If it was Kieran, then she had to keep her distance from him.
Key walked into Illusions, the largest bar at the Mystique hotel. The multilevel space was about the size of a large hotel suite. Every table was made of glass with colored lights that sat on a black floor for dramatic contrast. There was a long glass wall encasing dancing waterspouts. At each end of the wall, a long bar snaked out, the surface changing colors as the lights on the dancing water shifted.
He scanned the bar, looking for the woman from his wall. The one he hadn’t been able to bring himself to paint over yet. He’d been shocked when he’d seen her in the meet and greet. Alive. Real. He wasn’t crazy.
But why had he drawn her? Was Liam alive? Why would his brother surface now? Over the last eleven years, Key had occasional bursts of drawing Liam butchering witches. His best friend, Phoenix, thought it was guilt and bloodlust manifesting in him.
When he wasn’t caught up in the power of the frenzied drawing, Key thought Phoenix might be right. Guilt and violence were his constant companions.
But now—how the hell did he draw a woman he’d never seen? And Christ, when he’d seen her in the flesh, his entire being twanged like a pitch pipe. As if his deepest cells were affected by her. He had to find out more, like why she’d run when Key had made his way toward her. Who was she?
Where was she? He’d already searched the restaurants and was running out of ideas. He scanned the people sitting at the tables when his gaze caught on a woman walking into the bar.
It was her!
Excitement tensed his muscles, but he checked the intense urge to approach her. When he’d tried that in the meet and greet, she’d run. He found a table and sat down to watch her.
She walked with purpose to the end of the bar farthest from him. Her red hair was pulled back in a sleek, low ponytail that showed her heart-shaped face and green eyes. Her spaghetti-strap top barely contained her full breasts, her slim black pants hugged the sweet curve of her hips and ended just above her shoes. Even dressed, she was softly sexy and romantic, not his usual type. Key gravitated to a harder type of woman, the kind he couldn’t destroy easily. Women who just wanted the thrill of screwing him because he was famous. Women who didn’t look too deeply past his surface.
He couldn’t look away from her, and continued to watch as she approached a man, slid onto a bar stool next to him, and accepted a glass of wine.
Narrowing his eyes, he repressed another urge to leap to his feet. He didn’t like her with another man. It made his thoughts swirl in red violence and his chest burn.
What was happening to him? Was it because she was a witch? But he couldn’t smell her witch blood or feel her power. Even across the room, a witch hunter could sniff out the power in witch blood. He inhaled to see if he could catch any scent and got a lungful of copper stink.
There was a rogue somewhere close: Adrenaline surged through him, causing all his enhanced hunter senses to sharpen even more. He didn’t see any men with the overbulked muscles and too-soft features that rogues had. Yet the hair on the back of his neck bristled an alarm. A rogue was there, but shielding himself to appear invisible. Key couldn’t see him, but he sure as hell smelled him.
Then the scent began to fade.
Key jacked up out of his chair, and followed the odor out to the atrium that was in the center of several restaurants and shops. The stink of copper kept moving farther away from the bar.
A bad feeling stirred in his chest the farther he got from the woman in the bar. If she was a witch, had this rogue homed in on her, waiting to get her alone to kill her and harvest her blood? Key followed the smell to one of the long hallways, then hesitated, his instincts screaming not to leave the woman.
At the other end of the hallway, the rogue materialized.
Shock punched Key so hard, he froze to the spot. Time hung still as he took in the man standing at six foot five inches, about two hundred and sixty pounds with copper-colored hair surrounding a face that had a masculine jawline but feminine, hairless skin and delicate eyebrows. His arms were hairless, too, but packed with bulging muscles.
Liam. Alive. His half brother who had cut and tortured Vivian, the girl Key had loved, trying to make her tell him where the Dragon Tear was. Like a kaleidoscope, the memories kept changing—Key saw himself holding her in his arms as she died. She’d been innocent, carrying their child, and had had no idea the Tear even existed. His brother had tortured her. Liam cared nothing for anyone or anything but himself and that Dragon Tear.
