Hopeless Magic

by A. K. Koonce

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Thirteen

  About A.K. Koonce

  Hopeless Magic

  Hopeless Magic

  A.K. Koonce

  Hopeless Magic

  Copyright 2018 A.K. Koonce

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Desiree DeOrto

  Editing by Varankor Editing

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales are entirely coincidence.

  To the Hopeless. May they return to us and save us all.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One – The White Light

  Chapter Two – Hopeless

  Chapter Three – Liars

  Chapter Four – The Eminence

  Chapter Five – Shuddering

  Chapter Six – Saint’s Inn

  Chapter Seven – Beautiful Harmony

  Chapter Eight – Prince Charming

  Chapter Nine — The Middle

  Chapter Ten – A Good Day

  Chapter Eleven – An Opportunity

  Chapter Twelve – The Beauty in Scars

  Chapter Thirteen – The Kingdom

  About A.K. Koonce

  Chapter One

  The White Light

  Coarse strands of rope twist through my fingers as I haul myself even higher up the tower. My fingers thread right through it and I realize the rope hanging from the window isn’t a rope at all but … human hair.

  The night wind whips cruelly against me, pushing my small frame against the side of the disintegrating brick wall. My pale locks sting across my cheeks. I clench my jaw and lift my gaze higher to the window with the blinking light. It’s unnatural. The white light burns brightly into the dark sky before fading into nothingness.

  I heave another breath as my boots shift against the wall and I pull myself up the ancient tower. Rocks scrape and crumble beneath my every move, falling away with ease. A stinging numbness sets into my thin fingers and I’m starting to wish I had stolen that drunk’s coat before I left the bar.

  The way he spoke about the unseen tower miles out of town, the tales he told of the wealth that rests within it, had my feet moving before he’d even slurred a word of warning.

  No one’s ever been able to warn me of anything, though. So what if I’m an orphan? So what if I’m not tall enough or strong enough? So what if I’m a girl? So what if I’m too pretty to be taken seriously?

  That’s never stopped me before, and it certainly isn’t going to stop me from claiming the prize at the top of this fortress.

  Solid brick greets my nails as I dig into the opening of the window. A burning breath stings my lungs. I throw my leg over the ledge and slip inside without a sound.

  The light’s gone now. Darkness veils my sight. The long hair that lead me up the tower is tied off on a rusting hook. Next to the hook is something white. Something familiar. Something that makes my skin crawl just looking at it.

  A human skull.

  I turn away, rejecting the sight of it. My shoulders square and I pull the sword from my belt. The weight of it settles my nerves. It was my father's. Before I was a thief, I was just a pretty little girl with a promising future ahead of her. After my father’s death was when I learned all the things that made me the resilient woman I am today.

  His blade helped mold me even without his presence.

  Something in the shadows shifts, my gaze sweeps every inch of the dark room.

  “You should leave. Now,” a deep voice warns. But he’s too late.

  A short dagger glints in the moonlight. I barely have time to see the shine of it before it quickly sinks into my side.

  Horrified gasps part my lips and my brows pull together in anger and confusion.

  The attacker slips the dagger from my flesh as quickly as it came. My fingers slide slickly across my skin as I press hard against the wound.

  Hot blood pools through my fingertips. My heart thrashes in my chest and I just know.

  It’s fatal.

  Painfully, my jaw clenches as a scarred and twisting face reveals itself to me.

  “You should have listened to our little Prince, love.” His gruff voice crawls through the small room. Shadows hide his features from me, but he tilts his head to the corner of the room at the mention of our little Prince.

  I breathe hard before raising my father’s sword with more strength than I intend. I plunge it into the man, railing it through his abdomen. I don’t stop until it’s all the way through his wide body, clinking against the brick wall behind him.

  His glossy eyes hold mine, and my lips purse firmly as I hold his stare.

  It’s a look that screams fuck off. It’s a look I usually reserve for clingy boyfriends, but I suppose it works here as well.

  Even as I bleed out, I’ll cling to that false sense of strength I always seem to hold.

  I don’t have the energy to retrieve the blade from his frame as he sinks to the floor with a solid thud. My vision blurs, my breaths becoming shorter and shorter. It’s an effort just to take shallow gasps of air.

  I’ve seen death enter a man's eyes before with a vacant and fearful shine. I’ve seen his life slip through his fingertips.

  It won't be long now …

  “Get the key,” someone whispers. His voice circles the room.

  As I stand here dying someone seems to think they have something more important to be doing. My death seems to really be interfering with their fabulous day.

  The white light I saw from the woods, the white light that lead me here to my death, it strikes through the room once more. It flickers sporadically, waning into a dim hue of gold.

  Three men stand gripping the bars of a jail cell in the corner of the room. The one with golden hair holds his hands together as if he’s harnessing a force between his palms. The light burns with a pulsing hue from the center of his hands.

  What is he holding?

  “Come on, we’ve been here for over a year, love. Get the key.”

