Magic to the Bone (41 page)
Authors: Devon Monk
I yelled out, burning with pleasure, throbbing with the joy of him deep inside the power that coursed through me. The world was reduced to textures: soft, silk, the watery touch of air. Reduced to colors: Zayvion’s eyes burning tiger-bright, his hands lost in a glow up to his elbows that cast his dark skin in gold light and ink shadows, the room a night sky around us, the deep brown earth holding us strong. Reduced to smells and tastes: sharp garlic and the mild cheeses of our dinner, the pine-sweet musk of Zayvion’s sweat, the honey of melting candle wax.
Magic poured out of me, filling the room, and I poured out with it.
This, this was the way I wanted to die, pouring out, losing myself to the glory and power of magic, Zayvion strong and hard inside me, becoming part of the world, and then becoming all of the world.
But I was still human enough, still me enough, to want more—to want to take Zayvion on this ride with me.
I didn’t have to cast a spell, didn’t have to concentrate. I wasn’t just a woman with magic anymore. I was magic. What I desired, magic became. And I desired Zayvion to experience this joy.
I poured magic into him. Zay groaned and breathed hard, his eyes half closed. We stood, holding each other tight. We still hadn’t finished undressing, but that didn’t matter. How could the mere pleasure of flesh compare with this, with me feeling him inside my whole body?
Zay groaned again, and I knew he could feel this, feel me around him, feel magic pouring hot and fast into him.
‘‘Come with me,’’ I said, or maybe I only thought it. ‘‘We can be everything.’’
I kissed him, and he kissed me back, hungrily.
Zay drank me down, and I poured out magic, whipping magic around us like ribbons in the wind, spooling from my fingers, from deep within the earth, from deep within me, into him.
And still it didn’t fill him.
I pulled back enough to look in his eyes. They still burned bright, but there was something else behind that. A darkness as calm and deep and endless as the night sky. I could pour as much magic as I wanted into him. He was a lightning rod, a man who could Ground me and the magic I sent into him, and pour it back to the earth from which it came.
‘‘Oh,’’ I said. This was so much more than I thought, he was so much more.
If I was the battery, he was the grounding wire. I could throw magic around all I wanted and he’d never loose his hold on me. We fit, so neatly a part of each other, magic to magic and soul to soul.
‘‘What are you?’’ I whispered.
‘‘What do you want me to be?’’
This had such lovely possibilities.
I drew my hand up his butt and rocked my hips to remind him I was also a woman of flesh and desire. Still, magic poured through me, through him, to the earth.
One corner of his lips quirked upward.
‘‘More?’’ I asked him.
‘‘Think you can?’’ he asked.
‘‘Try me.’’
Zayvion kissed me, softly, and the magic swelled between us.
‘‘Bed,’’ I said.
We made it to the bed, though I needed some help getting there and getting my pants off. I was dizzy with power, light-headed to the point of little specks dancing at the corners of my vision. But I didn’t want to let go of the clear rush of magic streaming through me. I wanted to make love to that calm, strong man, and try to break his calm, strong focus.
Once we were on the mattress and sheets—both of which were soft—the room seemed to spin a little and stopped only when Zay was above me, his eyes dark, dark windows into eternity.
He wasn’t just Grounding me, he was sucking the power through me, swallowing me down faster than I could refill, and drinking up more. I ached with the speed of the magic rushing through me. Ached with it, and loved it.
Time to fight fire with fire. I concentrated on holding the magic tightly inside my body, not letting any of it, not a taste, not a glimmer, not a thread of it escape me.
Zay jerked and moaned, and his body, which was naked now, thank heavens, responded to the sudden deprivation. He lowered against me and we kissed. I wanted to feel him inside me in every way, magic and flesh, but I made him work to get my mouth open, made him work to release my hold on the magic, and then, when he had done so, with as much patience as I could tolerate, I gave him all of me, and he gave all of himself in return.
He was hot, sweating, hard. My heartbeat thrummed, pounding in rhythm with the pulse of his mouth drawing magic from the lines against my collarbone, the hollow of my neck. Sliding waves of pleasure rolled through me, and I tangled my fingers in his thick, curled hair, pressing his head closer to my skin. He drew my hands up and above my head, lacing his fingers with mine. The heat of my right hand and chill of my left were uncomfortable so close together, but his hand cradled between my palms felt strong and solid and warm.
Magic coursed through me in waves of heat and ice, wrapping around his hand, wrapping around his body as he lowered against me and paused. I groaned. The weight of him between my thighs and against my hips and breasts, and the pressure of magic beneath my skin, begging to be released, turned every breath into an additional, aching pleasure.
He bent and gently licked my right nipple, and I luxuriated in the nerve-hot sensation.
Yes. Now.
Need shuddered through me as he licked my left nipple, then nipped, and sucked at the magic that filled me and filled me.