The memories broke apart until all Key saw was Liam as they stared at each other. Then Liam spun and ran through a door at an astonishing speed even for a rogue witch hunter.
Key’s shock shattered, and he snapped into action, racing after his brother, determined to finish the job of killing him. But he was too late—Liam got into a black SUV and peeled off into the night.
Why after all these years had his brother shown up now? How had he survived Key’s knife to his heart? And why here, in Las Vegas, instead of where Key lived in Glassbreakers, California? He knew one answer; Liam was after the Dragon Tear. He’d do anything to get it. But how did the woman Key had drawn on the wall fit in?
The woman! Had Liam lured him away from her purposely?
He turned and hauled ass back to the bar.
Roxy slid onto the bar stool, and keeping her face bland, she said, “What do you want, Mack?”
He pushed a glass toward her. “I ordered you a Chardonnay.” Then he pulled his dark eyebrows together. “Look, Roxy, I’m worried about you.”
“Why?” She accepted the glass of wine and took a sip. What did he know, and what did he want from her?
Mack sipped his Scotch and then said, “That mark means you’re in danger. I travel extensively with my work and come into contact with a lot of people. I’ve heard stories about women with that mark, and the group of fanatics who try to find and kill the women who have it. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it on you.”
A shiver trickled down her spine. Was he telling the truth? Witch hunts throughout history had proven how deeply mortals feared the idea of witches. But … “You took a picture.”
He nodded. “I wanted to compare it to the images I’d seen. I had to be careful; I didn’t want to reveal who you are or endanger you. The image matches; you’re a”—he looked around then whispered—“witch.”
She wasn’t sure if he believed his story, but there were some nuts out there. How else would Mack know what that mark meant? “It’s just a birthmark,” she said to fill the silence while thinking.
“A birthmark in the shape of a fertility goddess?”
She jerked her gaze to him as alarm traveled through her. He knew too much, was too specific. Too intense. “You didn’t say anything then,” she pointed out while studying him.
He reached over to touch her arm. “You got so upset, too upset to listen. And I was worried; I wanted to check it out. Roxy,” he leaned toward her, “let me take you to dinner. I’ve made reservations at a nice place. We’ll talk and figure out how to keep you safe.”
She pulled her arm free and took another drink of her wine. Like hell she’d go anywhere with him. He might be telling the truth, but taking a picture in such an intimate moment was just creepy. She needed more information. “Tell me how to find out more about this group.”
He shook his head. “Too dangerous. What if they have other ways of discovering what you are? Better if you stay close to me for a while as I check into this more.”
She shifted into full disbelief. He was maneuvering, withholding information to stay in control. Her instincts might have failed her once with him, but now they were pinging. “I haven’t heard from you in two months and suddenly …” A buzz slid along her spine. She suddenly felt … exposed.
“I was being careful!” Mack sucked down more Scotch, then calmed his voice. “I will tell you everything at dinner. It’ll be quieter there, and we can talk. I have my car.” He stood up and took her
elbow.
The buzz kept tingling from her pelvis to her heart. Her chakras! Mack cupping her elbow irritated her, his touch repellent. Jerking her arm from him, she stood. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” If her chakras were reacting, her Awakening must be in the bar. She turned and searched. The dim and colored lighting made it harder.
“Roxy, I’m trying to help you. Just come to dinner with me. Don’t make me—”
His words cut through her distraction. Sensing a threat, she whipped around to stare at his darkly determined eyes. His jaw was tight and his shoulders high. “Make you what?”
He visibly relaxed and softened his tone, “Worry about you. I want to clear this up between us.”
That wasn’t what he was going to say, she was sure of it. The skin of her inner thigh prickled insistently and distracted her again. Turning from Mack, she did another search. Would she recognize her Awakening once she saw him? Was it Kieran? She looked past the people lining both bars and moved on to the tables. She saw groups, and couples …
Then she spotted Kieran standing at the back of the room, his eyes focused on her. Her chakras shivered in reaction, and her schema prickled. Everyone else in the bar became background noise, meaningless to her. In that second, she knew he was her Awakening from the almost magnetic pull she felt, the urge to move closer to him. She couldn’t look away and noticed that he stood alone, not even a drink in his hand. Blue and black lights spotlighted him, showing his hard edges. He had a long face, deep-set eyes, harsh mouth, and a chin that would crack knuckles. His shoulders strained his T-shirt.
