Thief of Magic (Heiress of Magic Trilogy #2)

by H. D. Gordon

  She supposed that was one of the reasons they got along so well. Both of them had been pretending to be something for so long they didn’t know who they were anymore.

  This thought seemed enormously revealing, and Surah tucked it away for later before she could dwell on it, relocating herself to the here and now. She didn’t want to think about things that upset her right now.

  “No, I do, my lady,” Charlie said, his voice nearly a whisper. “I do have to explain—”

  What Surah did next surprised even her, though in reality it shouldn’t have. She was tired of denying herself what she wanted, and was unaccustomed to doing so, being a princess. She didn’t want to think about the fact that her father’s kingdom was in peril, or about how her gut had wrenched with an awful feeling she’d never known before when she’d seen CJ’s hands running down Charlie’s chest, or anything in between, for that matter.

  She had done many taxing things recently, things that had chipped away further at the tiny bit of humanity she had left in her.

  At the root of it, every Sorcerer and Sorceress was a human with magic in their blood, so without the magic and without the humanity, what was she?

  No, she only wanted to focus on Charlie. On the way she felt when Charlie touched her. That’s why she pulled her tank top over her head and dropped it to the floor beside her. She stood before him in only a sheer black bra and a pair of black boy-shorts.

  Charlie’s mouth snapped shut with a click, whatever he’d been about to say forgotten. Surah smiled.

  Charlie sat back again and rubbed his hand down his jaw, which she could see was tightly clenched.

  “You sure don’t make this easy, princess,” he said.

  She came forward and stood over him the same way she had back at the cabin. Then, she placed her hands on his shoulders and took a seat on his lap.

  His hands went to her hips immediately and squeezed tightly. Surah felt like his fingers were burning all the way through to her stomach, which filled with an intense heat. She closed her eyes and basked in it for a moment.

  When she opened them, Charlie’s beautiful eyes were staring back at her, his lips so close to hers she could swear she felt them touching.

  “It doesn’t have to be hard,” she said, not caring that her voice came out in a raspy whisper. “And I’ve already asked you twice not to refer to me by my title. You seem slow to take commands.”

  Charlie’s voice came out a pitch deeper than normal, just a low rumble that was very nearly a growl. “There are things we should talk about, Surah.”

  She nodded slowly, her fingers coming up and burying themselves in his thick, dark hair. His grip tightened on her hips.

  “I know,” she said. “But not tonight. I don’t want to talk about anything tonight.”

  She leaned forward and kissed his neck as she had before, and his arms wrapped around her now and crushed her to him, making her breath come out in a sigh.

  His lips were right against her ear now, and when he spoke, a shiver ran up her spine. “Surah… please.”

  She drew back and placed her hands on either side of his face. She was terrified to ask what she knew she had to, and her heart raced as she stared at him and forced herself to do it. She had to know. For so many reasons that made no sense to her at all, she had to know.

  “Charlie?” she asked, her voice terribly small. “Do you love me?”

  He was silent for a moment, and still she could see he was battling with something. She looked down at her hands, suddenly feeling foolish and exposed.

  Then his fingers were under her chin, gently lifting until her eyes met his again.

  “Surah Stormsong,” he said slowly, as if her name was a whisper from a dream, “I have loved you since that day you showed me mercy at the castle, and I love you even more with every moment that passes while we’re together.”

  He paused, his hands going back around her waist, folding her up in his strong arms. “I love you so much sometimes I think it’s eating me up from the inside out, like I’ll die if something isn’t done about it. Like I can only breathe right when you’re breathing beside me.”

  This took a long time for Surah to process, an anvil of information that made her feel like she was floating on air and being crushed in the same moment.

  She didn’t know it, but there was a small, sad smile on her face now.

  “Then tonight,” she said, knowing that the mask she always wore had slipped fully from her face, and not caring, “I don’t want to think of bad things or talk about all the reasons we shouldn’t be together. I can’t take too much more weight on my shoulders. I feel like I’m lost, like I don’t know who I am anymore or where I’m going. Like I’m wandering…”

  She trailed off, allowing herself to look down at his warm, hard chest and carved abdomen, running her fingers down the ridges, over the various scars there.

  Charlie’s hold on her tightened further, nearly cutting off her air in a way that was painfully pleasant.

  “But when I’m with you,” she said. “I feel like I know just who I am and what I want. When you touch me, I feel like I’m finally… home.”

  He kissed her then, cutting off her words with his soft mouth. His presence surrounded her until all she could see, hear, smell and feel was Charlie.

  His kiss was not reserved, not hesitant or withheld. He kissed her as if he had been waiting to do so for a lifetime, as if he might never get to do so again.

  The whole world melted away until the only things in existence were the two of them, like they were all that ever was, and ever would be.

  Just Surah and Charlie.

  He stood, wrapping his strong hands under her thighs and lifting her with him. Surah wrapped her legs around his waist and held on tight, giving him a displeased look that made him smile when he pulled back from her.

  Surah sighed and tipped her head back, letting her hair fall off her face and staring at the ceiling.

