Kissed by Night: a Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy (Her Dark Protectors Book 2)

by Jasmine Walt

  I shoot him a look and then laugh. “No. It was something you said, though. Well, not entirely. Your wings.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They’re the only things that obviously give you guys away.” Their claws and fangs only come out when threatened now. The longer the guys have been with me, the easier it’s been for them to appear human. But not the wings, of course.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “A concealment spell. I saw one in the grimoire. Jac translated it. The intent of the spell is to make the caster be able to slip through places unnoticed, but what if I can change it so we conceal your wings?”

  “Then we could go out in the real world with you.”

  “Exactly. You’d appear human.”

  Gilbert sits up, blue eyes wide with excitement. “Let’s try it.”

  I smile, mirroring his excitement, and swing my legs over the bed.

  “Now?” Gil asks, catching my wrist. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “Not as much as you’d think.”

  “Well,” he starts, pulling me back into bed. “If I didn’t wear you out, I didn’t do my job.”

  I giggle and fall against him. “You did a damn good job. Twice. I think that rebounded energy is hitting me. And the thought of being able to go out together…” I let my mind wander, something I don’t usually do, and imagine myself out with the guys. It’s not like I have friends to introduce them to, but I could run into someone from work. I don’t think anyone would care much, but knowing I have four boyfriends would raise questions.

  “Do you have what you need?”

  “Probably not.”

  Gilbert moves his large hands to my shoulders and starts massaging my muscles. “For a witch, you’re lacking magical supplies.”

  “I know. I’ll go back to the magic store tomorrow.” Suddenly it hits me how much things have changed. I went from logic and reason’s number one fan to a witch with real powers.

  It still sounds weird to say it.

  I lean back against Gilbert, tipping my head up so I can look at his face. He and Thomas were born into a rich family and, already having older siblings to take over their father’s inheritance and carry on the family name, were basically cast off and left to their own devices. When Thomas refused an arranged marriage, they were both shipped off to the Templars.

  No wonder he likes it here.

  The guys have gotten to know the world a bit through what they’ve seen on TV, but will be shocked when we go out for real. I want to do this for them.

  “Are you hungry?” Gil asks.

  “Kind of. Are you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll go downstairs with you,” I tell him. “I want to look through the book and see what I need.”

  Gil gets out of bed, puts his pants back on, and tosses me my clothes. We go downstairs and find Thomas glued to the TV, blue eyes wide as he clutches the remote and stares at the screen.

  “Are you watching The Bachelor?” I pause, looking at the screen.

  “They compete for his affection?” Thomas doesn’t look away from the TV.

  “Yep. That’s reality TV for you. They get paid to do that too.”

  “What are you doing up?” Thomas turns, realizing how late it is. “Did you not satisfy her, brother? She had to come down to get the real thing?”

  “Quite the opposite. She worked up an appetite.”

  “And I have an idea about a spell.”

  A line of worry forms between Thomas’s eyes. “More magic?”

  “I don’t have what I need to do it,” I explain. “But if I can pull it off, I’ll be able to conceal your wings and you can leave the house at night.”

  “What can I do to help?” Thomas is on his feet in a second.

  “You can tell me where Jac is. I’m guessing he has the book.”

  “He did,” Thomas says, going into the kitchen. “But he left it here when he and Hasan went outside.” He hands me the book. We heat up the leftover tacos and sit at the table. I flip through the book as I eat, looking through the notes for the spell. Curious to see the latest translations, I flip to the middle of the notebook, finding where Jacques left off.

  There are only a few lines written down, and as soon as I read them, I know why Jacques stopped. This section in my grimoire talks about communicating with spirits. I set the notebook down and go through the grimoire, matching it up to Jacques’s translations. I don’t know how to read Latin, but it looks like there’s a spell for this. Typing the words into a translation tool online isn’t the most accurate, but I can at least get an idea.

  If my ancestors communicated with the dead, then I should be able to too. I want answers to the million questions I have. A part of me is missing, and will always be missing, until I find the person responsible for their murder.

