Magical Gains

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  “My, my, what do we have here?” Quillian sneered, his shoes scuffing the floor as he walked in front of her and opened up the gown to its full extent. Primrose stared angrily at his hungry eyes. “Very risqué for a woman named Primrose, don’t you think, Imran?”

  Imran’s face didn’t change, although he was seething. Quillian ran his pale hand across Primrose’s neck in a semblance of a caress.

  “Well, now,” Quillian said abruptly, sharply jerking his hand away from her. “What shall we do? Do you think you might be able to take a wish now, Primrose?”

  “No. I will not. Never.”

  Imran eyes glowed with pride at her defiance.

  Quillian slapped her face. A loud “thwat” echoed around the granite room, and Primrose’s cheek blossomed red.

  “Defiant girl!” In his irritation, Quillian forgot to hold the spell and Primrose fell to the floor.

  Primrose took advantage of his lapse in concentration and wriggled, sliding across the floor close to Imran, who also had been freed by Quillian’s lack of control. Imran stood.

  “Nobody hits my mistress!” Imran roared and without thinking of consequences, let loose a barrage of Omar’s power to Hamza, who stood motionless and unnoticed in the corner of the room.

  “Help us!” Imran yelled before exhaustion hit him like a wave.

  Quillian looked startled to see Hamza take full form.

  “Hamza!” Quillian exclaimed. “I command you to cease whatever it is you are doing!” His face reddened with rage. Then he realized, impotently, Hamza had given him his wishes and was effectively a free Genie. Quillian threw a bolt of power at Hamza, who dodged it skillfully. Taking one last look at Imran and Primrose, Hamza clearly resolved himself to die. If his death saved others, then it was an honorable death. With a gusty sigh, using the remnants of Omar’s power, Hamza threw a bolt of magic in the direction of the cabinet holding Imran’s lamp.

  The glass cabinet exploded in a shower of crystals and a blinding flash of light. Primrose buried her head in her lap and felt soft flakes of ash and sharp shards of glass rain down over her. Imran’s lamp fell with a loud clatter on the ground. It was glowing white with heat.

  Primrose raised her head and stared at it for a moment. Should I try and get it? Imran was conscious and writhing, obviously in pain due to the damage to his lamp. Hamza was gone.

  Quillian, however, saw the lamp and with a supple arm of power he grasped it, holding it far enough from his body so as not to burn his clothes.

  “Well, that was a waste of energy, wasn’t it, Imran?” He shook the ash and shards of glass from his hair in a rain of sparkles and kicked at Imran’s prostrate form.

  Primrose saw the lamp was cooling now. Surely Imran would start to feel better?

  “Primrose, I think we might leave Imran here a moment,” Quillian said after another dismissive glance at the prone body. “That was an exceptional trick Hamza played, wasn’t it? I must research more on this power sharing. Too bad it killed him!”

  Primrose glared at him. She could feel a trickle of blood running from her hairline down the back of her neck.

  After a moment of musing, Quillian grabbed Primrose’s arm and hauled her to her feet. Forcefully, he pushed her toward the door.

  “I don’t think so, Quillian,” Imran shouted. Quillian spun around and was surprised to find Imran standing. Relief washed through Primrose like cooling water as she stared joyfully at her Genie. Imran’s gaze did not meet hers but flashed with fury. In a wave of black, spicy smoke, Imran plucked his lamp from Quillian’s corrupted arm of power.

  Quillian was battling with his rage, and corrupt and distorted power leaked from him like a noxious gas. In wordless fury, he struggled to regain control of himself. Primrose watched as he seemed unable to magically multi-task. The difficulty in controlling his stolen power was too consuming. Taking advantage of Quillian’s lapse in concentration, she shook off his pincer grip and ran towards Imran.

  “That is my lamp, Quillian!” Primrose hissed when she saw it was securely in Imran’s hand. “Never take it from me again!”

  Quillian’s voice was taut but tremulous with the effort to control his anger.

  “Well, well, Imran has his power back and you find your voice, Primrose. Lucky you! It still doesn’t help you get out of this room though. No Genie can escape.”