  “Can you just love me tonight, Charlie?” she asked.

  And then her entire body wracked with a shiver when she felt his tongue skim her neck, igniting an inferno inside her that felt as though it could explode at any moment.

  Against her skin, his voice muffled and deep, he said, “Yes, love. I can do that.”

  He carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. Standing beside the bed, he looked down at her, the tropical ocean color of his eyes a direct juxtaposition to the fire that burned there.

  The look was so intense it was nearly feral, and some feral part of Surah was responding desperately to it. She wasn’t sure of anything that lay ahead, but she was sure of this. She was sure she wanted this. She was sure she wanted Charlie, and Charlie wanted her back.

  And, for now, that was enough.

  He hesitated, and she thought she was going to have to give him more encouragement, which spoke wonders of his self-control. But then he was unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down, and Surah’s heart did a standstill when she saw he wasn’t wearing anything beneath them.

  In the next moment he was on top of her, his weight a wonderful fullness above her, his skin pressed against hers from top to bottom.

  Her arms and legs wrapped around him without a conscious command from her brain, and her lips found his with a hunger she had never known she was capable of.

  The only thing between them now was her sheer bra and thin underwear, but Charlie was past hesitation, and she was beyond grateful for this. She felt his thumbs hook around her boy shorts, and then those disappeared. He made a sound like a low growl and lifted her slightly so he could reach around her back. Her bra disappeared shortly after that.

  Charlie propped himself up on his arms and looked down at her, his eyes drinking in every inch of her face as if it were water and he a man dying of dehydration. She had never seen a look so filled with love, and she thought that her heart was breaking just at the sight of it.

  He was so beautiful it almost hurt just to see the fine line of his jaw
, the perfect curves of his face, so close. All of a sudden, it was clear what had always been missing in her life, clear why she had never been quite satisfied or balanced or truly happy.

  She’d been missing Charlie. And from the way he was touching her, she’d bet Charlie had been missing her right back.

  She pulled him down close to her and guided him into her, gripping the proud length of him until he’d sunk into the hilt. The muscles in her thighs tightened, and she shuddered under the pleasure that wracked through her.

  She wished she could freeze this moment, thought maybe she would give up everything just to freeze it and stay like this, in his arms, him inside her, forever.

  When they finished, she thanked the universe for the moment, praying to the Gods that it not be the only one they ever got to share. Begging the Gods to let her keep him, not to tear them apart, but instead, to provide them with a path to break apart the mountains between them, a way to part the oceans that would separate them, and to rearrange the stars that had been aligned against them.

  She thought if she could have this, she would never want for another thing in all her life.

  Charlie held her well into the wee hours of the morning, his breathing growing deep and steady, his heart beating right under her ear, her own held wholly in his hands.

  She trusted him with it, knew that he would never crush it between his fingers, but instead, keep it safe and warm and full.

  For tonight, she let herself believe and hope for all of this. Because she was, after all, a princess, and she wanted so badly to believe her story would end in happily ever after.

  Princess or not, this was all that most people wanted. Happily ever after.

  The problem was, the definition of this was relative to everyone, and what some people considered a happy ending to this particular story was at direct opposition to what Surah would have considered one.

  Either way, somebody had to lose.

  Chapter 18

  Black Heart

  “Stop flitting about like that, Tris,” Black Heart growled. “I’m on edge as it is, and you’re making it worse.”

  The Fae Queen lit on a low branch near him, making it sway up and down as she crouched, putting them at eye level.

  “What have you to be worried about?” she trilled, and clapped her hands so rapidly they were nearly a blur. She took to the air and spun around, making her dress swirl around her like a rainbow colored tornado, her black and blue feathered wings stirring the air around them, disturbing the pink fog covering the forest floor. “Things are going swimmingly!”

  Black Heart narrowed his eyes at her, cold eyes that were a brilliant emerald green.

  “You lost over two dozen of your best guards. The princess and my brother slaughtered them just as I said they would. The only one who returned was rambling about crazy violet eyes and death threats.”

  He held out his hand, palm up, deflating a little when no fireball appeared. “And the magic is gone and you still never told me how the Dark Lord said to bring it back. So tell me, my love, how is it that you think things are going ‘swimmingly’?”

  Tristell floated down from the tree on which she’d perched, settling on the ground in front of him lithely, her magnificent wings tucking themselves behind her shoulders. She placed her hand on his cheek and gave it a small smack that stung just a little. Her slanted eyes glittered with glee.

  “Such an impatient creature you are, Michael! You think that kingdoms are conquered overnight? You feel so inadequate without your magic! Don’t fret! No need to fret! The magic can come back whenever you’re ready for it to! Anytime at all!”

  He gripped her wrists now and squeezed, earning a high-pitched giggle from her. “Then just tell me how to break the spell. Tell me what the Dark Lord told you.”

  She jerked her hands free and smoothed out her dress dramatically, her sharp teeth flashing in a grin.

