Warrior Enchanted

by Addison Fox

  Didn’t waver in the slightest.

  “Take what’s offered and pull your damn emotions out of it.”

  “And if that’s not enough for me?”

  “Then maybe it’s time we parted ways.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” Drake fought the acid that chewed at his stomach with all the finesse of rusted metal.

  “Look. We’ve had a good ride, but it’s done. Things have run their course.”

  The wall built around her with stunning speed, the soft, pliant woman in his arms mere moments before evaporating behind a shell that hardened with lightning speed. “You’re a shitty liar, Emerson.”

  “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

  “You’re running away. There’s a difference.”

  The stormy gray of her eyes turned darker under the slash of her eyebrows as his words hit home. “You need to—” Her words cut off as a loud crash echoed outside her room.

  Drake didn’t think, just moved, hollering over his shoulder as he went. “Stay in here and don’t come out until I tell you.”

  He moved into the hallway. Although their homes weren’t identical, the structures had a similar layout and he followed the narrow hall toward the staircase. His first thought was for her grandmother. Had she fallen?

  The thought was discarded as his initial scan of the hallway didn’t turn up anything, nor did a look down the stairs. Footsteps sounded behind him and he whirled, catching Emerson as she flew into his arms. “Is it my grandmother?”

  “I told you to stay in your room.”

  “Is she hurt? I need to go downstairs.”

  “No. It had to be something else. The sound was up here.” He was already dragging her back down the hall when another thud reverberated through the hallway, rattling the walls.

  “Magnus!”

  Before he could get a hold on her, Emerson hotfooted it toward a closed door. He raced after her, but wasn’t quick enough to stop her from opening the door.

  Her scream echoed back at him in the close confines of the hallway.

  Chapter Nine

  Emerson heard the screams and finally realized they were coming from her. Echoing through her head, rattling around in her mind as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Where did it come from?

  Without thinking, she started into her brother’s room before Drake dragged her back to the hallway.

  “You can’t go in there.”

  She started to protest until Magnus stared up at her from his place on the floor, his dark eyes awash with an unholy light that had her taking a few steps back anyway. “Magnus?”

  To her ears, her voice sounded very small and far away.

  “Em?” The malice in his eyes receded slightly as he focused on her. “Em, get out of here!”

  “Magnus? What are you—”

  Words simply evaporated as she focused on him.

  Dark ink covered the upper part of his torso, the tattoo clearly depicting a large serpent that wrapped and coiled around his body. Her gaze followed the ink that wove around both shoulders and down each of his biceps.

  And it was moving.

  The ink was matched by a large snake that writhed at his feet, its thick body unfurling as the head rose before her, poised to strike.

  The snake lurched forward with whip-fast movements. Emerson braced herself for the strike, but Drake threw himself toward her, cradling her in his arms as he took the animal’s blow to his back.

  Drake felt the reassuring curves underneath his hands, satisfied he’d blocked the threat, even as the muscles in his arms grew increasingly numb. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. What about you?”

  “I’m fine.” A slight slur tinged his words and he swallowed hard, trying to get his mouth under control.

  Emerson clambered out from underneath him before he could stop her and he heard the loud shriek as soon as she turned back around to face him. “Oh my God! You’ve been bitten.”

  A heavy thump echoed from Magnus’s room, but at least her brother had had the wherewithal to close the door after the snake had struck. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re bleeding.” She sprinted back toward her room and reappeared moments later with towels.

  He reached for her hand, oddly satisfied with the turn of events. Five minutes ago she was giving him the heave-ho and now she was ministering to him again. Funny how quickly she forgot all her protests as to why they shouldn’t spend time together when he was bleeding. “I’m getting the strangest sense of déjà vu.”

  “Hold still and let me look at things.” He felt her fingers probe at the shredded T-shirt that still covered his back and then the press of the towel again. “It looks pretty bad, Drake.”

  “It’s not the first time. It’ll heal. Just give it a few minutes.”

  “But you were attacked by a snake. We need to get you help.”

  Drake wanted to protest—wanted to argue that he’d be fine as soon as the poison worked its way from his system—but the words wouldn’t form. Instead, all he felt was an increasing sense of numbness in his head as his limbs grew cold.

  The hallway shimmered in front of him, and despite the bone-numbing freeze, Emerson’s hands were hot against his skin, branding him wherever she touched.

  “Drake?”

  He dragged his eyes open, the lids so, so heavy, her hands burning him again where she touched his face. “Hmmm?”

  He heard her words from very far away as she gripped his chin. “Stay with me, Drake.”

  The words were so sweet—and he wanted nothing more than to do that…if he could just…keep…his eyes open…

  “Drake!” Emerson watched in horror as Drake’s eyes rolled up in his head, his body going limp in her arms. What the hell had Magnus done to him? And why wasn’t Drake’s natural healing ability kicking in, just as he’d said it would?

  Shifting away from him, she dragged on his arms to lay him out, then did the same with his legs. She had no idea if it would help or hurt his circulation, but staying curled up and hunched over couldn’t be good for him.

