Sinful Magic: A Wing Slayer Novel

by Jennifer Lyon

  Roxy was still caught up in the horror of Key’s dad torturing him. He had experienced such violence that it was no wonder he didn’t trust love. And yet he was so careful with her, so gentle. She stared at Kieran, his eyes cold and gray, remote. Shutting down. Protecting himself. Now she knew why, or at least part of it.

  Key shifted, grabbed the overnight bag in his unbroken hand, and headed across the mat. Without looking back, he said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

  Roxy said, “Wait! Your hand! Maybe I can heal it.” He didn’t answer, just shut the door.

  Shut her out.

  That was so not happening. She started after him.

  “Roxy.” Phoenix put his hand on her shoulder.

  She whipped around and stared at him.

  “Key needs his space. You don’t know him like—”

  “You do? So what am I supposed to do, wait around until you say it’s okay to go to him? Just leave him suffering and alone with a broken hand? Is that your plan? Because if so, it sucks!”

  Phoenix’s mouth fell open.

  Roxy sucked in a breath. “Look, I know you’re his friend, that you’re like brothers, but right now, he needs me. Maybe not forever, maybe that’ll change—” Tears burned her eyes, for herself and Kieran. Because didn’t it always change? She’d do something wrong, or they’d find out what her mother had done, and they’d all turn their backs on her. Like her father. Her emotions were riding so close to the surface, she couldn’t sort them out. Kieran had seen something in Roxy no one had ever seen before. He made her see that it was okay to embrace her magic, that she was strong enough to do it. He gave her permission to be herself with no apologies. He gave so much to her but wouldn’t let her give to him. Wouldn’t let her help him. He closed himself off from others that way. “I don’t know if we’ll be like you and Ailish, but right now, he needs me. I can heal his hand, and I can save his soul. So back off.” She realized now that she had to do that first. Seal their souls so he was free of the bloodlust. She was shaking, and she was embarrassing the hell out of herself. But she wasn’t leaving Kieran alone, she was going to help him just like he helped her. She jerked her shoulder from Phoenix and walked to the bathroom door, reached out, and turned the handle.

  Locked.

  “Damn it.” She didn’t dare look around. Were they all staring at her? It’d be really dramatic if she kicked in the door instead of standing there with her hand wrapped around a locked knob. That’d give them all something to talk about. Refusing to acknowledge defeat, refusing to let her frustrated tears fall, she gathered herself and opened her chakras. The energy streamed out.

  She heard a click.

  Roxy took a breath and turned the knob. She’d done it! Going inside, she closed the door and turned the lock.

  The bathroom was fairly large and filled with steam from the oversized glass shower on the right. Glancing left, she saw his knife lying on the double-sink vanity. Dropping her gaze, she spotted the trash can. He’d sliced off the claws and thrown them away. Turning to the shower, through the foggy glass, she saw him. He had his back to her, and water sluiced over his broad shoulders, ran in uneven trails down his muscular back, traveling lower to that sexy dip and then …

  His butt. God, she wanted to squeeze his rounded, sculptured butt. Her skin grew hot, her clothes irritating her. She watched more water stream over his thighs to his calves.

  Looking back up, she saw his left hand hung down, swollen and darkening with bruises. His drawing hand! What were the streaks of red? Looking up to the forearm, she saw the gash he’d sliced into his arm with the claw. It was still bleeding.

  The memory of his pain got her moving. She yanked off her clothes. Pulling open the door, she stepped in.

  Key had his right hand up, working shampoo into his hair. His shoulder and back moved with fluid muscles.

  “I’m not going away,” she said softly.

  He kept scrubbing his hair with one hand. “I gathered that when you used your magic to unlock the door.”

  Roxy’s heart thumped in her chest. “Give me your hand. I’m going to heal it. Or try anyway.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll heal in a few hours.” He braced his good hand against the wall, bent over and stuck his head under the spray, washing off the suds.

