Spellbound (2 page)

The vamp was barely old enough to even know how to hunt alone. He didn’t even look like he was capable of ripping through dozens of people, and maybe Stavros had let his guard down a little because of it. Then he had the nerve to try and go for Stavros’ throat. He had given the shithead a chance because he was used to them fighting, and Stavros was feeling bored with his constant routine of grab and book, but then the brat started spewing his bullshit about the superiority of the vampire race and how sweet the latest victim tasted - a little girl no older than nine. Stavros had shoved the bastard in a cell so hard that the sound of his skull cracking still echoed down the hall as he dropped a set of pearly white fangs into Mikhail’s palm. His smug smirk earned him a verbal lashing that lasted for hours before Mikhail rushed off to convince the Council not to lose their heads.

The notice had come two days later, signed with all seven Council member seals and Mikhail’s sloppy signature still drying on the bottom. They said he needed a partner, that his workload was not meant for one and that it was not up for debate. They said he could choose to step down from his position and claim one in the human realm; he could become a uniformed officer in the state of Utah if he preferred, and he could almost smell their smug amusement embedded in the ink. They had backed him into a corner and they knew it.

Stavros shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind and stepped out of the comfort of the shower. He sighed as he looked in the mirror, something he rarely ever allowed himself to do. His wet hair was knotted slightly and lay limp on his shoulders, his green eyes were dull and he needed a shave. He bared his teeth at his reflection, watching the short fangs that dropped as his eyes bled black. He turned away from it, not bothering to finish drying off before he went to bed for the first time in days.

Chapter 2

Stavros nearly gagged when a thick, sweet scent hit him as he approached Mikhail’s door. The guard at the front desk chuckled under his breath, instantly falling silent when Stavros glared in his direction.

He threw open the office door and stepped inside, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Mikhail. The older man stood up from his desk and smiled fondly.

“Good morning, Stavros. I trust you’ve slept well?” Mikhail asked merrily. Stavros completely ignored him; instead choosing to look at the far side of the large office to see what awaited him.

There, on the long, tacky velvet couch meant for guests, was Stavros’ worst nightmare. The kid grinned brightly as he bounded to his feet
.
He was tall, only slightly shorter than Stavros, but he was a damn kid nonetheless. His light brown hair was cut in some horrible trendy style that was messy on top and shorter on the sides, just long enough to cover the tips of his pointed ears. His black slacks clung to his long legs and sat low on his slim hips. His navy button up shirt was rolled up to his forearms and fit tight enough to show that anyone would be hard pressed to find a real muscle on the brat. He didn’t have a spot of facial hair and Stavros doubted
he could even grow any. The only thing even slightly menacing about him was the depth of the darkness of his eyes. The color was so dark that his pupils were virtually unseen. He looked better suited for a fashion magazine than anything Mikhail could offer him.

“Hi, I’m Elion. It’s nice to meet you finally,” he beamed. His voice was surprisingly deep in contrast to his appearance, but the pep in it was sickening.

Stavros ignored the hand extended towards him and turned back to Mikhail. “No. Absolutely not. This isn’t what I agreed to.”

Mikhail sighed. “You didn’t agree to anything, Stavros. This isn’t optional. You know your choices, and we both know you have no interest in Utah.”

Elion stared. He had been warned that Stavros was a hard-ass, but he didn’t think anyone could be that bad. Elion could practically taste the hatred rolling off of him and, no matter how gorgeous the man actually was, his cocky attitude wasn’t doing him any favors. His ebony hair was tied back and stopped just short of his broad shoulders. His clingy black shirt gave view of the dips and swells of lean muscle underneath. Elion found himself curious as to how Stavros managed to work efficiently in leather pants that fit like a second skin and with heavy black boots, but he wouldn’t question it much, simply because the man looked like a walking sin. Everything about him screamed power and strength. Elion figured that even if Stavros suddenly lost his arms, his eyebrows could probably force someone into submission.