  Think, Emerson. Think.

  Clearly whatever her brother had wielded had some property that was dangerous to Drake. What could she possibly do to counteract that?

  Rolling him, she focused on the bite again. The wound was raw and gaping, and small, dark striations flowed out of the site of the bite, the venom’s ravages swift and immediate.

  She quickly ran through a number of poultices in her mind but discarded each just as fast when she realized she simply didn’t have the time. She had to get the poison out.

  Frantic, she searched her mind for something. She’d trained at the knee of one of the century’s greatest witches. Surely she could think of something.

  Anything.

  Think!

  Her gaze alighted on his leg and she remembered how she’d used the Xiphos to remove the bullet. Would it work? She didn’t have time to debate it.

  Emerson reached for the knife, unstrapping it from his calf and examining the blade in her palm. She ran a stream of fire over the length to resterilize it, then pressed the tip to the raw, vivid red flesh around the bite. With tentative motions, she probed around the wound, curious to see the black lines of the poison actually moving away from the tip of the blade.

  Drake moaned at the contact, but his limbs didn’t move. The lack of movement scared her, and she pressed harder, her explorations more deliberate.

  There wasn’t much time.

  She lifted the knife and ran another stream of fire over it, then pressed the tip once more to the wound. The result was the same, the black lines under Drake’s skin actively moving away from the blade.

  Was it her magic?

  Focused on her task, Emerson felt the knowledge pulse under her skin. It had to be the magic.

  Drake moaned again, pulling her from her thoughts. His cry was more feeble now and, as if sensing t
he weakness, the poison had spread farther, faster, the black lines covering the width of his upper back.

  With renewed purpose, Emerson focused on the knife. She knew what she had to do.

  She’d burn the poison out.

  Shifting, she straddled his back, both for support as much as to hold him still. She positioned the tip of the Xiphos at the entrance to the wound and took a deep breath. Lifting her free hand, Emerson focused a line of fire down the shaft of the blade, forcing it toward the tip.

  Drake’s body jerked underneath her and the poison immediately drew away from the wound site, spreading farther over his back. Satisfied by the results, she forced more fire, unwilling to leave the poison anywhere to run.

  Drake moaned again, his body tensing and writhing underneath her hips, but she refused to lose focus.

  Refused to give the poison another moment to do him harm.

  Heart pounding, she drew on her magic, pulling it from the deepest part of herself.

  Soul-deep magic.

  She wouldn’t lose him. Not like this.

  The black lines of poison slowly receded as she continued to push the fire into Drake’s skin. Where it had first looked to be running from the blade tip, the black color was now fading as more of Drake’s natural skin tone returned.

  Dialing back the fire to a light, steady pulse, Emerson was satisfied to see the ragged red flesh around the wound change along with the retreating poison. The skin around the bite began healing, knitting itself together, the angry red fading into pink.

  “Emerson?”

  Drake shifted underneath her, and she nearly cried in relief when she saw him flex his hands. Pulling back on the fire altogether, she lifted the knife from the wound and shifted to sit beside him, her legs crossed under her.

  “Hey there, cowboy. How are you feeling?”

  “Sort of shitty, but about a million times better than a few minutes ago. What happened?”

  Emerson pushed a lighthearted note into her voice she most definitely didn’t feel. “First you take a bullet. Now a massive snakebite. You’re like an accident waiting to happen.”

  “This was more than an accident.” His green eyes grew dark with speculation, even as the pain receded with each passing moment. “Although I can’t say I’m complaining about having your hands on my body.”

  Emerson felt the tension break as he added a leering eyebrow wiggle for good measure. “God, you are a cocky bastard.”

  “I’m the boy next door.”

  Drake struggled to sit up, but she reached for him, keeping him in place. “Ass next door, is more like it.”

  “That’s Quinn’s nickname. Well, ass hat, actually. But I’m everyone’s favorite. It’s my nice, quiet demeanor and helpful personality. Everyone likes having me around.”

  She snorted but didn’t say anything else, just continued to dab at his back with the towel.

  “Everyone except you, I mean.”

  More long moments passed, the only sound the soft scrape of the towel against his skin. When she finally did speak, it was in a near whisper. “I like having your around. I like it too much.”

  “You what?” Drake rubbed a finger in his ear. “I’m not sure I heard you.”

  She dabbed again, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “You heard me.”

  “I’m not sure I did.”

  Before she could answer, a large hand reached up and covered her ass. “Drake!”

  “I learned a long time ago, there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to the things that matter. You matter.”

  Her hand stilled and Drake twisted to look at her. Emerson knew she couldn’t have stopped her next question if she’d tried. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t.” She shook her head slightly before refocusing on his injury. “You doing okay?”

  He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. “My hands and feet aren’t numb any longer.”

  “The site’s not as red anymore and the puncture marks seem to be closing.”

  He wiggled his fingers again before reaching for her. “Come here and I’ll show you just how much better I’m feeling.”

  She squirmed away, but he was faster. His strong, capable hand closed around her wrist and pulled her toward him. His lips played with hers and she felt them curve in a smile. “You totally healed me. Do you know how hot that is?”

