Familiar Magic Read online

  The door creaked open, sending a wave of fresh air that cooled her sweat-slicked skin. Like she’d done a thousand times in the last three weeks, she glanced at the entrance. Eyes widening, she tried not to stare when the man she couldn’t stop thinking about strolled through the door, stopped, and caught her eyes. His younger brother, not far behind, ran right into his back.

  “Shit,” she groaned.

  If she’d known Trent had been planning to crawl out from beneath the rock he’d died under, she would have done her hair or dressed up a little. A knot tightened her stomach before moving into her chest. Her heart was beating too erratically for her to breathe. Thrown off her game, she knocked over the bottle of Jack she’d been about to snatch off the counter. Liquor dripped over the edge and splashed on her pants. Damn it. A flush crawled up her neck, and she quickly turned to dodge Trent’s gaze. The last thing she wanted to see was his smug-as-hell grin. He got off on making her blush; she would have bet on it.

  “You know”—Sam glanced up at the sound of Jeremiah’s voice, finding herself subject to one of his intense stares. It made her wonder how he crossed the room so quickly—”you never spill a drop unless my brother’s in the room.”

  He grinned while she sopped up the alcohol with extra vigor. The glare she gave him wiped the smile from his face, but it didn’t hide the amusement in his big brown eyes.

  “You told him I wasn’t working tonight, didn’t you?” She threw the rag at him. The effortless way his hand rose and caught the towel helped ease her irritation. To him, it was just another day, listening to her complain about his brother.

  Curling the familiar line of her chain around her finger, she drew the necklace her mother had given her across her neck. Jeremiah’s gaze darted left and then right, and he set the towel on the bar. It said it all. So Trent had been avoiding her. She should have been pissed. And she was, right up until she gave in to instinct and glanced in his direction.

  Tonight, the blue shade of Trent’s shirt matched his eyes. When he moved, the cotton stretched tight over his chest and hinted at the muscles beneath. Trent strode straight to the table that he’d deemed his, and the bar quieted. He narrowed his baby blues, and the poor sap who had chosen the wrong seat scuffled from his chair. She’d never understood how he commanded that kind of reaction with just a look. If she’d been that sap, she’d have told him to fuck off and sit at another table.

  In the three weeks since she’d seen him last, the normally smooth curve of his jaw was now dusted with hair. The unruly mop of curls that touched the top of his ears made him look like he’d just rolled out of bed. His wrinkled Levis said the same thing.

  God, she really wanted to rip those jeans off him and see what was underneath. All the pent-up sexual frustration inside her was going to explode. She imagined his finger trailing along her neck, and the back and forth rhythm of her necklace slowed. A shiver of desire raced straight to her pussy. She really, really needed to have sex.

  “I might have told him you had the night off.”

  The sound of Jeremiah’s voice jarred her back to reality. That was a good thing. Reaching below the bar, she grabbed a longneck and popped the top on the edge of the counter. She tossed a round orange paper coaster on the bar before she set the beer on it. The chilled bottle that left her palm wet did nothing to cool her off.

  Just like she always did, she pushed her lustful feelings aside and gave Jeremiah a full smile. She glanced from Trent to his brother, and her smile widened a bit. Jeremiah had become a great friend. “You know he’s going to kick your ass, right?”

  Jeremiah shrugged, picked up his beer, and took a long swig. “You’ll take care of me when I’m bloody and beaten, won’t you?” He fingered the two black triangles on the coaster and looked up at her. “Going a little overboard with the Halloween thing, aren’t we? Didn’t peg you as the homey type.”

  She hadn’t done anything. Pumpkin coasters? Please. This was a bar, not a funhouse. It was Brenda’s fault.

  “You think it’s bad in here?” she groaned. “You should see our house! In the hall, Brenda put this green, half-decomposed hand that pops up from a bowl every time you walk by. I swear I almost peed my pants on the way to the bathroom last night.”

  Choking on his beer, Jeremiah slapped his hand on the bar to rein in his laughter. It wasn’t working. His laughter gave her a warm, allover comforting feeling. It helped ease her apprehension. While she was doing all she could to keep her eyes off Trent, he sure the hell wasn’t being as considerate. He tracked her every move.

