The Death Skull: Relic Defender, Book 2 (40 page)

Possession of the exotic woman whose hips begged for his touch. Whose lithe, sensual movements offered bliss.

The woman on the stage, Lexi he’d heard her named, radiated a vitality that drew him to her like a magnet. Her features contained an alluring blend of Egyptian and Grecian traits. Thick dark hair hung in long graceful curves over her shoulders. Loose tendrils framed a sun-kissed face with a short, straight nose and softly rounded chin.

A diaphanous confection of emerald, garnet, gold and pearl silks whispered over full hips that tapered into long, smooth legs. The ebb and flow of the thin material offered teasing glimpses of bronzed skin and shapely calves. He had been unable to see the color of her eyes or their shape but he could imagine. Imagine the way they would darken and turn moist with desire as she moved her hips under his.

Hell’s gate, the way she moved. Seductive, with unconscious grace and delicacy, a golden lioness stalking her prey. Over the centuries, he’d seen many beautiful women dance the
raqs sharqi
. But none had this Lexi’s finesse or the ability to entwine the sultry rhythms with the enchanting hip swirls and dips. Even Egypt’s most powerful seductress, Cleopatra, had never performed as evocatively as this woman had. She’d certainly never taken his breath away.

It took all the willpower Mikos commanded to stop his traitorous body from leaping onto the stage to draw Lexi against his body. To slowly pull off each delicate piece of fabric and reveal each curve and mysterious valley of the slender form hidden under the veils. To caress warm skin and explore the sleek lines of her back, her waist, her hips. Then finally, to press her body to the hard floor as he thrust into her again and again and again. His legs quivered with the effort to remain still.

Mikos sucked in a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow. He had to get his lust under control. He knew, far too well, what resulted in succumbing to the temptation of a lush body, plump, wet lips and soft, perfumed skin.

Now, despite decades of fighting the seductive pull of mortal women, Archangel Michael, his tormentor, wanted him in close contact with the most important mortal female of this time. This woman. The Defender.

Mikos growled low in his throat. Was there a better way to test the resolve of a Fallen who wanted to return to Heaven than by putting him in close contact with the motivation for his Fall? Or at least, half of his motivation for falling.

Definitely a test. Another battle to fight with his baser instincts.

Another chance to fail
. The insidious thought crawled through his mind.

As the rushing blood in his veins slowed and his breathing calmed, he suddenly sensed what he hadn’t been able to before. A subtle change had come over the mortals. Desire, greed and enjoyment in sensual pleasures clashed with rage and hunger. And evil.

Mikos stiffened. As if water from the frigid north crashed over his head, the flush of passion dissipated. Another immortal was near. Like him, yet not like him. Malicious intent seethed around him, fueling the men’s lust, greed and anger. A sudden thin chill swept past him, and he swung around in the chair.

The silver-touched inner eyes slid over his regular sight. Color bleached to various shades of gray, light and dark and nuances in between. Using his new sight, he scanned the room. At the same time, he inhaled, his nostrils flaring. The presence, whatever it was, leaked the sulfuric taint of the Under Realm into the stale, smoke-heavy air. If one of the dark ones were near, he or she, boasted powerful concealment skills. Skills better than his own. Damn. Only one possibility. A High Caste demon.

His mind spun with the implication of the demon’s presence. High Caste demons did not leave the Under Realm often, but when they did, chaos and death, human death, followed. For the High demon to be present now, in close proximity, could only mean Beliel knew where to find the Defender. His jaw clenched. He’d hoped for more time to work with her before she had to deal with Beliel or one of his deadly allies.

“She is a delicious piece of mortal flesh isn’t she, my brother”?
As if a mere thought of his name commanded his attention, Beliel’s dark, hell-crusted voice slithered into Mikos’ mind.

“Hiding behind a mortal, hell-spawn?”
he snarled.

A guttural bark of derisive laughter, then, “
Better a hell-spawn than an archangel’s slave.”