He was no longer Grounding me, no longer drinking the hot, fast flow of magic from me, and I was filling too full, too fast. The ache was unbearable. The pleasure immense.
I trembled, gasped for air.
‘‘Ground me,’’ I begged.
Zay plunged within me, within the magic, and I cried out in joy.
I arched against him and rode the pulsing waves of hot, silken pleasure, emptying of magic, emptying of hunger, emptying of need.
We kissed, a little sloppily, a little slow, and didn’t stop until the heat of magic, the heat of our passion, pooled into a sweet warmth between us, until our heartbeats slowed, until we could breathe again.
I rested curled against him, warm and languid. The magic within me was quiescent, satisfied. And so was I. I had never felt anything like that. I now understood why some people willingly paid painfully high prices to use magic during sex.
But this had been more than a dime-store sex toy or three-step spell. Somewhere during the wild storm of magic Zay had called up within me, we had joined together, manipulating the give and take, the flow of a massive amount of magic.
And I felt absolutely no ill effects from it.
‘‘How come I don’t hurt?’’ I asked.
His chin was tucked so his lips were near my ear. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘We used a lot of magic just now. A lot. And we did not set a Disbursement spell. So why aren’t we paying a price for it?’’
His breathing caught, and I counted three strong beats of his heart against my chest before he spoke. ‘‘Soul Complement,’’ he said, as if that explained everything.
I pulled back so I could see his face. ‘‘What is that supposed to mean?’’
‘‘Didn’t your father teach you anything?’’
That kind of question usually made me defensive. But here, in his arms, I had no desire to put up my guard. ‘‘Other than how to balance a checkbook? No. Is it a magic term?’’
Zay took a deep breath and stared at the wall behind me. I figured he was trying to decide what to tell me, or maybe how much.
‘‘Listen,’’ I said. ‘‘You probably have lots of reasons to be all secretive and such. But my life has been changed by things I don’t understand. It would be fabulously decent of you to let me in on all this.’’
He still didn’t say anything, so I tucked back into the warmth of him. ‘‘Would it help if I promised not to tell anyone?’’
Still nothing.
‘‘Scout’s honor?’’ I offered.
‘‘Are you a scout?’’ he asked in the kind of voice that told me he was smiling.
‘‘Not that I know of. But for you, I’d totally get started on that.’’
He shifted, drew his hand down my hip and thigh, and I pulled back so I could see him again.
‘‘There are terms among the Authority,’’ he said.
‘‘Wow. Why don’t you start with authority? Authority of what?’’
‘‘Magic.’’
‘‘Really. Magic experts? Are there magic lectures? Magic bake sales? Magic bingo night?’’ I had a bad habit of making jokes when something startled me. The idea that there really was a group of secret magic worshippers scared the hell out of me.
He made an exasperated sound and rubbed his face. ‘‘Do you want to hear this or not, Scout?’’
‘‘I’m sorry. Go ahead.’’
He looked back down at me. ‘‘There are terms among the . . . people who use magic. A Magic Complement is someone who can either support or aid another caster, or whose magic style and ability are similar to another caster so that complex spells, like Grounding, are possible between them.’’
He could Ground me without it seeming to hurt him. ‘‘You and I are Magic Complements?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And that’s why we can manipulate so much magic without burning out?’’
‘‘Possibly. There are other ways two magic users can work together. Besides being a Magic Complement, there is also a Magic Contrast. A Contrast is someone whose magic style and ability are at an opposing stance with another caster. Contrasts can often achieve even more power or control when they work together. The conflict of magical styles can bear strange advantages. But there is always a grave price to pay for that kind of magical interaction.
‘‘Complements can also achieve a lot through working magic together, and there is usually a smaller price paid. There are many degrees of Complement and Contrast. You and Cody are Complements on some levels.’’
‘‘That’s why he could pull magic through me?’’
‘‘Right.’’
‘‘So what is a Soul Complement?’’
‘‘The highest joining and expression of two magic users manipulating magic as one.’’
I swallowed to try to find my voice. ‘‘Does that happen very often?’’
‘‘It is believed there is a Soul Complement for each person who uses magic.’’
‘‘Believed?’’
His voice softened. ‘‘So few find each other. Fewer still risk death to discover if they can cast magic in perfect complement. It’s hard to prove if there is a Soul Complement for each person.’’ He paused, golden eyes studying me. ‘‘There have been some throughout history.’’
Other books
Islands in the Stream by Ernest Hemingway
Sit, Walk, Stand: The Process of Christian Maturity by Watchman Nee
To Love Again by Bertrice Small
Garden of Evil by Edna Buchanan
Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) by Jonathan Moeller
The Front Runner by Patricia Nell Warren
The War That Came Early: Coup d'Etat by Harry Turtledove
Mambo in Chinatown by Jean Kwok
Did Muhammad Exist?: An Inquiry into Islam's Obscure Origins by Spencer, Robert
Clidepp Requital by Thomas DePrima