His gaze was locked on her as if she were his prey. She actually felt dizzy, her limbs almost heavy. The intensity of his attention shivered over her skin and swirled inside her. The throb in her schema grew. Desire began to warm her body, tightening her nipples.
No! Dear Ancestors, her body was trying to call to him.
“Roxy,” Mack put his hand on her shoulder.
It felt like sandpaper on her skin. She didn’t want his touch, not Mack. She jerked away, and, unwillingly, she turned back to Kieran. When their eyes met, she started to move, lifting a foot to walk toward him.
He started toward her, weaving through the crowd with a feral grace. Coming for her. He’d touch her, and she’d lose control.
No!
She turned, slapped the wineglass on the bar. Suddenly the room was too hot and the walls were closing in. She felt sluggish, almost ill. A headache was taking root behind her eyes. Something was wrong … but she had to leave, get away from her Awakening, from Kieran. She took a step, then another, focusing on the door.
The atrium. Get out there, then go to her room. Away from Kieran, away from Mack. She kept walking, faster and faster.
“Roxy, wait!”
Risking a look back, she saw Mack following her. She frowned at him. “Leave me alone!”
Then she looked over to Kieran.
He was following her, too.
She stumbled, caught the back of a chair. The flashing lights made her dizzier, her vision was getting fuzzy. Panic dumped adrenaline into her system and she shoved off the chair. She was half running and made it out into the atrium, then she looked around to get her bearings.
She couldn’t focus, the room began to spin, her stomach heaved. Tried to make it to a bench along the wall. Couldn’t, and suddenly, she was falling.
Two arms slid beneath her. Strong, warm, safe. Roxy struggled to focus. Kieran’s face appeared. He lifted her off her feet and held her easily. “Feel sick. Something’s wrong.” Her words were slurred. Did he understand? She couldn’t hold on.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
She slipped into blackness.
Key caught her just as she passed out. With so much happening, he couldn’t sort it all out, but he knew the woman in his arms must be connected to Liam. His brother was really alive—
“Who the hell are you? Give her to me. She’s my wife. Drunk. Can’t hold her liquor. I’ll take her.”
Key shifted his gaze. It was the man from the bar. He stood at five eight, dark hair and eyes, wore a blazer over a T-shirt in the Hollywood-poser fashion. He’d distinctly heard the woman tell this guy to leave her alone. Fierce protective anger surged in Key, but he maintained his control. “Beat it.”
“Hey! I said—”
The jackass looked right at him with a challenging stare. That gave Key the opportunity to use his hunter ability to shift memories by traveling through optic nerves to the other man’s short-term memory. After two seconds, Key felt the sponginess in the nerves and knew he wasn’t the first witch hunter to memory-shift this guy. It had been more than a coincidence that Liam had picked tonight to show himself to Key. This guy was his brother’s mortal flunky. They were working together.
Christ, things just kept getting weirder. The woman’s scent of honey-almond curled around him, but he could also smell sour sickness taking hold. She wasn’t drunk, he didn’t smell enough alcohol on her to make her sick. He felt pinpricks of witch power, but it was faint. What the hell was going on?
“What’s the problem here?”
Key glanced at the man in the suit fitted with a lapel mike and he had an earpiece. Hotel security. He thought fast, worried about the clammy feel of the woman in his arms. Staring into the man’s eyes, Key said, “Diabetic. I have her medicine in my room.”
“Need a doctor?” he asked.