  She couldn’t walk away from him. He’d been alone too long. Yes, he had friends, good friends. But he’d carried the burden of the Dragon Tear … she didn’t even know how long. And his father, what had he done to Key? Her heart twisted in her chest. It had been bad enough that the dragon had found a way to help him. She scooted up close to him, pressed her body to his back, leaning over so that he held both their weight. Water bounced off him and spattered over her face.

  “Roxy,” he groaned the word.

  The need in those words pulled out her magic. “I’m here, Kieran.” She laid her hand over the bleeding gash.

  Her magic burst from her chakras, flowing so fast, she wrapped her arm around his waist to keep from falling. With unerring accuracy, her magic raced to his blood, then back, then out again. Finally the wound closed up completely, but her magic felt fuller, stronger. Her schema pinged and throbbed, as if sparks of electricity danced there. “That was a rush.”

  “My blood. I only gave you one or two drops before on your schema. This was more, this fed your magic.”

  “Then I’ll have enough to heal your hand.” She skimmed her palm down over his thick wrist and gently cupped his hand. His skin was hot, and she focused her magic, sending in healing energy.

  She began getting a backlash, first a trickle of pain that grew into a stream. She forced herself to keep breathing, to accept the pain without making a sound.

  Key slipped his hand from hers, with the water still spraying over his head; he opened it and then made a fist. She had healed him. Moments ago, he’d been empty, hurting and feeling exhausted and like a damned freak. Now her magic was swimming through him, her breasts pressed against his back, her pelvis against his ass. Her touch, her voice, her scent, it was all breaking through the gray, damp coldness that usually kept him numb. She was making him feel.

  “Don’t move,” she said softly as she pulled back.

  “Why?” He had no defense against her. Hadn’t she heard him out there? His life was a bad horror movie. Why was she here?

  “Because it’s my turn.”

  “To?” He heard her moving, heard the snap of a bottle cap opening, the soft thunk of setting it down.

  “Wash you. Take care of you.” Her soapy hands came down on his shoulders.

  Key dropped his head, feeling the slickness of the soap beneath the warmth of her hands. His cock was already rock hard from her magic, now it jerked and danced. Turn. Take her. Lift her up, thrust inside her, and make her yours.

  Her hands worked over his shoulders, down his back, up his sides. “Arms up.”

  He couldn’t fight this, didn’t know how. He raised both arms, pressed them to the cool shower wall. Her soapy hands went up, then around, sliding over his nipples. He shuddered, but even more powerful than her touch was the realization that she was seducing him. Giving him what he desperately needed. “Roxy … not here. I’m not going to take you in the shower of Phoenix’s gym.” She deserved more than that, he needed to give her more than that. Take her to a special place with privacy to let herself go, to moan, to scream if she wanted to. Not here where other witches, and hunters with super hearing, would inhibit her.

  She deserved more. He wanted to give her more. But he needed her. As long as she touched him, the bloodlust stayed quiet.

  Her hands went down. He opened his eyes, seeing her ivory hands against his stomach. Healing hands. Hands that tamed the dragon. Strong hands. She slicked back and forth, then changed direction again, rubbing her hands over his ass. Her fingers sliding deep to touch his balls.

  “Oh God.” He spread his thighs apart and leaned his forehead against the tile. It was the sweetest torment, the feel of her hands on him, her
breath feathering over his back, her hard nipples teasing his skin.

  She got more soap. Then crouched, running her hands over one thigh, down to his foot, then back up his other thigh until she edged up and circled his balls with her wicked fingers.

  She stopped, rising behind him. He heard that lid of the soap bottle pop again. Was she going to touch him more? He wanted to ask. Okay, beg. But he didn’t. He endured. He didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe, waiting …

  Enduring.

  Shit. This was wrong. He should be taking care of her. Giving her pleasure. Her schema had to be hurting her.

  She leaned against him again, reached around him and brushed her soapy fingers over the head of his cock. His breath left him in a rush. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and slid down all the way to his base.

  Then up, all the fucking way up.