  Six months ago, when the double doors of the bar slammed open and in staggered Trent with a shiner and a bloody lip, she’d known he was her familiar. It wasn’t because of the presence he demanded or the way he looked at her with a mixture of lust and hunger. It was because, for the first time in her life, her skin tingled with magic.

  A smear of blood framed his narrow jaw and drawn her attention to the slit at the side of his swollen lower lip. A thin rivulet of crimson rolled over his chin before it dripped onto his dirt-smudged shirt. There were five diagonal slashes across the tee from the neck to the hem. When he limped forward and grasped a chair for balance, his shirt gaped so she could see the hard, tanned lines of his torso. It was smooth and flawless. Whomever he’d tussled with had gotten only cotton. He must have been quick to miss that.

  Dumbstruck, unable to move, she stood there and tried to push away the instant lust that slammed into her. Heat started in her stomach and moved up toward her neck. Her skin felt tight with the first wisps of energy wrapping around her.

  “You should see the other guy,” he said.

  His voice was deep, sexy, and only amplified her desire. He slouched farther into his chair, and the half grin he shot her was pure sin. Kicking his feet up, he lounged back and studied the way she played with her necklace. It was like he was commanding her magic.

  The bottle in her hand slipped, moist against her palm, before it crashed to the floor. She gasped; energy flowed through her fingers and chilled her deep to the bone. Although twenty tables separated them, she drew his animal to her, and the velvet touch of fur tickled her neck.

  She’d gotten a crisp image of his jaguar. Its fierce blue eyes looked luminescent against the black fur. Freckling gray rosettes lined its back and wrapped down muscular legs. The graze of teeth drew against her throat. As she breathed through the sensation, the magic, the feel of him faded. His cat retreated and took a piece of her with it.

  Tonight wasn’t turning out any different. It was a miracle she’d been able to stay away from him as long as she had. Lust was a consuming, overwhelming sensation. So was greed. She’d waited twenty-five years already; what were a few more days? Her brain and her body were having a major rift.

  Once she was able to control her magic and hormones, the night pressed on as normally as it could in a bar full of drunken shifters. Trent sat back and alternated his attention from the crowd to her. Every time he looked at her, the want inside grew just a little bit more. It had nothing to do with Jeremiah having blurted some twenty minutes ago that “his poor bastard of a brother was in love with her.”

  Really, it didn’t.

  Tonight had to be the night she told him. No more stalling. In two days, the moon would be full, and everything she needed to inherit the magic of her ancestors would be aligned. Assuming, that was, Trent didn’t tell her no. God, what would she do if he told her no? The next time the full moon landed on October 31st wouldn’t be for another nineteen years or so.

  When Trent signaled for a refill, she decided it was the best opportunity she was going to get to talk to him. Keep it simple. Keep it public. Through the years, the temptation to lose her virginity had been there, but the big picture had always kept her hormones in check. Everything in the supernatural world needed some sort of sacrifice. Magic was no different.

  The time to make her move was now. The later it got, the more rowdy the crowd was getting. Giving Trent her back, she lifted
on the balls of her feet and reached toward the top shelf. Warm air caressed her lower back when her shirt crawled upward. If only she were just an inch taller. She held her breath, fingered the smooth edge of the bottle. Each wiggle scooted the whiskey closer to her hand. She didn’t even notice the hush that settled over the bar.

  “Oh no,” Jeremiah groaned from behind her.

  Sloshing back and forth, the bottle she sought finally tipped over the shelf and into her grasp. She spun around with a triumphant grin. She followed the curve of Jeremiah’s head to where Trent was, and the smile on her face vanished. Despite the trail of knocked-over tables and wide-eyed spectators, she hadn’t heard him move. It had been that quick.

  The bottle she clutched in her hand clunked against the counter. Hitting a sticky patch, her hand stuck to the bar when she leaped over the counter with a single hop. She’d be damned if she let Trent get himself killed on the night she’d finally decided to tell him. As she pushed her way through the crowd, glass crunched under her feet. Her boots echoed over the sound of growls.