“At least I don’t have to act through another.”

A hiss sounded, the grating sound reverberating through Mikos’ skull. A brief smile of satisfaction twitched his lips. He’d made the oily bastard angry.

“You will lose,”
Beliel snapped in a harsh, raw voice.
“I will have the woman, and she will lead me to King Solomon’s Key
.
”

“Are you an Oracle now?”

“I do not need a soothsayer to tell me of my destiny. I have the pretender’s Vessel. Soon I’ll have the Key. Then I’ll take the spirits’ power as mine. Nothing can stop me. Not Lucifer, not Heaven and certainly not a cowardly traitor.”

A malignant secret could turn her mountain sanctuary into their tomb.

More Than Magic

© 2014 Donna June Cooper

Books of the Kindling, Book 1

DEA agent Nick McKennitt is sure magic exists—a dangerous drug called Smoky Mountain Magic that’s wreaking havoc in Atlanta. He’s also sure that locating and eliminating the source will kill him.

When he arrives undercover on Woodruff Mountain, the beautiful, owner’s awkward attempts to scare him off tell him something’s afoot, and it’s not her secret patch of ginseng.

As her dream of seeking medicinal plants in the Amazon fades away, Grace Woodruff struggles to come to terms with a magical gift she didn’t want, and searches desperately for the meaning behind her late grandfather’s final, cryptic message.
 

The last thing she needs underfoot is a handsome, enigmatic writer recovering from a recent illness. Until an accidental touch unleashes a stunning mystical force and Grace senses the wrath of a malicious blight at the heart of the mountain. Now Grace must choose between her need to hide her gift from the world…and her desire to save Nick’s life.

This book contains a fiery redhead whose magic cannot be contained and a handsome DEA agent whose final case might give him a second chance at life.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
More Than Magic:

“Grace!”

Grace turned around wearily as the gray-haired charge nurse came around the counter. What was her name? Marcie? No. Maggie? Grace resisted the urge to shake her head to clear out the fog. She needed more caffeine, but her stomach was already sour. What she really needed was some sleep, but she hadn’t slept well since—

“Or is it Dr. Woodruff now?” The nurse glanced at Grace’s casual jeans and sweater.

“Not officially. Awaiting all the formalities.”
If I can manage to live through the next week or so.
“Just visiting today.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I—we appreciated the donation. I hope you got the thank you card.”

“We did. It’s up on the board over there.” She motioned to the nurses’ station. “I know—I mean, Tink talks about you and your Pops and your mountain all the time so I know how close you were to him.”

Grace managed a nod.

“Well, I’m glad that you came by today.” The nurse moved closer and Grace read her name tag. Margaret. Maggie. That was it. “I need to warn you,” she said. “Our Tink isn’t doing so well.”

Grace sighed. “How bad is it?”

Maggie sighed and shook her head. “Well, you just enjoy
this
visit with her to the fullest. She’ll be thrilled. She’s been asking about you.”

“Thanks for telling me, Maggie,” Grace replied, heading toward the room.

“And it
is
good to see you. We’ve missed that laugh of yours around here.”

Grace nodded. That was Maggie’s indirect way of telling her to lighten up a bit before she visited Tink. Grace reached up to check that all her hair was still somewhat secured by the clip she had jammed into it earlier, pinched her cheeks quickly, and mustered a smile as she stuck her head around the doorframe of Tink’s room.

Tink’s real name was Isabella, but her father’s nickname of Tinker Bell had apparently stuck, and she insisted on Tink. And when you are barely seven years old, insistence can be loud and repetitive.

However, as Maggie had warned, Tink wasn’t the slightest bit noisy today. She lay quiet in the hospital bed, her face pale beneath the bright pink kerchief tied over her bald head.

Grace nodded at Tink’s mom, ever present and hopeful in the chair next to the bed. Her mother smiled back, but it was easy to tell that despite Grace being a welcome visitor, things weren’t going well.

