Magic in the Blood (10 page)

If he’d told me he was stalking me,
that
I might believe.

“Why don’t I think anything is a coincidence with you?”

He tipped his head to the side, giving me a nod. “Because you have trust issues.”

“I don’t think you know me well enough to say things like that.”

He pulled his head back as if I’d just slapped him. His breathing changed, and I suddenly realized that Mr. Jones was a very dangerous man beneath that Zen calm.

I stood up, not liking the dynamic of me crouched down with him towering over me. And besides that, magic was pushing in me, filling me again too full, and I was having a hard time keeping control of it.

Even though I am six feet tall, Zayvion still had a couple inches on me. And standing this close to him, I could see he had width too. Though he managed to hide it, he was built like a brick wall under that ski coat—wide shoulders tapering down into a narrow waist, and all that relaxed body language doing little to conceal that that body knew how to fight, and did it often.

“My apologies,” he said stiffly. “I see you didn’t need help finding it.”

I had no idea what we were talking about.

“Your father’s grave?” he reminded me.

Right. He was talking about my dad’s grave. What I was doing was trying to figure out why he was here, and getting all frickin’ dizzy again. Magic was still filling me, filling me too full. I had tapped into it, used it to look for my dad’s body, and now I couldn’t seem to make it stop filling me up.

This was something I’d been dealing with a lot since I came back to Portland. Keeping a close hold on the magic in my body so it didn’t just escape me and do something stupid like burn down a city block was getting to be a real pain.

I was a walking time bomb. But I really was getting good at keeping my finger off the trigger.

Well, except for right now.

Maybe the whole weird morning was starting to catch up with me. Maybe the magic-sucking watercolor people had damaged me in a way I didn’t know. Maybe the price for the magic I’d used today was coming due.

Whatever. I felt like hell.

The gray day went dark at the edges, and the ringing in my ears harmonized with the thrum of my blood. Oh, hells. There was no way I could handle this much magic. Magic pulsed and slid, pulsed and slid, filling me full, too full, too tight.

I held my breath against it, bit the inside of my cheek, and tried to think calm thoughts.

I am a river. Magic pours through me and back into the ground. It does not shape me. I do not shape it.

“Allie?”

What
were
we just talking about? I blinked. It felt like my eyes stayed closed for a long time. When I opened them again, I was on my knees.

Weird.

“Allie?” Zayvion’s voice floated down to me from far, far away. “Don’t try to stand. Lie back and take slower breaths. It’s going to be okay. I got you.”

That didn’t sound good. Still, I had apparently lost the ability to speak, or breathe out, or really do much else, so Zayvion’s suggestions were helpful in their way.

Even more helpful were his hands.

I exhaled as minty heat from his palms soaked through my heavy coat. Mint spread down through me, like water against a fire. The mint calmed the magic pouring through me, blanketed it, pushed it back to my muscles, my bones, and then down deeper—pushed the magic back into the ground from where it came. Zayvion’s touch eased the ache of magic, giving me room in my own body to breathe again.

“Excellent,” Zayvion said. “Slower breaths. Good.”

I did as he told me, let the mint fill me, cool me, stroke soft and sweetly through me, leaving shivers of pleasure across my skin. Sensual. I wondered if he was like this in bed.

Now there was a memory I wished I still had.

“Can you open your eyes?”

I could and I did.

Zayvion’s face filled my vision. His eyes were brown and burning with gold I did not remember seeing before. And beyond that, beyond the tiger brightness, was a vast, vast feeling of emptiness, of space. I could suck up all the magic in the world, pour it all out into him, and never be able to fill him up.

Nice.

“I don’t know if you remember,” he said, “about this. About us. I’m Grounding you, Allie. If you want to help, just clear your mind and think calm thoughts. Meditate.”

Right. And after I did that I’d jump up and sing some show tunes.

That also must have shown on my face because Zayvion’s lips quirked. “Whatever you’re thinking—it’s not helping.”

Well, it was good to know he couldn’t read my mind. I licked my lips, or at least I thought I did. I actually couldn’t feel my mouth, couldn’t feel my body other than in a distant, half-asleep, still-room-for-breathing sort of way.

That worried me.

But instead of panicking, I took a nice, deep breath and focused on Zayvion’s gold, gold eyes.

I am a channel, a river. Magic flows through me but does not fill me, does not change me.

Zayvion could fill me, could change me. And I’d like it.
That didn’t help clear my mind either, so I went back to the river thing, repeated it to myself until it became a mantra, a meditation. Repeated it until I could feel my body—cold and wet down my back, butt, and legs; warm and dry down my front from Zayvion leaning across me, his wide back sheltering me from the falling rain.

Until I could feel the heat of him more than the heat of magic.

The mint sensation grew stronger, like I’d just been rubbed down with wintergreen leaves. Tingly, cool, and warm everywhere, inside and out.

“Beautiful,” Zay said, soft and sexy-like.

I licked my lips and felt them this time. “Thanks.” “Sure.” He didn’t move. I didn’t want him to. He was so close, the overpowering pine scent of his cologne mixed nicely with the smell of winter grass and wet jackets. Even though I probably shouldn’t, I liked the combination. I gave myself a heartbeat or two to wonder what his lips would taste like.

Hells.

I kissed him.

I think he was surprised. But it didn’t take him long to get over that.

His lips were soft, thick, and gentle. I opened my mouth for him, and he responded, deepening the kiss, making promises, or maybe just suggestions, that I completely agreed with.

I inhaled the heat of him and my body stirred with sensations and memories that had nothing to do with magic.