  “Michael’s panties are all twisted so I will tell him, but first of all, it was no spell that took the magic away, it was a favor from a Dark Lord, and Michael would do well to remember that.

  Second, the favor came with a price, and Dark Lords expect to be paid promptly and in full, which is why we must complete our tasks by nightfall tomorrow, or else the magic will come back and the debt you owe will be taken from you, rather than the intended.”

  Black Heart ran a hand over his jaw. He hadn’t missed how she’d said the debt he owed, not we. “Quit talking in circles and get to the point already,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

  “The blood of a king,” she said, and then fell into a fit of giggles that lasted so long Black Heart considered grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking the crap out of her.

  When she finally ceased, he gave her a look that made her hold her hands up in surrender.

  “To bring the magic back, Michael must spill the blood of a king… Or Michael will pay in his own blood.”

  Black Heart felt a shiver run up his spine, as if a goose had just walked over his grave. He gripped her arms now, his fingers digging into her skin.

  “How am I supposed to do that by sundown tomorrow?” he asked, his voice a threatening whisper. “The Hunters are skilled in battle, even without magic. King Syrian’s castle will not fall so easily, and his guards aren’t going to just let me in to run a blade across his throat.”

  Her sharp grin widened, though he knew his hold on her had to border on painful. He didn’t loosen his grip. She had made a deal with a Dark Lord, and now he was responsible to make payment. She acted as though killing a king were as easy as swatting a fly.

  “Michael is always thinking inside of boxes,” she said.

  He sighed. “And Tristell is always speaking in riddles.”

  She took a step closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck after brushing back a piece of dark hair that had fallen into his face. She stood on her tiptoes and gave his ear a nip before settling back with a smug smile.

  “You don’t have to be the one to kill him,” she said. “The deed just must be done.”

  He raised an eyebrow, trying to see what she was alluding to and failing. “And that makes it easier how?”

  She giggled and slapped his shoulder, as if he were a silly child who’d just said something amusing.

  “The king is weak, and his only successor has betrayed him to protect your brother, who, thanks to my genius plan, is an enemy of the kingdom. Don’t you think that has left at least a couple pissed off people in high places?”

  Black Heart was beginning to follow now, and a crooked smile came to his face as it all came together.

  Tristell rose to her tiptoes again, her lips right by his ear, voice low and silky. “So we just let the right pissed off person know how to get the magic back, and let the greedy minds of men do what they will.”

  “But you said the magic will come back regardless, either with the king’s death, or with my own.”

  She slapped him upside the head and giggled. “You don’t tell them that part, silly! You tell them if the king doesn’t bleed before sundown, the magic will never come back.” She gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Must I come up with everything?”

  He leaned down and kissed her hard. When he pulled back, he was still grinning, and she had a pleased lift to her lips, too. He spun her around in a circle and danced slowly with her in the middle of her forest, though there was no music other than the sounds of nature.

  “Brilliant, my dear,” he said, running his fingers down her cheek. “I know just the men we’re looking for, and I hear they’re having a little get together at Zadira Square tomorrow.”

  Chapter 19

  Samson

  His body was tense and ready, his legs bent slightly and his head lowered almost to the ground. He forced himself to settle down on his stomach and wait.

  If Theo and Gregory were going to have a conversation they didn’t want anyone to know about, they would be having it here. No one knew the secret pass
ages of the castle better than Samson, not even King Syrian himself, and right when he’d followed them into the arched door earlier he’d known they would be coming here.

  But he wanted to act, not wait, and the urges he had spent so long repressing were being tested by strong instincts. Making it hard to control himself. Making it hard to think.

  The only thing he knew for sure was that trouble was coming. He supposed this was part of what was driving him crazy. He could smell it on the air, a tangy perspiration that humans emitted when they were on edge, and it was growing more and more potent by the moment. He saw it in their quick steps and tense shoulders and whisperings in dark corners, during which they’d glance over their shoulders and make sure no one was listening.

  Everyone, from commoners to royals, was worried about the loss of the magic, speculating about why it had happened and what it meant and whether or not it would come back. Theories ranged from apocalyptic ideas to conspiracies to the wrath of displeased Gods, none of which interested Samson.

  What did interest him was the fact that fear was underlying all of their scents.

  Fear was what really did it. What really made him want to tear them to shreds with his claws and teeth, to taste their blood on his tongue and…

  He had to focus, because they were coming now. He could tell it was them by the sound of their footsteps. Theo’s, stealthy but strong. Gregory’s, heavy and labored. Sam settled his head on his paws and peered out of the small crack in the draperies that hung beside the wall, careful not to move and stir the fabric.

  He was thirty feet overhead, on a ledge just barely big enough to hold his body, a place no two-leg could ever hide in. Which was why they would choose this room. It was big and open with nowhere to hide. Unless you were a cat, of course.

  He heard the key being stuck in the lock of the door and smiled internally when it was pushed open, revealing Theo and Gregory. The men entered the room and took a look around to make sure they were alone, not even glancing up at the high ceiling. This pleased Samson. He held still and waited.