Mystical Mayhem

by Kiki Howell

  “Our kind? The elite?” Everything he said brought more questions until she felt like a sheltered child. That just would not do. “Explain,” she demanded.

  “Those with gifts, what others would refer to as paranormal, like shifters and witches, a woman with a Dragon Spirit she can actually manifest into. And, yes, there are elites, forming right now. In fact, from what I hear, inside our own government, which denies our very existence. These are not things for you to be thinking on now though. You have been through quite an ordeal; I can only imagine the extent from what little I saw.”

  His abdominal muscles, so close to her face, rippled with each of his breaths, and more profoundly with each of his small movements. Tonight had her every instinct, whether female or magickal or Dragon, all messed up. What her body was feeling, needing, lusting for, unsettled her in ways indefinable as yet. Her stomach rolled and clenched. She ached to reach out, to be held. Her fingers tingled to touch him. All of this could be explained away by any of several different ways. The fact that was most puzzling, especially given the night she’d had and her injuries, was the wetness at her core, the pulsing of her womanhood.

  She started though, her perplexing physical reactions for a moment derailed, when he produced a knife.

  “Please don’t be afraid of me,” his deep voice begged as he cut through the ropes binding her. Each movement brought a new wave of pain. Reality crashed into and washed over her, making her focus on more important matters like healing herself. With her Dragon still stifled, her abilities to heal herself faster than a normal mere mortal woman were also diminished.

  She hissed and a sound somewhere between a warning and a whimper emanated from deep in her throat. She couldn’t understand what it was about him that allayed her need to call to her Dragon for protection. It wasn’t like the spell that was even now still fading from her. She was choosing to not call the beast. She forced her body to relax even though her injuries were still torture, each wound still burning. But why? She felt completely safe, and had no clue how that could be.

  “I know I’m hurting you. I’m sorry. I have to get these off. I have healing herbs that should assist your own accelerated abilities to heal. My mother’s recipes. I always keep them on hand.”

  While he worked, cleaning her torn wrists with water, she struggled to stay conscious. Thoughts came and went with the waves of her suffering. Here sat the legend. He was a superhero among shifters, and he had saved her. Muscles upon muscles rippled as he moved over her. Shaggy shoulder length, brown hair, lightened by the sun, haloed his face. Green eyes glistened, golden flecks sparkling within them. Scruffy, short-clipped facial hair completed what she viewed as a perfect picture.

  “I know these packs will feel weird at first. There may be sharp, stinging sensations, but soon they will tingle and start to heal. Each bundle has been crafted and spelled. It is the magick you will feel – like fire around the wounds. But, I promise that won’t last long.”

  She tried not to moan as he wrapped the wet packets, filled with strong smelling herbs around her wrists. Though she could feel her Dragon, strong and stable, he remained oddly elusive. It seemed strange that the witch’s spell hadn’t worn off yet. There had to be an explanation, but damned if she could come up with one. Despite the fact that her arms ached from holding her weight earlier, she kept them above her head. She tried to block out the sensation, disconnect from the feeling of flames burning her flesh. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she cursed them. All night long she’d been made to feel weak. She hated it. Still, a part of her wanted nothing more than to curl up in this man’s arms.

  The thought of being here, in his cave, made her breath hitch. Rumors of this legend who sat here beside her ran through her mind. The thoughts made her feel even more lightheaded as her situation hit her little by little, like damned bricks thrown at her head.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, sliding off the bed. He turned to her, wiping the tears from her cheeks. His touch was gentle, making her stupid heart race. His face was so close to hers for a moment, she thought to wish for a kiss. Ridiculous! Stop it! Hero worship; that has to be it! Though she had only heard the expression, this must be how it felt.