“Hey Bink.”

Tink’s eyes flew open and, for a moment, the pale face was transformed by a joyful grin, soon replaced by a practiced frown. “Tink. You know it’s Tink, Dr. Grace.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Pink.”

A dimple peeked through, but Tink was trying hard to maintain their routine. “Not Pink! Tink!”

“Yes, sorry. How are things today, Dink?”

“
Tink!
Like
Tink
er Bell. My name is Tink!” She folded her arms and lifted her chin.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the wings! Obviously you are Tinker Bell! My deepest apologies, Your Fairyness.” Grace curtsied.

Tink sniffed. “Well, I’ve missed you lots and
lots
, so I forgive you this once.”

Grace smiled and looked over at Tink’s mom, who nodded gratefully and left the room for a much needed break. Grace’s visits had been a welcome diversion now that she was off clinical rotation.

Settling carefully on the edge of the bed, avoiding tubes, wires and monitors with practiced ease, Grace folded one leg beneath her and leaned close.

“So, may I have my sprinkle of fairy dust, madam?”

There was a tentative nod, then Tink dusted her carefully with a handful of sparkling nothingness.

“Oh! Not too much!” Grace grabbed at the railing. “I don’t want to float up and get stuck on the ceiling!”

Tink looked up at the ceiling, her face solemn. “Is that what I’ll do, Dr. Grace? Daddy says I’ll float through the ceiling right straight to heaven. But it’s
solid
.” Her fingers curled into Grace’s sweater. “Did your Pops float up that way? Did you see him?”

Grace nearly gasped at the sudden pressure in her chest. It was too much, too soon. She would
not
lose anyone else, especially not this vibrant little being who was hanging on to life with both fists.

It was difficult to get the words past the painful constriction in her throat. “Well, Pops was on his mountain under a beautiful blue sky, so he had a pretty good shot at heaven without any ceilings getting in the way.” Grace took a deep breath. “Besides, fairies don’t
have
problems with ceilings. And if you float off, who’s going to sprinkle me? I haven’t gotten the knack of this flying thing yet!”

“But I’m not really a fairy. I’m a girl.” The lower lip was out now. “And I wanna go
home
now. I don’t want to go to heaven yet.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Had Brian been right? Should she have come back from the funeral, grabbed her diploma, and headed off with him to the Amazon? Turned her back on everything else, everyone else?
 

No. She took a deep breath. “So, is your tummy upset today? Is that what’s wrong? Or are you hurting—”

“You can fix me so I can go home, Dr. Grace. I know you can.” Tink’s voice trembled, but she leaned forward to whisper. “Your mountain sang to me.”

“My—my mountain sang to you?”

“You know. It sings.” The pink kerchief bobbed with certainty. “About the magic.”

Grace tried to recall what she might have told the little girl about the mountain that would have spun this tale.

“Go ahead and fix me. I won’t tell anyone. And I—I can be home in time for my birthday.” The little hand trembled as she held it out toward Grace.

“Wha—”

“It’s like fairies. You just believe in the magic.”

Grace couldn’t do anything but take the little hand between her own. “I do?”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you believe.”

“I—I believe, but sweetie—”

“You have to close your eyes.”

“Of course.” She closed her eyes, playing along, “I be—”

Inky black nothingness, poisonous and vile, smothering the last vestiges of bright glowing life of Isabella, of Tink, like some malignant fog, choking her.

“—lieve.”

Grace started, opening her eyes. Tink was lying back on her pillow, eyes closed, one hand wrapped around Grace’s fingers, murmuring fervently, “I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe.”

She knew it was only a vivid hallucination brought on by her lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion—just like the oily blackness she had seen in her nightmares that suffocated Pops before she could reach him. But this had been so…real, so present. She tightened her grasp on Tink’s hand and glanced around the room, taking a shaky breath.