  “Hot?” she murmured back, her thoughts not quite able to catch up as the sexy feel of his body pressed to hers scrambled her senses.

  “Incredibly,” he murmured, sliding his lips over her cheek before whispering in her ear, “I love what you are. I love the power that’s inside of you.”

  His words were so unexpected, Emerson felt the tight bands around her heart open without warning. “You think so?”

  “I know so.” His lips kept moving—across the sensitive flesh of her earlobe, then down the line of her neck.

  She reached for him, enmeshed in the sexy heat of the moment and the heady rush of his words. Before she could reply, another heavy thud echoed from behind Magnus’s door, drawing their attention.

  With dawning horror, Emerson dragged herself back from the brink of desire. Instead, she was forced to admit the danger was far from over. “Oh God, Drake. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  She slid from Drake’s arms, putting some distance between them as she fought to think. “My brother did this to you. Or a pet he had no control over did it.” What the hell was with that tattoo and the snake and that weird, worshipful way Magnus stared at it?

  “Was he practicing magic?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Then she stopped herself, wondering why the answer came so easily. “I don’t think so.”

  “But is it possible?”

  Her gaze drifted to the door. “It didn’t feel like magic. That’s the best way I can explain it.”

  “But your brother’s a witch, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I need you to go down to your room and shut the door until I’ve had a chance to deal with this.”

  “I need to talk to Magnus.”

  “No, I need to talk to Magnus. You need to sit in your room and wait until I’m done.” Drake sat up and reached for the Xiphos.

  The light of battle burned in her belly while the acid of her brother’s betrayal fed the flame. “Like I’m the little woman, waiting for her big bad man to protect her?”

  “Pretty much,” Drake agreed cheerfully as he restrapped the blade to his calf.

  Without thinking, she channeled that anger. Flames rose up around them immediately, a tight, hot circle of light. “You really don’t want to press me on this.”

  Drake shrugged as he stood up. “Since your brother’s gifts are most likely as strong as yours, I can’t see how your little light show will do anything against him.”

  “A little light show? I’ll have you know I’m far stronger than my brother.”

  “You just told me he wasn’t practicing magic.”

  “He’s practicing something, and I’m not going to sit in my room like a fucking useless bump on a log. When that door opens I’m going through it with you.”

  “Like hell you are.” Before she could say anything further, Drake had her wrapped in his arms as the hallway vanished around them.

  Finley heard the heavy footsteps before the swinging door flung wide on its hinges. Grey walked into the kitchen, his designer suit fresh and crisp. He’d also managed to snag a shower, the cap of his dark hair gleaming in the overhead lights.

  He looked amazing.

  And now that he was finally here, she could begin her arguments to get herself home.

  Although she was more than grateful to Callie, Ilsa and Montana for their time and attention, she wanted to go home. Wanted to touch her own things, wear her own clothes and curl up in her own bed.

  She didn’t miss Grey’s une
rring gaze as he moved through the door, unleashing an involuntary shiver down her spine.

  How did he always manage to make her feel like she was the only woman in the world?

  Finley glanced down at the pink baby doll T-shirt and sweatpants Ilsa had given her earlier. Although she had similar items at home, she felt deliciously exposed here in front of him, with her breasts on display and the word “Juicy” emblazoned across her ass.

  Her thoughts over the last months had been increasingly distracted with images of the mysterious Grey Bennett and if there was anything the last twenty-four hours had taught her, it was that it was a very bad idea.

  Even if he looked like a very good idea.

  “Where the hell have you been all day?” Callie’s irate holler pulled her gaze off Grey and on the small spitfire that, from what she’d been able to figure, ran the house with iron-clad control. In awe she watched as Callie marched straight up to Grey, her fist shaking as she dressed him down.

  “Working through some things with Quinn.” Grey’s relaxed demeanor and laconic voice never changed. Finley wasn’t sure if he was holding back anger or had simply developed an immunity to Callie’s tactics.

  “And you couldn’t even be bothered to come down here and give this woman some updates?”

  He shrugged and she fought the urge to sigh at how the motion drew the eye toward his broad shoulders. “You and the girls have been chewing her ears off all day.”

  “So you had time to spy from Quinn’s computers?”

  Grey shook his head as Callie tried to box him in. “Yes, I spent the day in the security center, which you damn well know. And since I knew Ms. McCrae was in good hands with you, Ilsa and Montana, I didn’t spend time worrying about entertaining her. Instead, Quinn and I spent the day trying to figure out who the asshole was who set her up.”

  “Did you get anywhere?” Finley stood up from the large table that took up the center of the room and walked toward him. She kept her voice measured—what she thought of as her well-honed lawyer tone—but even she heard the hope that ringed the edges of her words.

  “Not yet.”

  “Look, Grey. Everyone”—she nodded to Callie and the women in turn—“you’ve all been incredibly kind to me. But I need to get out of here and back to my life. I’ve got several cases I’m working on and I need to get back to it. Back to my job.”