  His touch was warm and comforting despite the size of his hands. He looked into her eyes, for the briefest second, connecting in a way she couldn’t describe except to say otherworldly, before he looked away abruptly and continued, “I’m sorry if I scared or hurt you when I took you from the cave. My animal, its form… I know it’s terrifying. I had no other choice but to become the Chimera against them. I heard your cries. I actually felt your pain… I came as soon as I could. I knew something was wrong tonight. I could feel it brewing all day in the air, like the calm before a storm. Damn world is going to hell in a hand basket, or whatever the saying is my mother used to use. There was another one about an applecart too…” He left off, a soft laugh rumbling from deep in his chest as he shook his head. “These days, it is the damnedest thing, witches and shifters joining together, up to a bunch of mystical mayhem. Anyway, I need to see if you’re hurt anywhere else. My apologies again.”

  With great care, he lifted the blanket from her body. Inch by inch he gathered the material, being cautious to not rub it across any of her wounds. So, inch by inch her body was being bared before him. Excitement made her heart jump, her stomach tighten, rather than the embarrassment she had expected to come to warm her face. Instead, the heat rose from inside her, from her core, through her chest, radiating outward, taking the chill with it.

  Her blanket removed, she lay on her side, legs semi-bent, but still vulnerable before his eyes. Her breasts jutted out; red, welted, bloody scratches marked them. She couldn’t imagine what her sides looked like.

  “My god!” he growled so ferociously, she jumped. “I’m sorry to frighten you, but what the hell were those bastards doing? I mean I saw the circle, I felt the magick, but…” He shook his head.

  “I was to be a sacrifice. They were doing some kind of ritual…” she wheezed, but hesitated, not knowing how much to say.

  “Go on.”

  “They were shifters, all different animals. They spoke of the elements being represented. The woman was a witch. They said it was a sex ritual to create a being like… the legend.” She cringed, waiting to see how he would react.

  “Like me.” When she’d expected anger, he’d instead spoken quietly and hung his head. As crazy as it was, even in her condition, she’d never so desperately longed for a mouth to kiss her, anywhere. She could only think of his lips, soft and then hard as they pressed against her body.

  “I assume,” she sighed, giving her head the slightest shake to refocus her wayward thoughts, her longings falling not short of lust.

  She heard him swallow, then sigh. “I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone,” he whispered. “Sick bastards,” he growled under his breath. Then he turned his head to the side so fiercely she heard his neck crack.

  “But you, you save people. I’ve heard the tales. You saved me. You’re my hero.”

  He scoffed, a sound so loud she actually felt the air used to utter it rush across her ear. “I’ve live as an outcast high on a mountain top, not even accepted among the shifters. My mother, a witch, but I think I already said that, suffered raising me alone, but never once complained about it. She’d been forced into her ritual, one just like tonight’s from what she said and I just saw. Because of her great magick, shifters raped her. She was cursed to carry and birth me alone, and then raise me alone. Her body and her magick were damaged from having me, yet she was such an amazing woman.” His voice changed then. While still low, it rose in tone, became more frightening, so full of emotions, though she wasn’t afraid for her own safety any more. “This world is going mad. Creatures, whether shifter or witch or vamp or Dragon or fairy… we live on the fringes of humanity anyway. We aren’t supposed to like each other. The rules were simple. Now all of the paranormals are either fighting or trying to blend. Humans have gotten caught i
n the crossfire as well, I hear. I can’t save them all. Neither can the groups that are forming. The results of these merging of species, especially when magick is involved, these meldings of shifter and witch or whatever else, have never resulted in good to my knowledge.”

  “No, not to mine either. It is a new phenomenon, really, well – practiced to this extent. I’m Aiyanna by the way. Do you have a name, hero?”

  “Yes, it’s Xander. Now, stop calling me hero. I’m not. Far from it.”

  “I would say you are. You didn’t have to save me.”

  He huffed. “I think I did. Nature knows. The Universe decides which calls of panic and fear I hear and should respond to. I follow my instincts and Mother Earth, herself. Now, no more talk. We must get you healed.”