  “Did you find it?” Gilbert asks.

  “Find what?” I jerk my head up, flipping the page.

  “The concealment spell.”

  Blinking rapidly, I turn another page. “Not yet.” I trade the grimoire for the notebook and flip through the pages, knowing the spell to be toward the end of Jacques’s notes.

  “Got it,” I say, and put the notebook on the table. We all bend over and read the spell, which requires a long list of ingredients I don’t have as well as a quartz crystal amulet for the caster to wear.

  “You want to make it so when we wear the amulet, our wings are hidden from sight,” Gilbert says, still looking down at the spell.

  “Right.” I look at the guys, taking in the size of their wings and wondering how the hell this charm will work. Will people just not notice the wings? They’ll notice two muscular, shirtless men walking around, that’s for sure, and I don’t know how to get shirts on them with those wings. Luckily they don’t seem bothered by the cold. Well, not yet at least.

  Will they still be cursed by the time winter rolls around?

  I make a list of things to pick up on the way home tomorrow, and take the grimoire upstairs with me, telling Gil and Thomas to hang out downstairs and binge more of The Bachelor. Really, I want some time alone with my book so I can translate the little section about spirits.

  I toss the book on my bed and go into the attached master bath to brush my teeth. I look around the dated room, anger filling my heart. Did my aunt know about magic? If she didn’t, someone in the family did.

  Could they have protected my parents?

  The past is in the past…yeah, yeah…I know. I can’t change what happened. Being angry about what could have been only damages myself in the long run. I know all that, yet it does little to stop the feelings.

  Getting into bed, I turn on the lamp on my nightstand and open up the book, flipping back to the page about spirits. It’s a painstaking process to try and read this messy cursive writing and then enter it into the online translator without making a typo.

  I get a few lines translated before I start to feel sleepy. The book talks about lifting the veil and reaching into the other side. I think what followed was an incantation, but the words didn’t directly translate, and the last thing I need is to get a word or two wrong in a spell and summon Bigfoot or something.

  Asking Jacques to translate makes the most sense. He knows his shit and has been working on this for weeks. But I don’t want to worry him…and I also don’t want him to tell me no. He knows I’d summon my parents in a heartbeat if I could, and having him try to stop me will only cause a fight, and that’s not something I want to come between us. Those weird feelings from the love spell Braeya put on him are finally starting to go away, and I really like the way things are headed.

  Closing the grimoire, I rest it on the bed next to me and shut off the light. My head is still spinning, and obscure thoughts about summoning my parents float through my mind as I drift off to sleep. I dream about my parents, and it’s like I’m transported back to the night I found them.

  We’re eating dinner, which is the last thing I remember. Mom made meatloaf, and I s
ecretly liked it but didn’t want to admit it. Jessamyn Ross from school overheard me say I liked it and made fun of me. I sit at the table with crossed arms, doing my best to scowl and act like I’m not hungry.

  Then everything fades to black. The smell of sulfur surrounds me, and I wake up in bed, knowing something is wrong. But this time, I can’t move.

  I open my mouth to scream and call for my mom and dad, but no sound comes out. I’m paralyzed, stuck in the bed. My heart races as I try to open my eyes.

  This isn’t how things went down. I woke up that night with a bad feeling surrounding me, and silently slipped out of bed. Wake up! I force my eyes open, but I still can’t move.

  And now I know why I couldn’t move in the dream. Something is over top of me, breathing down my neck. Red eyes glow through the darkness, and the smell of sulfur is strong enough to choke me.

  14

  The thing jerks forward, gnashing its teeth at me. A low growl rumbles from deep inside its throat, and thick, slimy drool falls onto my chest. My heart lurches and adrenaline surges through me. I bring my leg up and knee it hard between the legs. I have no idea if this thing has a dick or if it’s even a man, but a hard crotch-shot can stun anyone.

  The blankets slow my movements, and my blow loses momentum. The thing grunts, hardly reacting to the pain, and continues forward, curling its lips back.