  Her other hand cupped his balls. And then she opened her chakras. He knew because her magic streamed out through her fingers and hands, igniting a firestorm of pleasure. Her scent, honey-almond, caramel, and dark chocolate, filled him as her hands slid and pumped. Her magic caressed, and she pressed her hot mouth to his back in wet kisses, all up his spine. He lost all control, all will to do anything but feel this. His hips pumped against her hands, and fiery hot pleasure raced down his spine and exploded.

  When he finally settled, when enough blood returned to his brain to think, he turned and pulled her into his arms. Held her against his heart. He tilted her head back and kissed her. He reached down between them, parted her curls, and found her clit. So slick and swollen. She’d gotten this excited touching him. He groaned into her mouth, wishing they were someplace private, where he could lay her down and learn her inch by inch. Denying himself the pleasure of sliding down her body, spreading her legs open, and tasting her was torture, but he could at least ease her now. He wrapped his arm around her middle and lifted her higher. Then he slid two fingers into her sheath and felt her magic pulse.

  His blood heated and he began to stroke her, in and out while feathering her clit with his thumb. She writhed on him and he soon figured out it was her schema. He pressed the outside edge of his hand against that mark, and she shuddered, began pumping, panting into his mouth.

  Oh yeah. He liked this, he liked it a hell of a lot. Once he found her rhythm, he pushed her, touched her, and stroked her until she came apart. He could feel her chest pounding as intense pleasure raced through her.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he looked at her flushed face, her knot a tangled mess of wet hair, her green eyes soft and unfocused. She had come to him, healed him, and given him pleasure.

  She’d chased out the cold gray.

  Key sucked in a breath. She was making him too vulnerable. Doing something to him. Bringing to life more than the dragon. She was making him feel. And that scared him. Maybe she didn’t get it yet, didn’t realize how twisted by violence and ugliness he was. Look what he and the dragon had done to Sutton.

  The dragon wouldn’t claw Roxy, Key was sure of that. She’d gentled him with her soft words and touches. But somehow, someway, they’d still destroy her.

  They always did.

  Roxy shifted on the couch, uncomfortable. Connecting with Dyfyr and experiencing his thoughts and emotions had made him even more real to her. And then there was Kieran—sharing comfort and pleasure in the shower with him deepened her restlessness. She felt unfinished, fractured, like all her pieces weren’t fitting together correctly. Her schema heated, pinched, settled, then did it again, like hot flashes. Her womb ached, her chakras twisted.

  She needed Kieran’s touch. But when anyone else touched her, it felt like sandpaper.

  She, Darcy, and Carla were going over what Roxy knew, trying to see if there was any merit to Key’s theory about Liam and fertility blood.

  “Dyfyr is angry about his witches. Kieran believes he’s been drawing Dyfyr’s fury when Liam kills a fertility witch.”

  “What do you mean, ‘his witches’?” Carla asked from the chair on her left. “I saw the way Dyfyr responded to you, but what’s his connection to all fertility witches?”

  Roxy hesitated, remembering her mother’s insistence that the story was sacred. But these witches were trying to help her, asking nothing in return, unlike her mother. She’d had to demand the information from Gwen, and it was very likely her mother had lied. If she’d been involved in that spell with Kieran, then she had to know about the Dragon Tear, since Kieran’s mom had it.

  God, if her mother really had done this, would Key blame Roxy? She wanted to tell him her suspicion, but now that she’d seen, really seen, what was happening to Key and how worried his friends were that he’d go rogue, she was afraid. Her first priority was to save his soul.

  What if he refused to bond with her? Just … left her.

  Like her father. Tears filled her throat. For the last thirteen years of her life, her dad had been her rock. He’d loved her, never walked out …

  “Roxy?” Darcy put her hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Sorry, I, uh, I got fired. By my dad. Today. Because I chose magic.” Shut up! They didn’t want to know this.

  Darcy gently squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry, Roxy. That’s just cruel.”

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind with a little time,” Carla suggested.

  “Thanks. My mom said emotional swings were normal as I Awaken.”

  “She’s a fertility witch, too? It runs in families?”