  A shaking breath filled with annoyance parts my dry lips.

  “Did you see what happened to the last man that called me love?” I narrow my eyes on the prisoner with the pale gray gaze. My lips twist with confidence even though I feel my strength fading.

  The other man at his side turns to him with a smirk pulling at his features. There’s a similarity between the two men. One holds taunting humor and the other total anger. It’s then that I realize they’re the same.

  They’re twins.

  “Please, lo—woman, get the key.” Yes, because women love nothing more than to be called affectionately by their gender.

  Asshole.

  The scowl never leaves his handsome, dirty face as he points across the room to a single key displayed proudly in a glass case. A dim light illuminates the key, taunting them with the closeness of their freedom.

  The scraping sound of my boots moving sluggishly skims through the small room. I lean into the wall as I reach high for the brass key.

  The thin display case teeters and the enclosing box falls away from the key. Fine particles of glass shatter across my boots but I don’t notice it as I
stand on the tips of my toes to reach the key. It’s cold against my skin. My fingerless leather gloves are all that separates its metal from my numbing flesh.

  I turn back to them and the three stand wide-eyed, watching me with expectation as I hold their lives in my hands.

  Over the years, I’ve been taught to never give anything away for free. A person's life is worth quite a bit.

  I know because mine’s already gone.

  Panic wraps itself tightly around my stomach as I realize I can’t manage a real intake of air. I push aside the selfish thought and walk to them with fear gripping my chest. My life is over, but their lives don’t have to be. The key fits perfectly into the lock with a scraping sound of metal on metal. It turns with ease.

  One of the twins claps his hands as they all race from the cell.

  My eyes close heavily and I sink to the floor in a warm puddle of my own blood. Slick fingers fall from the fatal puncture wound, my hands no longer able to hold the life within me.

  The man with dark hair, one of the twins, lowers himself down to his knees. Crimson blood stains his dirty jeans.

  He clings tightly to a mysterious light in his hands.

  “Thank you,” he says. My eyes flutter, wanting to see him—the last person who will ever see me before I die.

  I guess I won’t die alone after all.

  The effort of opening my eyes is too much.

  He presses a warm kiss to my temple. It’s an affectionate gesture that I would have hated if I weren’t teetering on the hazy line between life and death. It feels nice, though. To feel loved. To feel treasured. To feel … like my life mattered.

  Even if it is just pretend.

  A painful, empty breath shakes from my lungs, the last one I have the strength to take.

  Heat radiates through my side as he presses his hand to my flesh, just over the knife wound. A light shines brightly against my closed lids. Nerves tingle all through my body.

  A strong sound pounds loudly through my ears, filling my hazy consciousness.

  My heartbeat.

  Chapter Two

  Hopeless

  My eyes flutter open. Moonlight shines down on me, casting the tree limbs of the forest into a disarray of tangled shadows.

  For a moment, an odd dream drifts through my mind. A dream I’ve had a time or two before; a dream of my death.

  It felt real this time.

  “Hey, she’s awake.”

  My eyes flutter open and I realize I’m snuggled against a man’s chest. Even worse, I just ran my fingers up his hard pecs in appreciation.

  The only thing that could seal my ridiculousness is a slow hum of approval.

  So I do just that. A lazy moan of affection parts my lips and I settle my head comfortably onto his shoulder. Then I fling my eyes wide open, pushing the sleep from my mind to remind myself this is real life and I cannot stroke strangers I do not know.

  What is wrong with me?

  I jerk my hand back from him as if he’s on fire and I don’t want to have the misfortune of joining him in the flames.

  Shoving hard, I push out of his capable arms. My feet hit the dry forest floor with ease and I turn to him as my hand moves to my belt. Nothing but smooth leather greets my fingertips. The cold, hard metal of my sword is nowhere to be found.

  I stumble back, fear threading through my veins as I realize I don’t have the weapon I always depend on. My back hits something solid and I turn, coming face to face with the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s like looking into the pale early morning sky.

  “Looking for this?” the man asks with a gleam in his bright gaze. He holds my father’s sword in his grubby hands, a scornful smirk lacing his full lips.

  Tightly, my mouth closes, my jaw setting hard as I glare up at his impressive height. It takes less than a second for me to assess my situation.

  The two men, who appear to be twins, stand carelessly behind me. Neither of them move in to harm me. Neither of them appear to be a threat.

  The man before me is the only one who seems to pose a threat since he holds my sword. But it’s a playful look that fills his features. Stains of dirt tarnish his white shirt that’s pulled tight against his broad shoulders.

  They’re all too large for me to really defend myself against.

  And that thought alone decides their unfortunate fates.

  With a swift jerk of my leg, my knee meets his balls. I reach for my darling sword just as he drops it, his wide shoulders hulking down as he holds his most precious possession.

  “Didn’t expect that,” one of them says casually from behind me.

  The twins exchange a surprised look and I don’t give them any warning before I dart off into the night.

  “Get her. We need her!”