  He went back to work. The discomfort from his ministrations couldn’t stop her wondering what his large hands would feel like on her otherwise, in a different situation; one more sensual, more erotic. He was gentle and attentive, concern tightening the already sharp lines of his features. She lost consciousness looking at his green and gold eyes as he laid the packs of healing herbs over her breasts, his fingers way too careful not brush against her erect nipples as far as she was concerned.

  Chapter Two

  In the morning Xander knelt by the bed, bent over Aiyanna, and uncovered her body to remove the packs of herbs from her wounds. Her wrists had healed nicely, the torn flesh now mended, no longer red and angry. When he took the packs from her breasts though, his hands clenched into fists.

  He watched as her nipples grew hard despite the huge fire blazing in the makeshift hearth. Her skin was a healthy looking tan, characteristic of her people, despite the scratches marring it. He couldn’t stop himself from looking down her body to where her full thighs met around a dark, silky bed of curls. Wishing to hold the flesh in his hands, to open her legs so he could taste her. Would she be that wonderful mix of sweet and spicy like she smelled? A warm ginger sugar cookie, fresh and still soft from the skillet over the fire. He tried to calm his erratic breathing.

  It had been a long time since there’d been anyone other than himself in his cave. There’d been a few – now and then, a few necessary acquaintances, other creatures who used their particular more-than-human to save lives. Never someone he’d saved, but she’d been too hurt to take anywhere else. No, he knew that wasn’t exactly true. He was lying to himself. Her, he couldn’t just save and walk away from. Instincts, every one he had on high alert last night, had him trembling in her presence like a hormonal teenage boy. Touching her last night, he’d wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be alright rather than just heal her and move on. And, after he’d promised her the world, he wanted to move inside her until she screamed his name. The whole thing was irrational. Insane. He had no idea where such feelings had come from, but he’d felt the connection instantly, almost enough to bring his beast to its knees when he’d first seen her hanging against the cave wall.

  His mother, when she’d been alive, had tried to tell him about shifters picking Mates, but he had ignored those lessons. He was a freak of nature, which was exactly why he’d never take a Mate. His argument had always been about not knowing which animal would choose, or the gods forbid, each different animal chose one. He had always prayed he just wouldn’t need a Mate because no other Chimera existed. Well, he didn’t know that for sure. He knew of no other Chimera in the states anyway. He’d chosen to live apart. His needs were met with one-night stands, women from bars he picked up in his human form. Their place, of course. They had no idea what he was, and he made sure he never saw them again.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “No,” he turned to her with a jerk of his head. He laid the blanket quickly back over her body, tucking it in around her neck. “You look perfect, um … all healed I mean.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice scratchy.

  “No need. When you feel up to it, I can take you back home.”

  “I’m so glad my people are all okay,” she choked, tears filling her eyes. “You can’t imagine the horrible thoughts worry placed in my brain as I hung on that wall.”

  When she blinked, he watched the drops fall, drowning something inside of him; taking with them the last ounce of his compassion for those who’d wronged her, if there’d ever been any. He could only imagine the things her mind had conjured of her people and her land, the tiny plot the government had stolen from them, then granted her people use of.

  “I’m sorry. I went down to your reservation while you slept and told your people that I had you, that I would return you soon.” Proud of himself for keeping his anger, spurred by her tears, restrained enough to talk when he felt like punching something so hard his knuckles would shatter, he forced a smile to his lips. The last thing he wanted was for her to fear him any more than she probably already did.

  “I can’t go back and put everyone I care about in danger. What if that Aiden, the Hawk-man, comes for me again? Or, what if he and his makeshift coven come for me at the reservation, and I’m not there? Do you think they would hurt my people just for kicks or out of anger, or would they just leave? Should I even go back?” She tried to sit up, but his hands stopped her.