“…is he deaf?” Elion tore his eyes off the man’s rear and looked up with a slight blush. Mikhail’s bushy brow arched and he was doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement.

“I assure you that he is not. Maybe he’s been caught slightly off guard by your incredibly rude behavior,” Mikhail said calmly, obviously used to such a tone from Stavros.

“I don’t have time to babysit some brat. I could barely bring that bastard in here yesterday. I have serious doubts that some elf is going to-“

“I’m just going to stop you there,” Elion cut in. “I was the top of my class in the academy and I was the youngest decorated officer in my squad. Secondly, since when are cambions racist?”

“Excuse me?” Stavros snapped, his elongating nails sinking into his palms.

“Are you deaf?” Elion mocked. Stavros growled threateningly enough that Mikhail put his foot down, literally. The room shook just enough to pull Stavros back when undiluted darkness began to fill his eyes. His neck snapped towards the sorcerer who was quickly losing his patience.

“You know your choices. Personally, I think that shade of blue the officer’s wear there would look awful with your complexion.”

The room was silent during the stare off between Mikhail and Stavros. Mikhail turned away first, and grabbed a stack of files from his desk and extended them to Stavros. Stavros’ eyes narrowed and the tip of a sharp fang flashed at them as he grumbled. His large hands tore them from Mikhail’s, and with a furious growl, he stormed from the office.

Mikhail winked at Elion as he stared wide-eyed after his new partner. “Welcome aboard, Elion,” Mikhail chuckled before gesturing him off.

Elion could feel the path of anger that Stavros had left in his wake and, by the way the entire precinct was staring at him with pity and amusement, he wondered if maybe he should consider Utah for himself. He returned greetings politely and tried not to look too awkward as he searched for his new office. When he finally found it, he paused outside of the door and took a deep, cleansing breath before turning the knob and stepping inside.

It was surprisingly large compared to the offices he had seen in California, with ample room for two detectives and their workspaces. The walls were beige and bare of any décor. The blinds to the room’s only window were pulled closed, leaving the small lamps on their desks and the glow of computer screens to illuminate the space.

Elion cleared his throat and took a seat at the empty desk across from Stavros’. The computer was already on and a few files were placed neatly next to it. He nervously shifted the phone on the left and moved a pen a few inches to the right before lacing his fingers and dropping his hands into his lap. He chewed at his bottom lip while he studied the man across the room. Stavros’ shoulders were tense as he scribbled on a file. His brow was furrowed and his lips pursed. There wasn’t a single thing about him that wasn’t deterring. Every jerk of the pen across the paper made his bicep flex slightly, and Spirits if it wasn’t hypnotizing. A few strands of hair had slipped free of the band and now draped freely over his proud cheekbone, making him look almost angelic; if angels snapped necks with their pinkies. Every few minutes he would pull his bottom lip between his teeth and chew for a moment before releasing it, and Elion knew that he really, really shouldn’t be that fascinated by it.

Cambions were known for being beautiful. They had an air of sensuality around them, making them even more powerful. They could draw in their victims with ease; with a few bats of their lashes or a sway of their hips. It was obvious that while it wasn’t Stavros’ intention, he oozed beauty and sexuality. Unlike the common cambion nature, it appeared he denied the appeal of the darkness that burned in him, or at least some of it. He tried to stay closed off rather than out in the open.

Elion had met a few cambions in his life that weren’t evil, as most would call them, despite it simply being their nature. One was a waitress in Los Angeles who dreamed of being a movie star, as did most that moved there. She had known what she was her entire life, but the man he met a few months later had not. Within months of discovering his true self, he had claimed his place in the world of the supernatural and decided to pursue a darker path. Their relationship had come to an abrupt halt after that. It was a shame really; he had been an amazing lover.

