Obsidian Magic (Legacy Series Book 2)

by McKenzie Hunter

  Several times I looked up from the menu to find Gareth’s gaze planted on me. “How are things at home?” he asked with a faint smirk.

  “You know how things are. Savannah’s bat crap crazy. I swear I expected her to bring a wheelchair into the room and make me use it.”

  He smiled. “She’s quite enthusiastic, isn’t she?”

  “The words you are looking for are overbearing and overprotective. Not enthusiastic. That makes her sound like she’s Mary Poppins singing me nice little ditties while we clean up or something. She was a freaking drill sergeant forcing me into bed to recover.”

  His voice dropped, low, concerned. “Your injuries were bad. Worse than they looked once they weren’t obstructed by your clothing.”

  I glossed over the bad injury information and went straight to the part about my clothes being removed.

  His brow lifted at the same time one corner of his lips did. “Now who’s the arrogant one? You think I’m so desperate to see you naked that I’d do it while you were injured?”

  Warmth pricked at my cheeks, and I hated that it did. He smiled, leaned into the table, and dropped his voice to a low purr. “I’m sure when you’re ready for that to happen, you’ll let me know.”

  And then he leaned back in the chair once again like he was giving me a view of him. Why did he have to be so full of himself? Oh, because he’s probably actually been near a mirror to look at himself. I rolled my eyes away from him.

  “Things with Savannah could have been worse.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “She’s an associate of the Shapeshifter Council now, given right of protection and assistance when necessary. If she felt she was in danger or needed any form of assistance, including an obstinate roommate who is in danger and in turn putting her in danger, one call and she could have had a houseful of shifters there to offer assistance.” Amusement made its way to his eyes and added a sparkle to the indigo shifter ring along his pupils that already shimmered as the light hit. “I wonder if she knows this. Hmm, perhaps I should tell her.”

  Me glaring at him from across the table only added to his amusement.

  It wasn’t until we had eaten dinner and I was slowly slipping into a chocolate-induced euphoria from the dessert that I relaxed back against my chair.

  He slid my glass of wine to me and I took a drink.

  “What?” I asked after several moments of him watching me.

  “I like you like this,” he said quietly.

  “What, slightly buzzed and coming off a sugar high?”

  “No, relaxed. You don’t seem to do it often.”

  My life wasn’t necessarily full of relaxing moments. I relaxed too much or became too comfortable, I could possibly die. But I didn’t say that. I simply shrugged and smiled.

  “The Necro-spears were taken again, and we have no idea how it was done. They were stored behind magical barriers and a restriction was placed on them to keep them from being located,” Gareth said in a low voice edged by irritation and frustration.

  “You think Conner is behind the theft?”

  He made an exasperated sound. “No, he said he didn’t have any knowledge of it.”

  “He’s a sociopath, of course he would lie about it. He has to know who has them.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Not while he was braced and being questioned by a fae. He couldn’t use magic to block it. So we got the truth.”

  There were other players involved. But who? It had to be someone with magic, who could get past wards. And then the realization hit me—with Conner and his accomplice Legacy detained and rendered magicless, there had to be someone or someones with equal or stronger magic to locate the Necro-spears and break the magical barriers surrounding them.

  “We have to find the other Legacy,” I said.

  It wasn’t as cut-and-dried as I wished it were. Unlikely alliances were formed. HF would do anything to get rid of supernaturals and so would another group—possibly Legacy and Vertu; they all had to be stopped.

  I became very aware of the way Gareth’s firm hands pressed into my back. His thumb lightly stroked there and I liked it—a lot. I really wanted to blame the two glasses of wine I’d had with dinner for my inviting him in once we’d pulled up to my apartment. The devilish look that shadowed his appearance and the wicked smile that beveled his lips were all signs to proceed with caution. Was there ever caution with Gareth? At the moment I really didn’t care.

  You want to come in for a drink or something? Had there ever been a more BS line spoken? Let’s have a drink seemed classier than saying: “I just kicked Conner’s ass, possibly saved most of the supernaturals from being murdered, escaped from Humans First, and survived a fight with a mutated hound, and I want to feel the warm lips of a very sexy man on me and possibly see him naked. Let’s do this.”

  The moment I opened the door, Gareth pressed me against the wall; his lips caressed mine. His hands moved over the lines of my body. Clawing at his shirt, he eased back just enough to pull it over his head. Settling in to me, the weight of his body pressed me harder into the wall. He inched my dress up my thighs as my legs curled around him, pulling him closer to me. He tugged at my dress as he kissed me hard, sparking a need for more. He pulled away as he nipped at my lips, tasting them. Holding me to him, he starting to carry me toward my bedroom when his phone buzzed. He ignored it and it eventually stopped but then started again. He ignored it again. A voice called his name over the speaker. I made a mental note never to accept a phone from the faes. Holding me close to him, he snatched it from his hip. “What!” he growled into it.

  As the person on the phone spoke, Gareth’s hold on me loosened and he lowered me to my feet. When he hung up, a look of anger, fury, and betrayal was displayed prolifically on his face. Knowing he was a shapeshifter and predator capable of carnage and destruction was one thing, but witnessing it unfold in him was something else. Scary. Protective magic pricked and started to slowly roil over me, ready to protect me if necessary.

  “They’re gone. Every one of them,” he said through gritted teeth.

  I knew who.

  A look of betrayal quickly overshadowed Gareth’s other emotions. “The Guardians of Order helped get them out.”

  Emotions brewed in me, too, but mine came from a place of confusion. Why?

  Before I could ask, he’d turned around and left.