  “Get off me,” I say through gritted teeth, and bring my leg up again. I yank my hands free from its grasp, skin tearing on its jagged claws. I manage to free myself and roll over, falling hard onto the wooden floor beneath the bed. “Guys!” I shout, clambering to get away. The effects of my nightmare are clinging on for dear life, muddling my head and making it hard to breathe.

  The thing grabs my hair and yanks my head back. Still on the ground, I plant my hands on the floor and extend my legs, knocking the thing off balance. It falls, ripping out strands of my hair on its way down.

  Where are the guys? They can feel when I’m afraid, and they’re not here, bursting through the door to protect me. Something is wrong. Really wrong.

  I need to get to them. Now.

  I scramble to my feet, holding my right hand out in front of me. “Ignis!” I shout, flicking my eyes from the creature to my hand. The fire doesn’t start, and the creature darts forward, pale moonlight illuminating its face. It’s human-like, but has sunken-in eyes and pale, wrinkly skin. The flesh around its hands has started decomposing, but that doesn’t seem to slow it down any.

  “Ignis!”

  I shuffle back, flicking my hand to try and ignite the flames. Dizziness crashes down on me, making me stumble.

  I’m weak and depleted, like my energy—and my magic—has been sucked out of me. The thing rises to its feet, lips pulling back again to reveal jagged teeth. It opens its mouth in a growl, and the stench of sulfur wafts out from inside.

  The thing lunges at me, and I brace myself, waiting for the damn magical fire to start around my fingers. I’m scared. This is a life-or-death situation. It’s always worked before, even when I didn’t want it to.

  Why can’t I conjure the fire now?

  I hesitate, sure flames will erupt all around me and I’ll burn this motherfucker down. And that hesitation is all it needs. It lands on me, claws scraping across my shoulders and over my chest. Shock crashes over me and I fall back, head whacking hard on the floor. The back of my right hand smacks the nightstand, causing pain to radiate all the way up to my elbow.

  It’s on top of me again, acting like a rabid dog desperate for the kill. Ignoring the pain in my hand, I catch it around the neck and fight with everything I have to keep its teeth from sinking into my flesh.

  “Ace!” Hasan bellows up the stairs. The floor vibrates as he lands on the second-story landing and rushes to the master bedroom. I’m on the floor in front of the door, and he hits both me and the creature as he opens it.

  The impact hurts, but it’s enough to knock the thing off balance. I shove it off me, and Hasan reaches down, grabbing it around the neck. He lifts it up effortlessly and twists its head clean around. The thing goes limp, and he tosses it to the floor.

  “Are you hurt?” He reaches down and pulls me to my feet, looking me over. His eyes are clouded with worry. He pulls me to him, relief washing over his large body when he sees I’m okay.

  “I don’t think so.” I gulp in air, needing to hold onto him. “What the hell was that thing?”

  “A ghoul.”

  “What?”

  Before he can explain, the ghoul starts to twitch. With its head still twisted the complete opposite direction, it rises to its feet.

  “What the fuck?” I dart back, grabbing a pistol from the nightstand. Magic already failed me once tonight. I’m not going to be a fool and rely on it again. I pull back the hammer and fire three shots into the ghoul’s head. Black, goopy blood splatters out and the ghoul collapses, only staying down for a few seconds.

  Hasan grabs me around the waist and turns, racing out of the room.

  “They can only be killed with iron,” he says, and jumps off the balcony. I turn my head in, holding onto him as we glide down.

  “Well, fuck,” I say, exasperated, the second we land. “What about cutting its head off?” He told me before that cutting off heads is an effective way to kill pretty much anything.

  “Do you have a sword?”

  “No.” I look up, watching the ghoul bump into the walls as it exits my bedroom. It comes to the balcony and tumbles over the railing, landing with a sickening thud. More nasty blood splatters out. That’s going to be a bitch to clean and I highly doubt I’ll be able to scrub the stains out of that expensive area rug.

  “Can’t you just rip its head off?”