  “No! I mean… I don’t know. Sorry, but you should rest. Let me worry about protecting them for right now.” He pulled his hands from her – an effort, as if they were glued to her shoulders. He held them in front of him, unsure where he should put them – knowing how badly he wanted to touch her again but couldn’t. He knew he looked the fool as his body and mind fought it out. “You can stay here as long as you like. I can send someone to guard your reservation. I have friends in a special black ops division of the government. You do have a job to return to I suppose.”

  “Yes. Hopefully someone from my tribe will make up some kind of excuse for me. I’m a newspaper journalist. I work out of Anchorage. I wish I could write about what was really going on in the world, but humans like to pretend our other sides – our powers don’t exist. Soon, if things keep up – if these rough creatures have their way, those same humans will have no choice but to acknowledge us.”

  “I fear you’re right. Goddamned shifters last night, and that witch,” he said, his whole body pulsing, every inch of his skin tingling for her touch. Resisting touching her, his nails bit into his palms, and his arms ached from his clenched fists.

  “The witch, Selene – she actually protested for me at one point, but got nowhere. That Aiden was just nasty all around, enough for all of them. The other shifters never even spoke; just did as they were told, no questions asked. Only Selene made the mistake of speaking. I feel sorry for her. Life dealt her a bad hand, and with these bad guys is where she ended up. Sounds like she regrets it now.”

  “I wasn’t dealt the greatest hand in life either, but you don’t see me out there sacrificing people, especially someone like you… I mean... someone so gifted.”

  “That was Selene’s argument too. But, you had a mother; she had no one but an abusive father after her mother died. I mean… I’m not trying to compare, well, maybe I was, but I shouldn’t. Sorry. I just feel sorry for her. I know my father, when he was alive, did too.”

  “You’re right. I … just seeing what they did to you … I should go make a call. Get someone to watch over your reservation.”

  “Someone from this black ops division? Is that what you called them? How do you know about them?”

  “They are here now, trying to recruit me. Plus, they heard rumblings about some rituals happening here. Guess they heard right, though I have no idea why they didn’t show up last night.”

  “Can you tell me more? Sorry, I shouldn’t ask. The reporter in me, I guess.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve already let the secret slip. But, I really shouldn’t say any more.” He shook his head again at how implicitly he trusted this woman, like no other person alive, now that his mother was dead. It made no sense; he needed to watch what he said around her.
Well, he should, but he just wasn’t. “Why don’t I go make that call.”

  He left the cave, flying as his animal toward the city, to find a spot with reception, in order to call to his contact at the CIA to get the special ops group to watch over her reservation. Even with all of that, he returned to the cave much too quickly, then he was back to not knowing what to do with himself.

  Aiyanna broke the silence that hung heavy between them. “Do you work? Other than being a hero, that is.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “How do you live? And how did you get all of this stuff all the way up here, high on this mountain? You fly it all up in your animal form, I guess.”

  “Some of it. I forage, eat as my beast, mostly. Sometimes, when the weather is right, I go through the camps at night, see what people have left behind. I’ve worked odd jobs from time to time, but it never quite works out. Much of this stuff, my mother used magick to get up here, when I was too young and too wild to help. She would wear herself out moving wood up the side of the mountain. It would take days to get enough to work with along with the tools she needed. She cut and sanded and created each item over months at a time.”

  His throat tightened up. Get a grip on your emotions there, hero. Xander would never forget her calling him that last night after he’d saved her. Never had a ‘thank you’ meant so much, like his whole life was worth it just for that one moment of praise. This Mate thing, if that’s what all of these feeling truly were, was making him a pathetic idiot.

  He saw her shiver as she watched him. Crazy thing was, he’d become conscious of what he was wearing. A ragged sweatshirt that hugged his body now accompanied the same jeans he’d put on when they got there. He’d never had anyone he’d wanted to impress before. You don’t now either. She’ll leave soon. His stomach tightened into a knot. He’d felt the need to explain himself, his appearance, his lifestyle, to say more, when long ago he’d made a vow not only to never care what others thought of him, but to never explain to anyone how he lived his life, how he survived.