  MESSAGE TO THE READER

  Thank you for choosing Obsidian Magic from the many titles available to you. My goal is to create an engaging world, compelling characters, and an interesting experience for you. I hope I’ve accomplished that. Reviews are very important to authors and help other readers discover our books. Please take a moment to leave a review. I’d love to know your thoughts about the book.

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  Happy Reading!

  www.McKenzieHunter.com

  www.McKenzieHunter.com

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It will never change for me. I am always grateful and humbled by the people who help me through the process. I want to offer my sincerest appreciation for my beta readers: Angie “Nana” Hatcher, Kathy Beard, Kylie Kniese, Marla Maslan, Misty Chancellor, and Ryan Sundy, for their hard work and honest feedback. My friends and family who have been with me throughout the process and have always supportive and encouraging.

  I would also like to give a special thanks to my patient and wonderful editor, Luann Reed-Siegel, who works so diligently to help bring my stories to life.

  Last but definitely not least, I would like that thank my readers for allowing me to entertain you with my stories.

  BOOKS BY MCKENZIE HUNTER

  SKY BROOKS SERIES

  Moon Tortured

  Darkness Unchained

  Midnight Falls

  Lunar Marked

  MOON TORTURED (SKY BROOKS SERIES BOOK 1)

  I looked around the unfamiliar room, acute
ly aware of the light footsteps below me. This wasn’t the first time I’d awoken in a strange place, naked and bloodstained. But it was usually in the woods with Bambi’s or possibly Thumper’s mutilated and half-eaten carcass lying next to me. Waking up in a stranger’s house—naked—surrounded by a distinctive male musk was inconceivable. My life just wasn’t that interesting.

  Each time I moved, my body ached as it pressed against the hardwood floor. I tugged the blanket closer, brushing my sweat-drenched hair away from my face, slowly came to my feet, and looked around the meticulously neat room. The king-size bed across from me was covered by a henna-colored, paisley-patterned duvet that looked like it had never been used. Dark mahogany nightstands were placed on each side of it, meticulously aligned with the headboard. Even the bronze gourd lamps on the nightstands were perfectly centered. The room looked like a hotel room, but I had a feeling I wasn’t in one.

  Where am I?

  I took a quick look at my reflection in the cheval mirror across from me: my hair was disheveled, a long scratch ran along my right arm, and plum-colored marks in the late stages of healing covered my shoulders and arms. Handprint-shaped bruises wrapped around my calves. I wasn’t sure which was worse—the way I looked or the way I felt.

  The scent of blood and spiced musk inundated and lingered in the large space. The walls were solid and reinforced. They would be damn hard to break through without tools. When the double-paned security windows opened with ease, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was on the second floor. No problem. I’ve jumped from higher.

  Taking a seat on the small accent chair in front of the writing table, I looked through the drawers before delivering the same treatment to the dresser, nightstands, and walk-in closet. With the exception of the hangers I found in the closet, everything was completely empty.

  I looked out the window. It was late afternoon and the sun would set in a couple of hours. I was surrounded by what looked like nearly twenty acres of dense woodland. I assumed I was still in Illinois, but for all I knew, I could be in any of the other flat states surrounding it.

  Every visible area was covered by large masses of trees. There wasn’t a neighbor in sight. If I screamed, it would go unheard. How far would I need to go before I ran into someone?

  I was about to find out. I quickly braided my hair and tucked it into a bun, then I tightened the blanket around me.

  Before I could do anything, I heard light footsteps approaching. I wondered if I should stay in the room or wait to see who was coming. I opened the door. It was so thick and heavy it was an effort to open it. That must have been to block out sound.

  I poked my head out and saw him. I could never forget that tense, harsh grimace and his predacious movements. Forced to the surface was the memory of him standing in my living room covered in blood, four bodies lying at his feet. He had killed them so effortlessly and brutally that my only instinct now was to run.

  I considered securing myself in the room, but it locked from the other side. Instead, I darted out of the room and down the hall, running past an oddly placed console and sprinting toward the stairs, nearly hitting the wall as the hall came to a dead end. Taking a sharp right turn, I kept running, barely holding on to the blanket. Saving my life trumped Midwestern modesty.

  “Skylar!” His voice was like sandpaper. I continued to run, lunging for the stairs in a frantic rush. But I didn’t make it before a firm grasp yanked at the blanket, pulling me back. Crashing to the floor, I skidded backward and slammed against the wall. When he reached for my leg, I kicked him. Spinning on my butt, I kicked him again. My legs thrashed out, trying to keep him at bay. It was the same way they showed me in my self-defense class.

  Nothing seemed to deter him.

  His cruel gaze and vicious movements made his declaration that he wasn’t going to hurt me hard to believe. Werewolf strength gave me a physical advantage most of the time, but he had my five-eight frame by at least four inches. His lean, sinewy muscles flexed and tightened, holding exceptional power. With one swift movement, he grabbed my legs, immobilizing me, and pulled me into his arms. I was bundled so tightly that the only thing I could move was my head. His movements were so efficient and precise it was obvious he’d done this before—many times before.

  I clawed at his hands. When his hold didn’t give, I bit down into his shoulder, grabbing more t-shirt than skin. I stayed clamped to whatever I had, doing whatever it took to keep him from taking me back to that lockable room. Steel-like corded muscles flexed and distended, making it difficult to keep a firm hold. The unforgiving muscles fatigued my jaw and made my teeth ache, but I hung on.

  Pounding down the hall, he seemed unaffected by my teeth embedded in his arm. He tossed me back in the room. When I wouldn’t stop screaming, he leaned over me. “Shut up!”

  I couldn’t. Yelling at the top of my lungs, I hoped someone, anyone, would help. I needed to be heard, to stop him before he did to me what I had seen him do to those four other people.

  MOON TORTURED (SKY BROOKS BOOK 1)