  “It won’t kill it, but I can.” His wings spread behind him and he lets me go, ready to grab the ghoul and rip it in half. I raise my gun, ready to shoot if it comes at us too fast. It’s just the one, though. We can handle it. “But ripping heads off takes too long.”

  “Heads?” I flick my eyes to him. “There’s more?”

  “Yes.” He lurches forward, half running and half flying toward the ghoul. It bites him as he picks it up, and bright red blood runs down Hasan’s wrist. He grabs the top of the ghoul’s head with his other hand, fingers pressing in so hard it cracks the ghoul’s skull.

  With an animalistic growl, Hasan twists the ghoul’s head at the same time as he pulls it from its body. I look away, the sound of vertebrae breaking enough for me.

  “Where are the others?” I ask once the ghoul’s body is discarded on the floor. Its eyes are still open and its fingers are twitching, like it’s trying to find its head and put it back on its body.

  “Outside. We tried to stop them before they got to you. Are you sure you’re—”

  Something crashes through the living room window. Another ghoul rushes in, making horrible screeching noises as it rushes at us. I fire off a few rounds, but it does nothing to stop the ghoul. Hasan flies forward, hitting it hard in the head and sending it back several yards.

  Iron. What the fuck do I have that’s iron? I hold out my hand, giving magic one last-ditch effort. Nothing happens, and my heart is pounding. What’s the point of having—fire. The fireplace poker. It’s old and came with the house, and I’m willing to bet it’s made out of iron.

  I spin, tossing my gun onto the couch, and grab the poker. Hasan has the ghoul by the throat, holding it out and away from him, not sure what to do with it. Ripping it to shreds is only a temporary means to an end, and probably is just going to piss it off even more in the long run.

  Tightening my grip on the poker, I raise it and shove the pointy end into the ghoul’s heart. Its body twitches, and then it goes limp. The red light glowing from within dims until there is nothing left.

  Hasan drops the dead ghoul onto the floor, and we both turn, seeing the decapitated body continue to twitch and reach for its head. I step over and bring the fire poker down into its chest.

  “How many more are
outside?” I ask, yanking the poker up. Ghoul blood splatters my face.

  “Half a dozen at least.”

  “Fucking hell!” I go back to the fireplace. Ignoring the little broom, I grab the large tongs. They’re not ideal for stabbing, but they’ll do. I hope.

  Hasan takes them from me and forces them apart, breaking the two pieces apart at the hinge.

  “Good thinking.” Sucking in air, I run to the front door. As soon as I step onto the cold stone porch, it hits me just how fucked we are. Not because there are eight ghouls doing everything they can to rip my gargoyles to shreds, but because the sun will be up in a matter of minutes.

  Thomas and Gilbert have four of the ghouls grouped together, and they’re taking turns grabbing one, flying twenty feet up, and dropping it to the ground while the other throws punches.

  Jacques is head-to-head with two others, large wings spread behind him, looking like an angel of death as he curls his fist and delivers blow after blow. One of the ghouls rushes toward him, and Jacques grabs it by the throat and uses it as a shield, hitting the other ghoul in the face. The sound of heads smacking echoes through the yard, and both ghouls stumble back.

  But the fuckers won’t die. Not until I stab them in the heart with my iron poker. I raise the poker in my hand and make a move to jump off the porch.

  “Stay here,” Hasan orders, holding out a hand. His dark eyes are set and he’s in battle mode, ready to go out there and bash skulls and do what he was made to do. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m not a princess,” I snap, nostrils flaring.

  “But you are human.” He jumps off the porch, flying over to Thomas and Gilbert. Thomas has one ghoul by the ankle, holding it upside down.

  Hasan calls to him, and Thomas flaps his wings, going up another ten feet. Holding steady, Thomas waits for Hasan to fly over and shove the blunt end of the iron tong into the ghoul’s chest.

  It stops struggling immediately, and Thomas reaches down, pulling the iron from its body. He lets the ghoul fall to the ground, and then dive-bombs another, tag-teaming with Gilbert to take out the next ghoul.