  The magic stirred to life without her command. Frost pressed along her arms, puckering the skin. The fuller the moon became—the closer Trent got—the harder it was to harness. The sputtering sound of choking made her jog just a little bit faster.

  Normal people didn’t jump into the middle of a pack of angry shifters. Lucky for Trent, she was far from normal. Nudging through the tight crowd, she ignored how the pack’s power felt slithering through her. It tasted as black as it felt. She should have been terrified. The knowledge that Trent was there made her feel safe. It was unsettling.

  She’d been taught about what it meant to have a familiar. Her chosen shape shifter—that was, if she found him—would guide her into her powers, be a constant companion and help balance her. As she went through puberty, the reality of what a companion meant became clear: lover, mate, and equal.

  She pressed her chest against his back and smoothed her fingers along his arm, energy surging back and forth between her and Trent. Her gaze traced the length of his arm until she found his captive’s eyes. He wasn’t afraid. That was a very bad sign. Trent jerked at her touch but didn’t release the wolf. She should have known he’d be stubborn about it.

  “Sam, get the hell out of here. Now,” he growled. His voice was harder than she’d ever heard before.

  Rising on the tips of her toes, she pressed her lips against his ear. His scent moved inside of her. She trembled. It was the first time she’d been this close to him. Fear pressed into her skin, clouded her brain, but it wasn’t coming from her or Trent. It was from the crowd. Touching him increased the sensations around her. The smell of smoke became so strong it was staggering. The heavy thud of heartbeats galloped, pounded inside her head. It sounded too loud to be real.

  “Don’t do this,” she warned. He shivered at the touch of her lips against his ear.

  “Goddamn it, Sam!” He tried to shrug off her touch. She wasn’t giving up that easily. “Don’t be so damned stubborn. Back off before you get hurt,” Trent hissed.

  As the ice surged through her, her fingers circled his wrist. She shoved the frigid magic at him with everything she had. He gasped; his hand uncurled; his claws retracted. The biker fell to the ground with a wheeze.

  Trent turned. The fury in his eyes made them a rich, vibrant blue. He jerked his wrist from her touch. He breathed, and his nostrils flared. Meeting his eyes, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. It was a joke, considering her chin was still pointed at his chest. With his six-foot frame, there wasn’t anything she could do to stand eye-to-eye with him. As much anger as he pushed at her, she pushed right back.

  “I can take care of myself. Right now, it’s you I’m worried about.”

  Snarling growls vibrated through her. She’d almost forgotten they were surrounded by a very dangerous pack of wolves. Moving as one, the pack tightened the circle around her and Trent. They turned to face the creatures. When they’d first stormed inside, they had been attractive enough. What wasn’t to like? They were all tall, well built, and had varying shades of green in their gleaming eyes. The combination of gasoline and leather gave them a dangerous scent that turned heads wherever they went. Hell, Brenda had been beside herself with lust, more so than normal.

  Right now they were turning heads all right, but for all the wrong reasons. The pack had half shifted; their eyes glowed. It wasn’t the claws, the half-formed, gruesome snouts, or the teeth that scared her. It was the bottomless pits their eyes had become. Trent pressed close, wrapping a hand around her waist. He pulled her back until not even air could pass between them. Okay, so now she was a little bit frightened. He had her in a protective hold, one that suggested he was about to toss her behind him at the first hint of trouble. It had a much greater impact. His jaguar jumped, rode her magic as it washed outward. It had been a simple thought: human. Their claws disappeared; the anger didn’t.

  She let the ice she felt inside fill her eyes. Most of the supernatural world left witches alone. It was the fear of the unknown that made them cautious. She hadn’t done anything to discourage that apprehension. No one needed to know she wasn’t a full-fledged witch yet.

  “Get out, now,” she ordered.

  Clutching his throat, the shifter Trent had attacked rose from the floor and stepped into her face. His breath carried the scent of something that was decomposing. “Why should we leave when he started it? Besides, we haven’t gotten our prize yet.”