The man who’d been insisting the woman was his wife began edging away. His eyes dilated in fear and his hands twitched. Key had to make a choice, follow him and hope that trail led to Liam, or help the woman. He could hand her over and …
He couldn’t. His muscles wouldn’t do it. He knew that if the security guard called a doctor and they gave her synthetic medications, it could kill her. Resigning himself to tracking the mortal man later, he said, “I’ll let you know. Usually she’s fine a few minutes after a shot of insulin.” He had no idea if that was true of diabetics, but it got the security guy off his back. He strode to the elevators, got on an empty one, shot up to his floor and hurried to his room. Once inside, he hustled toward the bed and gently laid her down.
As soon as he let go and stepped back, flickers of bloodlust licked at his veins. This close, he could tell she was a witch, but her power was almost flat. Sort of like when he found a dead witch drained of blood by rogues.
As if her power was dying or dead.
But she was alive, breathing fine but lying very still. Given the way that asshole with her acted, Key had a feeling he’d slipped something into her drink. Witches were highly evolved creatures, and synthetic drugs made them sick. On the upside, it looked as if she’d drunk less than half her wine, so she’d live.
As long as Liam didn’t get ahold of her. That thought jolted him with a hot reminder of what it had felt like to desecrate her picture with cuts and blood. He looked at the picture still on the wall where he’d drawn it, seeing the dozen gruesome wounds gushing blood.
His brother would do it if he got her.
Key yanked out his phone, scrolled for the name, and hit call.
“Talk to me, comic boy,” Phoenix Torq answered.
“Liam is alive.”
“You’re doing that frenzied drawing shit again?” the other hunter demanded.
“I saw him. Here in the hotel.”
“It’s been eleven years, Key. He’s dead. You just saw a rogue—”
Key snarled, “For once in your life, shut up and listen!” Then he explained exactly what happened. “He’s alive, and if he’s alive he wants the Dragon Tear.” It’s all any of his family ever wanted.
Phoenix swore, then asked, “Where’s he been all this time? Why now?”
He felt dread wrap around his spine. “I cut out part of his heart, he should be dead. But I know it was him, and he was luring me away from this witch.” He took a breath. “Maybe it takes that long to rise from the dead.” He didn’t know if he was serious or not.
“This isn�
�t one of your freakazoid comic books. The dead don’t rise.”
He hoped not. “He didn’t come after the Tear or me in all those years, so he must have been unable to. Nothing else would stop him. Nothing.” Key knew it like he knew his own name. “You don’t want to believe me, fine. But that Dragon Tear cannot be discovered. Ever. You are the only other person who knows about it.” Key had told Phoenix so he would understand—if Key went rogue, Phoenix had to kill him before Key got to the Dragon Tear.
“Ailish and I will be there in a couple hours. Hang tight.” He disconnected.
Stowing his phone, he dropped his gaze to the woman on his bed. He was pretty sure the slumber was so her weak magic could clear out the toxins of whatever shit was in her drink. Even semiconscious, she was incredibly alluring with lush, female curves. The way she’d felt in his arms, somehow instinctively trusting him, made him even more protective.
What did his brother want with her? How had this witch with the flat power caught Liam’s attention? Where the hell had Liam been all this time? There was no time to waste; he had to find out how she’d crossed paths with Liam so he could protect her.
Then he had to kill his brother and make sure he stayed dead this time.
He needed her awake. Now.
He went into the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the tub. Returning to the room, he took off the witch’s shoes, then scooped her into his arms. “Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Roxy jerked awake when she landed in ice-cold water. Her heart slammed against her chest, adrenaline rushed, and her head pounded. Bile rose up the back of her throat. Thrashing around, trying to escape the freezing wetness, she realized she was in a bathtub.
A large one made of marble.
Still wearing her clothes.
Her stomach churned as she shoved up to her feet and clambered out of the tub. What the hell had happened? Sleepwalking? But this wasn’t her room in the hotel, none of her lotions or cosmetics or her curling iron sat on the counter.
She looked for a towel, caught sight of the huge man and went still. Her heart knocked hard enough to crack a rib. There, leaning against the closed bathroom door was Kieran DeMicca.
Sinful Magic: A Wing Slayer Novel Page 2