  “That is because no Genie has ever had his master in here with him,” Imran countered with a wry smile.

  Quillian looked perplexed.

  “Primrose, make your wish,” Imran said, confidence echoing in his voice.

  Primrose looked gratefully at him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Take me back to Omar’s place.”

  Imran frowned. It wasn’t exactly where he had hoped.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Enraged, Quillian threw a bitter bolt of power at the two of them, but it had little effect as Primrose and Imran disappeared from his sight in a cloud of black smoke. He howled in frustration.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Primrose and Imran arrived in Omar’s living room in a swirl of smoke, much to the shock of the room’s occupants.

  “Primrose!” Omar exclaimed. “Imran,” he added soberly. “We were just about to come and get you!”

  Imran said nothing, but raised an eyebrow.

  “How on Earth did you get back?” Omar asked, walking up to Primrose and affectionately kissing her cheek.

  “I used the power you gave me, and another Genie freed my lamp,” Imran abbreviated stiffly, feeling guilty for Hamza’s sacrifice. Omar’s eyes drank in Primrose’s semi-clad appearance.

  “I was worried,” Omar whispered to her and Primrose felt an uncomfortable heat gather on her neck and cheeks. “Who would have thought Leucosia would betray us?”

  Imran’s frown deepened.

  “Indeed, brother. However, your safe house is no longer quite so safe, and I think for your own protection as much as ours, we should probably move elsewhere. I think we should have a day or so before Quillian comes here.”

  Omar sighed. “I suspect you are right.” He looked around reluctantly. “You must rest and recoup. Then we shall make a quick departure, do you think?”

  Imran watched Omar curiously. His brother’s eyes had not left Primrose, and it was evident, to Imran at least, his brother was still intending on her seduction. At the thought, twin spears of annoyance and jealously hit him.

  “We?” Imran queried. “I think perhaps we should separate. You go to another Free Zone with Lugh and Phil, and Primrose and I elsewhere.”

  It was obvious to Primrose Omar didn’t like this idea one little bit. “We shall talk about it over a meal? I am sure you require sustenance, brother,” Omar cajoled. “I think Primrose would like a shower too. All that blood and skimpy clothing might make Phil a little hungry.”

  Their attention was drawn to the Manticore who was pacing in the corner looking decidedly distracted. Primrose paled and drew back into Imran’s embrace.

  Imran put a protective arm around her from behind. His arm hung heavily between her breasts and rested lightly on her stomach. As soon has his hand came in contact with the filmy negligee, Primrose’s stomach clenched, and her nipples hardened quite visibly to Lugh and Omar who stood before her.

  “Um, yes. I think I will go and freshen up,” Primrose muttered, and then turned and left the room. With a gloating smile directed at Omar, Imran turned and followed her.

  Primrose opened the door and sunk onto the bed instead of rushing into the shower. Her hair was wild and disheveled, and the silk dressing gown was wide agape. As she threw herself back on the four poster bed, she was completely unaware of the erotic image she portrayed. Imran, however, was not.

  “Imran?”

  “Yes?” he replied softly, closin
g the door behind them with an audible click. His black gaze hungrily took her in. He never quite understood how such a gauche, awkward, and reserved woman could hold such sex appeal to him.

  “Did you mean what you said back at Quillian’s house?” Primrose whispered, her eyes nervous.

  “What did I say?” Imran asked, feigning ignorance.

  Moments languidly ticked by as Primrose sought the strength to answer him.

  “That you wanted me…” Primrose finally responded self-consciously. She paused another moment before the words erupted in an awkward gush. “Did you mean you wanted me, or umm, physically wanted me? I’m okay with either, but it’s just that Ian only wanted me physically, and that was just awful and…”

  “Primrose…” Imran knelt by the bed, resting his forefinger gently on her lips. “Stop.”

  “I just couldn’t cope with a relationship like that again,” she blurted, ignoring the gentle pressure on her lips.

  “Primrose, am I anything like Ian?”