  Here. Now. She should at least tell them her that her mom, Gwen Banfield, was actually known as Silver in the Circle Witches. Her mother fought the soul-mirror witches for power. Gwen was bitterly jealous that the Ancestors had chosen Carla as the Moon Witch Advisor over her. She should tell them that much! “Yes,” she said. Fear made her palms sweaty, and she just couldn’t do it. Not right now, so she went on with, “Our creation as witches is different from yours,” she said. “You all came from a process of evolution, exceptional mortal women who began reincarnating. But we came from Dyfyr bestowing magic on his lover.” She recited the story as her mother had told it to her.

  There was a moment of silence as everyone processed what it meant.

  Then Carla repeated part of the tale:

  Laid her on the sweet grass

  And gave her true magic

  Her dragon loved her so

  He bestowed his magic kiss

  “That’s why fertility magic is based in sex magic,” the witch said. “Dyfyr bestowed the power during sex, and became the creator of fertility witches.”

  Ailish spoke up from the other side of Darcy. “No wonder Dyfyr is pissed. Some asshole is killing his witches.”

  “Dyfyr has homed in on Liam, too,” Darcy added. “I get that the dragon is connected to his fertility witches, but he also seems connected to Liam.”

  Axel came up the stairs and strode to the back of the couch. He put his hands on Darcy’s shoulder.

  The witch leaned back, and he kissed her.

  Roxy looked away from the easy intimacy of the two soul mirrors and then felt the shift in the room.

  Kieran.

  Turning, she saw Key, Phoenix, and Sutton walk up the steps and crowd into the media room. Four large men took up a lot of space. Phoenix moved to Ailish at the other end of the couch, and Sutton walked over to Carla.

  Axel kept his hand on Darcy and said, “We are going out to do a little recon. And Sutton needs to look at Key’s loft to redo that alarm system.” He looked around at all of them. “Will you be all right?”

  A knot formed in Roxy’s stomach, and her schema itched violently at the idea of Kieran being too far away. Too far to Awaken her magic.

  Darcy answered, “Yes.”

  “What’s wrong, Roxy?” Key’s voice came from her left shoulder.

  She was so startled, she jumped up and turned to face his cool gray eyes. “You scared me! I didn’t hear you move.” He was three feet in front of her. Pulling herself together, she sa
id, “Nothing’s wrong. We’re just going over information, trying to figure out the blood-born thing. I told them how Dyfyr’s connected to fertility witches.” She stopped babbling.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re tense, jumpy.”

  Hell, yeah, she was tense. She wanted to throw herself at him. Beg him to make it stop! Make the pounding, dark, writhing need stop. It felt like her chakras were too full; she was jumpy, irritable, and horny. She hated feeling so out of control.

  Carla said, “Key, you’ve drawn Liam for years, even when you thought he was dead, right?”

  He pulled his gaze away from Roxy. “Yes.”

  “Why did you think he was dead?” Sutton asked.

  “I killed him. Or thought I did.”

  “Explain,” Axel said.

  Key glanced at her, then sighed and said, “After I ran away, my father sent rogues after me. He thought if they beat me up enough, I’d go running to him. The bastard was delusional. Anyway, I learned to fight and eventually started killing the rogues.”

  “Then drawing their deaths and sending the pictures to his father,” Phoenix said. “The stupid bastard didn’t get the message. He sent Key’s uncle to force Key to talk and reveal where he’d hidden the Tear. And when Key killed him, his father came after him.”

  Roxy stared at Key’s cold, blank face. His own family. She knew how she felt at her father’s rejection, but she was an adult. Key had been tormented all his life. How could they do that? Her magic swelled in an effort to get to him, to stop his pain.

  “Liam?” Axel prodded.

  “He was smarter. He figured out that physical pain wasn’t going to get me to tell him where the Tear was. So he went after someone I cared about.”

  Her chest hurt. Oh dear Ancestors, he’d said he loved a woman once and that she’d died. “Kieran …” she said softly.

  He ignored her. “I tracked him, we fought, and I stabbed him in the heart, cutting out a piece of it when a swarm of rogues showed up. I fought my way through them and got the hell out of there.” He ground his jaw. “I thought he was dead.”