred shades from rich brown to gold to sun-kissed honey. And yet she’d never seen him use the hair, never caught him shaking it out or arranging it to draw a woman’s eye. “Doesn’t that mane get in the way?”

  “Sometimes.” He reached for hers, combed his fingers through her curls, caught one, drew it out, watched it bounce back. “Does yours?”

  “I keep it braided when I fight.” Her voice sounded a little rough, and she had to stop and clear her throat. “And I wear a helmet.”

  “It’s soft,” he breathed. He released the curl, let his hand drift to her lower lip to brush his thumb delicately across its curve. She was surprised at how rough and calloused his skin was. Somehow she’d thought his hands would be soft. Licking her lips, she realized he tasted faintly salty.

  Opal stared up into his eyes and had the sudden sensation that she was falling, as if her entire consciousness was being pulled up into those amazing eyes. Looking closer, she saw there were thin threads of gold in his irises, and she wondered if that was an illusion created by the hair.

  This close, she could feel the magical buzz of the Gift deep in his cells. She couldn’t smell him the way vampires could scent a Latent, but she’d have known he was Ulf’s son just from the contours of his face. His lips were a little fuller than his father’s, though, with more of a curve to the upper lip. And there was something in the shape of his eyes that wasn’t quite the same. It made her wonder what his mother looked like.

  Adam bent his head. He did it slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat. Asking permission. She didn’t retreat, of course. It was only as his lips touched hers that she realized duty had nothing to do with her willingness.

  She wanted to know how he tasted.

  Like Scotch, she realized as his mouth sampled hers. There was warmth and an intoxicating bite, yet his kiss was also exquisitely gentle, the lips brushing back and forth across hers with no more pressure than a whisper.

  Adam paused for a moment, as if to give her time to decide whether she liked it, then took her lower lip into his mouth for a soft, tugging suckle. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, drew her gently closer. Close enough her body touched his all up and down its length. Just the barest touch at first, until he stepped in closer, making her aware of the size of his body against hers, the thick muscularity.

  Unlike Joaquin, there was nothing of the wiry swordsman about him. He seemed to dwarf her, with the width of his shoulders, the thick, bunching muscle of his powerful chest.

  And she liked it.

  She’d been considered a very tall woman as a mortal. In fact, the word “mannish” had been thrown at her more than once. As a Maja, she’d added more lean muscle to her build. No way around it. You didn’t swing a sword in combat -- or even combat practice -- without putting on muscle.

  Adam made her feel dainty in a way Joaquin never had.

  The thought shot guilt through her, and she started to pull back. Duty, a voice whispered in the depths of her mind.

  It sounded like Joaquin.

  Adam brushed his knuckles over the line of her jaw. His skin was calloused there too, scarred and rough. His tongue traced the line of her lips ever so gently.

  It had been so long since a man had kissed her like that. Oh, both the lovers she’d had since Joaquin’s death had kissed her, touched her, but never with such exquisite care.

  Making love to him won’t be a hardship. The thought flashed through her mind, feeling a little disloyal, yet right behind it rolled a quick, aching heat.

  She’d loved making love to Joaquin. Loved the hot rise of passion, the climax, the touch of his hands. It was startling to find that same intensity and eroticism in this ridiculously young man. He was still in his thirties, for God’s sake, yet he seemed to sense what she needed better than lovers with centuries more experience.

  He slid his fingertips down her arms in feathering touches that made the hair rise on her body in a way it normally did only in the presence of magic. She opened her mouth to his, curious. Wanting more.

  Adam made a deep, approving sound in the depths of his throat, and his hands moved, sliding behind her back, drawing her after him as he stepped backward, one step, two steps, his mouth still hot on hers, his tongue slipping into the wet depths of her mouth, whiskey and fire.

  Opal groaned a little, mouth opening more for him. Still kissing her, he guided her as if they were dancing, one of those waltzes of her mortal days. She felt a little as if everything was swirling around her, the blood pulsing faster in her veins.

  He began to sink, and she blinked a little, confused, until she realized he was sitting down in one of the kitchen barstools. He pulled her forward, and realizing what he wanted, she stepped wide to accommodate his long legs, then crawled into his lap, facing him.

&
nbsp; He released her, and she lifted her head to stare into those gorgeous eyes again. So vivid. So many colors. Dark blue around the rim, paler in the center, threaded with gold. His hair tumbled over his forehead, and he looked at her through his hair as he reached up to cup her head, his fingers sinking into the curls. She shivered a little, entranced, and reached up to brush his jaw with one hand. His beard felt a little prickly against her palm.

  When he pulled her down for another kiss, she was acutely aware of the contrast between prickly hair and velvet lips. She watched his mouth pulling into a slow smile, his pupils expanding in arousal.

  And his pupils weren’t the only thing, either. She could feel him lengthening under her ass, thick and intriguing. Damn, the man was hung. “You’re starting to get into this.” Her voice sounded a little ragged, which was just flat out embarrassing.

  He was the one who should be nervous about making love to her, but there was none of that in his lazy smile. “The question is, are you as turned on as I am?” One hand found the hem of her T-shirt, slid under it to touch the bare flesh of her abdomen. His hands were warm. Angling his head, he looked at her mouth.

  With a soft moan, she bent to sample his lips again, and he tasted just as wild and raw as he had the first time. Just the Scotch, she told herself.

  The hand exploring beneath her shirt brushed lazily over her belly. He didn’t go directly for her breasts as she’d expected. “So much soft skin over so much lean muscle,” he murmured. “Like a dancer, but without the borderline anorexia.”

  “I fight for a living,” she said defensively.

  “Hey, don’t get me wrong -- I approve.” His mouth took on a roguish smile. “Makes me wonder what you can do besides fighting Fomos.”

  She eyed him, wondering if she’d imagined the challenge in his voice. “Let me show you what I can do.” Opal lowered her head. Now she wanted to be the aggressor, the seducer. She let her body off the chain and went for him like a starving kid in a pastry shop. Kissing a high, arrogant cheekbone, then nibbling a path down to the line of his beard, her tongue rolled over hair that was soft when she stroked one way, bristly the other. She let her hands explore his broad, intriguing shoulders.