  “Well. No,” she admitted with a blush, “but he was so awful. The things he used to say, the things he used to do. I can’t tell you how dreadful…”

  “I can well imagine how dreadful it was, Primrose,” Imran said, firmly pushing back memories of hearing Ian and Primrose together. “I want you, Primrose, not just your body, but your mind—most of all, that strange unreadable mind.”

  “Me? Unreadable!” Primrose giggled abruptly. “Says the king of the poker face.”

  “I don’t know what a poker face is, but I hope it’s not too offensive,” Imran replied awkwardly, somewhat dismayed by her apparent flippant response to his deep profession of emotion.

  “It’s not.”

  They both remained quiet, not really knowing what say.

  “Do you, umm…” Imran looked away, his face uncharacteristically bashful. “Do you feel the same?”

  Primrose looked as surprised as Imran looked embarrassed.

  “Oh!” Primrose exclaimed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Actually, no,” Imran said a little stiffly. “It isn’t.”

  Primrose looked at Imran. His skin glowed like milky coffee in the humid heat of the room and his black eyes were still enigmatic in his face. Primrose self-consciously pushed an errant cascade of hair from her face in her typically inelegant manner.

  “I’m mad about you,” she said so softly Imran could barely hear her. He rather felt the words on her breath blowing against his face.

  “From the moment you appeared in my living room, I have barely thought of anything else,” she added.

  Imran’s face lit with a mixture of arrogance, pride, and—dare she even think it—love?

  He swiftly moved toward her, and kissed her furiously and possessively. He tasted wonderful and familiar. Although they had kissed only twice, he tasted the same, sweet and good. Primrose never wanted him to stop.

  She could feel Imran relax against her, clearly pleased by her profession of affection. As he kissed her, the tension he held in his shoulders melted, and his hands glided over her arms. His touch was hot and electric.

  His lamp clattered harmlessly to the floor beside the bed.

  “I want to show you how it should be.” Imran growled and pulled off his shirt, pressing his naked chest to her barely clad breasts. Primrose inhaled sharply and wrapped her arms around him. It was so good to hold him. His skin burned against hers, full of promise and very real. Soon Imran pushed himself high above her and balanced there on strong arms.

  He gazed at her hungrily. There was a question dwelling in the depths of his gaze as he looked over her face.

  “Yes,” Primrose breathed in answer.

  Imran smiled wolfishly, pushing the silk dressing gown from her shoulders, and it puddled elegantly beneath her. Next, using his own magic, his trousers disappeared, but Primrose’s negligee remained stubbornly in place.

  “Omar!” Imran snarled, as Primrose looked on bemusedly. “We’ll have to do this part manually.”

  “Allow me,” Primrose said shyly and fighting back spasms of embarrassment, slipped out of the filmy negligee.

  For a moment they were lost, as each marveled in the other. Imran drank Primrose in, memorizing everything from how her creamy skin contrasted with her lush dark hair to each one of her body’s rounded curves.

  Primrose likewise admired Imran. He was as lithe as Ian had been bulky, but where Ian had been brutishly large, Imran was thick, long, and perfect. Her eyes lingered there and a slight worried frown began to crease her brow.

  “I won’t hurt you, Primrose. I would never hurt you,” he whispered.

  Primrose wanted to believe him. She really did. Imran leaned in and kissed her again. This time, however, she was tense. Primrose watched Imran struggle with a roll of irritation. She knew, even when so far away, Ian was still between them. He ran his hands gently through her hair, and then over her body and arms. Primrose relaxed, but only briefly. Imran’s gaze brushed past hers, his eyes suddenly understanding. With a small smile, he moved up and off her.

  “I’ve wrecked it, haven’t I?” Tears began to form in her light brown eyes.

  “Not at all,” Imran assured and knelt down between her ankles.

  Gently, Imran pulled her legs apart. He kept his steady black gaze locked on Primrose’s, watching for her reaction. Primrose inhaled nervously. She knew what was coming next and felt deeply self-conscious about it. Once, Ian tried oral foreplay, and as with most things with him, it had been dreadful. First, he criticized it would be much nicer if she’d had a Brazilian wax, and then he was painfully overenthusiastic with his teeth. Primrose’s legs resisted a moment.