Elion shook his head in an attempt to distract himself. His first shift had barely started and he was already acting like a fool. A sudden thump startled him. His eyes shot from his blank computer screen back to Stavros, who was now on his feet. When their eyes connected, the larger man looked almost taken back, like he had forgotten Elion even existed.

Elion shifted stiffly; the leather seat creaked beneath him and the sound seemed to ricochet around the room. He had never been a shy person. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind or ask questions. Until now, anyway. He felt a blush creeping up his neck as a set of shockingly green eyes burned through him.

“I’m just gonna
grab a coffee. Want anything?” Elion asked on an unsteady breath. Stavros arched a bemused brow and scowled. He turned with surprising grace for such a large, tense man and walked out without glancing back. Elion wasn’t positive, but it almost sounded like his new partner muttered something about feeding him to an ogre.

Elion sighed, dragging a hand through his styled hair before dropping it back into his lap. He swore his heart had skipped a few beats when he heard he was going to be partnered with Stavros. It was a gift and a curse, though he had asked for it. The man was known widely. He was loved, feared and he was hated; more hated than anything, from the general consensus, but he was a master in their field. Elion knew he stood to learn and experience things that no one else could teach him, if he could survive being Stavros’ partner.

That fact didn’t make the knot in his gut loosen even the slightest.

Numerous people had told him about apparent innocents that Stavros had murdered, about his inability to do anything but instill fear into any breathing creature, and how he could make the most cold-hearted demon cry. Elion figured most of those stories to be exaggerations or tales made up by those that Stavros hadn’t pleased in the past. Until he’d met the man that is; then he was left wondering how many of those stories were actually untrue.

He exhaled harshly and pushed off his desk. Coffee, he needed coffee. He hated coffee, but it seemed to be the thing to do. It would make him seem like he was fitting in with everyone around him. Coffee with a few shots of something strong would be perfect, but the thick, bitter sludge from the break room would have to do for now. Curious eyes studied him as he made his way past cluttered desks and moody officers. He was grateful that he wasn’t stuck in the constricting, boring uniforms that they were, not that he would brag about it. He got enough grief for skipping over the grunt work all of the rookies got, though he had done his time on the streets of California without the comfort of the magic perks those in Hesian got to use.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, wincing at the foul taste before dumping it down the sink and searching the almost bare cabinets for any sign of tea bags. Smiling when he found a box, he filled two mugs with hot water and dropped in the bags, adding his standard sugar and cream. He wasn’t sure if Stavros was back in their office, or if he even drank tea. He most certainly didn’t look like a tea drinker. No, he was more like a drinker of the blood of the innocent and whiskey kind of guy. Elion hoped it was the thought that counted as he turned the corner and spotted the intimidating man back at his desk.

Stavros spared him a half glance before turning back to the work in front of him. He muttered under his breath while he pecked at the keyboard like it was his first encounter with it. Elion almost chuckled at the sight. He steadied his nerves the best that he could and stepped closer, extending the mug with a smile.

Stavros eyed the cup with absolute disgust before leaning back in his chair. “I don’t drink coffee,” he mumbled.

“It’s tea.” Elion tried not to frown while Stavros eyed him up like a potential threat. He wouldn’t poison the man, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to slip him something to loosen him up. As if Stavros could hear his thoughts, he scowled and waved the cup away. “Come on. I didn’t spit in it.”

“Of course you didn’t. That would suggest you’re anything other than an innocent little brat,” he said casually, still leaning back in his chair. The bottom of his shirt was ridden up ever so slightly, only revealing a hint of flesh between the waist of his low leather pants and the hem of his shirt.

Elion cleared his throat, blinking away the images gathering in his mind. “That’s quite an unfair assumption. You don’t even know me. I bet you don’t even remember my name,” he scoffed, setting the mug down on Stavros’ desk.

He tried to ignore the staring from across the room as he sipped his own tea. He opened his email, pretending to read the random office memos until out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stavros lifting the white mug to his lips.