Zayvion made a needful sound at the back of his throat, and the magic within me rose up, coaxed higher by Zay’s mouth on my own, his thumb tracing the whorls of magic that pulsed against my throat.

Wait
, I thought. Something. Something wasn’t right about this.

Zayvion’s mouth moved to the edge of my jaw, and then his lips, soft, warm, opened against my throat as he sucked, nipped.

I moaned. Magic, oily and hot, pulsed through me, rising to Zayvion’s tongue that gently stroked across the marks on my neck, easing the edge of my need in only the smallest degree and making me want more.

He knew me. Knew what I wanted.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed across my skin.

Then the rest of it—the reality of it, of where I was, of whom I was with, and why I was here—hit me.

I was making out with a man I couldn’t remember, and wasn’t sure I could trust, on my father’s grave.

Talk about a mood killer.

“Let me up,” I said, my voice a lot stronger than I’d expected. “Up. Now. Off.” My voice rose with each word. “Off me. I can’t. Not here. With you.” I meant to say not on my dad’s grave but I didn’t get the chance.

Zayvion pulled back, studied my face, those gold eyes dark with hurt or anger—I so wasn’t in the mood to suss out the difference. I didn’t have to. He rocked back on his heels away from me.

The rush of cool air between us made me gasp so hard, it hurt. He looked away at the horizon, the muscle at his jaw clenched, while I gathered myself until I was sitting and then standing.

He stood too, with the kind of grace that comes from martial arts training. When he finally looked at me again, his face had settled into Zen calm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. A shadow of hunger shifted in his eyes, gold, then brown, then was extinguished, leaving his gaze emotionless, flat.

I sniffed and rubbed my gloves over my butt, trying to brush off grass and mud, trying to pull myself together. Why did I feel so guilty?

“I needed the . . . that Grounding. Thank you. Sometimes . . . magic . . . It’s not always easy, but usually I’m fine. Today’s been”—
horrible
, I wanted to say, but instead I said—“long. So don’t apologize for Grounding me.”

“I wasn’t.”

Oh.

That flare of heat and desire flickered in his eyes. He blinked once, slowly, and gave me the Zen calm again.

“Oh,” I said. “Good. And you’re really good at that. Grounding,” I clarified. “Studied much?”

His lips tightened at the corner. For some reason, that question brought him pain. “Yes. But Grounding isn’t really my specialty.”

“Really? What is?”

He nodded. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

Well, could I be more awkward and standoffish? No, I think not. Before things could get worse, I took a deep breath and tried to say something that didn’t sound like I was itching for a fight.

“What are you really doing here?” I asked.

“Looking for you. To ask you out. On a date.” As he said it, his gaze flicked over my shoulder and rested just a little too long on the horizon.

So I turned and looked back there too. Close to the mausoleum at the top of the hill, a figure moved, walking among the graves. Heavy knee-length coat, a hat. It didn’t look like anyone I knew, but from this distance it was hard to tell.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

See how I bought myself time to think about the whole date thing?

“Not yet.” Zayvion had not moved, had not stopped squinting off into the heavy drizzle. “Maybe not at all.” He wiped rain off his face and pulled his beanie closer to his head. “This place always makes me jumpy.”

“Always? How often do you come here?”

Zayvion finally looked away from the figure, who had stopped walking between graves and was now standing, just standing there, staring in our general direction.

“I was last here at the burial,” he said quietly.

I glanced down at my father’s grave. The press of our bodies had left the image of a broken snow angel in the soft grass and soil. A mud angel. Oregon style.

“You saw him lowered down. Down into that?”
Into that empty grave
, I wanted to say, but didn’t, couldn’t, yet.

He nodded. “Are you done here?” he asked. “If you want to go, I have my car.”

He didn’t look cold despite the rain. Didn’t look like he was in a hurry. Didn’t look like he might be trying to avoid answering my questions too.

“Maybe,” I said. “Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“Everything might take some time.” He tipped his head down a bit, his smile warm. More than warm—it was firelight in the damn cold world, a heat I wished I could pull deep within me. Maybe I could overlook the darkness of the rest of the day if I could hold on to a little bit of that fire.

“I have some time,” I said. “Until noon, anyway. You have somewhere you need to be?”

He held very still, so still I didn’t think he was breathing. Finally, “No. Just with you.”

And for no reason at all, those words made my stomach flutter, like he’d just drawn his hand down my back and pulled me close. Oh, yeah. There was a reason I’d been attracted to him. Still was. Even in a graveyard, even in a rainstorm, even after a crappy day like today, he knew what to say to make me feel like there was no one else in the world with him but me.

Well, me and the person standing by the gravestones, staring at us.

We walked toward the car, Zayvion crossing behind to position himself on my right and slightly uphill from me. The way someone would position himself if he wanted to put his body between me and, say, that person up there on the horizon.

“How about you start by telling me why you don’t want whoever that is up there to see me?”

I could see his smile from the corners of my eyes.

“You’re an observant woman, Ms. Beckstrom.”

“You have no idea.”

I let the sound of our boots in the grass take up some time. Zayvion didn’t look worried. I couldn’t smell anyone on the wind, couldn’t smell much over the strong pine of Zayvion’s cologne.

“Might be no one I know,” he finally said.

“Or?”

He shrugged again. “Never hurts to be careful. You’re a public figure right now.”

“I’ve always been a public figure.”

“Not like this,” he said softly. “Not like now. People are watching you, Allie. Closely.”

Like that was news. It would take more than a vague reference to scare me. Hells, as far as I knew Trager’s men waited around every corner and even dead people had suddenly decided to watch my every move.