  “Primrose, trust me,” Imran implored.

  Primrose’s throat felt thick. She couldn’t do this, not right now. She stared at him anxiously. “Shouldn’t we get organized to move? I mean Quillian could be beating at the door any moment,” she blurted. “He knows where Omar is. He knows we are here.”

  Imran’s expression fell. “I suppose you may be right,” he admitted reluctantly and discreetly pushed her legs closed. Although the gesture was subtle, it was painfully obvious to Primrose his attempt at seduction was over. She realized with a sudden jolt of self-reproach that Imran, so unlike Ian, would not continue if his advances were unwanted. Not that they were unwanted, of course, but Primrose felt hog-tied, inept and desperate not to disappoint.

  “I’m sorry, Imran. I’m really so sorry. I’ve spoiled everything.” She felt a tear scurry down her face and nestle unattractively in the crease of her nostril and cheek.

  He smiled faintly.

  “It doesn’t matter, Primrose. There will be other times.” Using his thumb he wiped the tear away, only to find it was followed by a globule of snot.

  A hot surge of embarrassment hit Primrose with almost physical force.

  “Oh, God, I’m useless and disgusting!” she wailed and leaped up from the bed. In a tangle of flailing arms, legs, and hair, she fled to the bathroom and with a bang, slammed the door closed.

  Imran sat still on the bed, feeling quite bereft. Only moments ago, he was ready to make love to the first woman he had loved in centuries, and now he sat naked and alone with a glob of snot on his thumb. Unbelievable, he thought heavily and wiped the offending material from his hand onto the quilt. He shook his head sadly.

  “That didn’t go well, did it?” came Omar’s sneering voice. Imran looked up angrily, and in a shroud of smoke clothed himself. His brother stood beside the bed with a wide grin on his face.

  “Get out and mind your own business, Omar!” Imran rebuked hotly, painfully aware that through the sounds of water beating down in the shower, Primrose could be heard sobbing.

  “I’m rather glad I didn’t succeed in seducing her now,” Omar added cheerily. “She’s a bit peculiar, isn�
�t she?”

  “If you suffered the indignities her fiancée forced upon her, you might be too.” Imran stood up and towered over his brother. “It’s because of that pig, loving Primrose whether physically or otherwise will take a great deal of patience—but thankfully, I have an eternity…” He took a deep steadying breath. “She will come around, in time,” he added without much enthusiasm.

  “Time we do not have at present,” Omar replied with a querying eyebrow. “We need a plan of action, Imran. That mad magician will be on our tails very shortly, I suspect.”

  Imran nodded.

  “Come to the dining room, and we will discuss what we should do. Lugh will escort Primrose down when she is ready.”

  Imran frowned. He would have liked to have been there when Primrose came out of the shower. He knew she would need reassurance, and a lot of it. Imran wanted to tell her he loved her even more for all her awkwardness. Instead, he stood, and in a swath of black smoke, left a yellow T-shirt, jeans, and underwear on the bed with a small note.

  “My clothes not good enough for her?” Omar asked.

  “She doesn’t feel comfortable in your clothes, Omar. If you want to dress someone like a play toy, I suggest you use Tallathalla.”

  Omar shrugged dismissively but turned to leave, trying to sneak a glance at the note as he did. Noticing his brother’s nosy peeking, Imran gave Omar a rough shove. Omar grunted irritably and staggered.

  “That was uncalled for,” Omar grumbled as they left the room.

  * * * *

  When Primrose’s tears of embarrassment finally exhausted themselves, she dragged herself wearily out of the shower. Her scalp stung with the cuts from the broken glass. Miserably, she wrapped a towel about her hair and body, making sure little of her was visible. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the bedroom. A heavy blanket of disappointment swept over her. It was empty. Primrose hadn’t really expected Imran to be there, but was nonetheless deeply disappointed when she saw he wasn’t. She looked on the bed at the clothing. Imran knew she liked jeans and with that thought, she smiled. Then she saw the note. Gingerly, she picked it up. His writing was thin and curling, very ornate, and not very masculine, she decided.