  His gaze traveled the length of her body. It was hard to hold back the vomit. Trent hugged her close, fingers digging into her hip. When he growled, his chest vibrated against her back. “She’s mine. Touch her and you die.”

  Sam wondered if his possessiveness would be seen as endearing when she replayed this entire scene out in her head later that night. Right now, it was annoying.

  “No one is going to die tonight. Drinks are on the house. Just get on your hogs and get out of here.” As she said it, she felt another spark of magic tickling her fingers. If only she could control it, she wouldn’t have to rely on threats. “I’m not going to ask again.”

  One of the wolves took a step back and pointed a finger at Trent. “This isn’t over, pussycat.”

  Like he was trying to walk through her, Trent surged forward, ready to pick up the fight right where she’d interrupted it. She was there to stop him.

  “Anytime,” Trent sang. The pleasure in his voice shouldn’t have turned her on as much as it did. Alphas were a pain in the ass. Sexy, but a pain.

  The pack backed up toward the door, and boots scuffed against the floor. Music cranked to life, and the hum of conversation drifted back to life as if nothing had happened. Just another night in a shifter bar. When she turned, Trent didn’t let go of her. He looked drunk with testosterone.

  The urge to smack him against the forehead was overwhelming. “What in the hell is wrong with you?” She hadn’t meant to yell. “Jesus, Trent, they would have ripped you to shreds. You do know how to read, right? No shifting on the premises!”

  Although there was no room between them, he managed to take a step closer. His hand pressed against her lower back, fingers teasing the top of her ass. He tilted his head down to meet her eyes. His gaze traced a line from her mouth back to her eyes, as if he was going to kiss her. God help her if he did; she was in no position to fight him off.

  “I’m just doing my job.” The way his tongue drew across his lower lip made her knees boneless.

  “By starting bar fights?” The tighter he held her, the raspier her voice became. “You’re supposed to prevent trouble, not start it.”

  “They—”

  “They what?” she interrupted. “Looked at you wrong? A peanut shell fell from their table and hit your shoe? What was it this time?”

  She felt his anger deflate, and he cracked a half smile that made his eyes soften. Tiny lines expanded from the outer contours of his eye. From far away, he looked to be in his mid-twenties. This close, he
looked the thirty-five she knew him to be. She tried not to focus on the imperfections that helped make him so attractive.

  A thin pink scar traced the bottom of his chin. She could barely see it through the stubble. Along the right side of his forehead was another faded line, about an inch long. It gave him a rugged, don’t-fuck-with-me look. Jeremiah once told her scars were like trophies. Trent wore his well.

  “I was out of line.”

  Wow. Was that Trent admitting she was right? She lifted one eyebrow.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” He smiled down at her and drew his hand a little bit lower. One more inch, and he’d be cupping her ass. Nope, she wouldn’t last one second in a room alone with him.

  The heavy beat of his heart pulsed through her. “Like what?” she asked.

  “You tell anyone I admitted I was wrong, and I’ll hurt you.”

  Liar.

  “Listen, Trent, we need to talk.” It was awful timing, but the clock was running thin and her patience even thinner.

  Trent took a step back and shook his head. Letting go of her waist, he stuck his hands in his pockets. A curled lock of hair fell across his forehead. It hid the scar she’d been admiring.

  “It’s not a good idea. I shouldn’t have even come tonight.”

  From hot to cold, the game he’d been playing with her since the moment they’d met had just officially grown old. Something inside snapped. She was tired of being toyed with. He wanted her; she knew it, felt it. Magic older than either one of them could ever imagine said they belonged together.

  “Screw that. You’ve been avoiding me for the last three weeks, and I’m running out of time. I need to talk to you. You’ll sit down, and you’ll listen.”

  The way his eyes widened said a lot about him. He obviously wasn’t used to being bossed around. The look he gave her was penetrating. A sudden, gut-wrenching image popped into her mind. She pictured his long, hard cock disappearing between her legs as she impaled herself on it. She imagined his hands cupping her waist, guiding her against him when he growled out her name. What would it feel like to have him so intimately inside of her?