  Fear snaps through my chest as I push my feet to move faster. Twigs crack beneath my hurried steps, and limbs lash across my flesh. None of it registers in my mind.

  My life is all I care about. Surviving is all I’ve ever known. Tomorrow’s mine for the taking, as my father always said. That phrase holds a new meaning now that I’m older. Tomorrow will come. I’ll be there to see it. Tomorrow’s mine for the taking, as long as I can survive today.

  My boots stumble against slick mud and my breath catches as his body slams into mine. I thrash against his strong embrace, my hair flicking across my face as I struggle. Warmth seeps into me from his body against mine. It’s an overwhelming warmth that makes it difficult to breath.

  “Get off of me.” I stomp hard on his boot but he doesn’t release his hold. “You’ll regret ever laying a hand on me.” My voice teeters into an angry shriek that echoes into the night.

  I sound like a pissed off little girl. I probably look like a pissed off little girl the way he’s holding me as if I’m a thrashing toddler.

  “Calm down, human.” His voice is gravelly and rumbles through his chest.

  He turns us, still holding me firmly from behind.

  In all my life, no one’s ever held me like this. No one’s ever gotten the upper hand on me.

  “Darrio, shit, you’re scaring the hell out of her. Let her go already.” The man with identical features to my captor gives him an impatient look, his brow raising as he studies us. “You two look cute like that, by the way.”

  “Shut up, Daxdyn,” Darrio says in a gruff voice.

  His twin smirks at him, seeming pleased that he got under his brother’s skin so easily.

  “Both of you knock it off. We need her.”

  Calm breaths meet my lungs as I force the adrenaline building in me to a dull hum.

  “What do you want?” I ask in a sharp but reasonable tone.

  The blonde, the one I just introduced my knee to, gives me an odd look.

  “You got a lot of fight in you for someone who nearly died an hour ago,” he tells me.

  My lips part. Nothing but a surprised breath escapes.

  He’s lying. It doesn’t stop the doubt from circling my mind, though.

  “What do you want?” I stiffen my spine to my full height, my body going rigid in Darrio’s arms. Out of the corner of my eye I can see his dark beard pressed against the top of my head.

  Thin lines slash up and down the bronze forearms wrapped around me. Scars kiss his skin; the scars of a man who’s seen battle too many times it appears. My attention lingers there for a moment before staring up at the men in front of me.

  “We need you to take us somewhere,” the blonde tells me hesitantly. “We were drugged and captured over a year ago and we need to get home. We don’t even know where we are.”

  Does he expect me to feel bad for him?

  “And why would I help you?” I pause, my brow arching high, “Again.”

  Darrio shifts until his dark hair can be seen. I turn to him and he narrows his gray eyes at me. “Do you really feel you’re in the right position to be sounding so condescending?” His words are gruff and clipped, and the way his voice sounds almost holds my attention for a moment. It�
��s a voice you feel everywhere on your body; an alluring sound that you want to hear as a whisper against your neck.

  Swiftly, I shake the thought from my head.

  I roll my eyes at him and the other two men smile back at me.

  The man with short, light hair takes a few steps closer to me. His hand reaches up and he pushes back my long, tangled hair with ease. My teeth clench together painfully as I shake my hair away from his touch.

  “We did save your life. Isn’t that reason enough?” he asks.

  A tingling feeling races through my body and my fingers twitch at my side with the memory of the dagger sinking into my flesh.

  Was that real?

  I push the strange memory away. My shoulders square and I cling to my confidence.

  “You’ll have to do better than that; my life isn’t worth very much.” My lips quirk into a smile I don’t feel.

  “I like her,” Daxdyn says with a smirk that warms his eyes.

  “You like everyone,” Darrio replies in an even tone.

  “Her especially.” Daxdyn gives me a wink that makes him too attractive for his own good. He’s all smooth features and even smoother talk.

  I’ve met a thousand men like him in my life. His charming swagger will get him killed one day. I’d bet money on it.

  “I can pay you,” the blonde finally tells me. He folds his arms securely across his broad chest.

  “Hmm a prisoner paying a thief. Sound’s reliable.” Sarcasm drenches my words. I stand before him unflinching as he assesses me from head to toe.

  “You’re a thief?”

  The cold wind chills my flesh, whipping at the exposed skin of my lean abdomen. My dark jeans are ripped and worn. The stolen weapon’s belt at my hips is too large and is disheveled from my struggle with Darrio.

  I’m a mess.

  A beautiful fucking mess.

  Daxdyn’s gaze trails across my body as well, heating my flesh with his burning attention. “You’re too pretty to be a thief.”

  “I’m not too pretty to save your ass, though, am I?”

  A beat passes as we just stare at one another. He smirks at me with a gleaming look of happiness in his silver eyes. Daxdyn holds a confidence that probably makes women crazy. One that makes them do stupid, stupid things just for his affection. All his smile does is set me on edge. I’m certain I’m the only female on the planet who’s complaining about his good looks.