Wilder Mage (41 page)
Authors: CD Coffelt
She gave a tired smile and started to turn.
“Sable.”
He took the steps two at a time, skidding to loom over her in the darkened stairway. He pulled her against his chest, where she folded against him like a second skin. Justus buried his face into her hair, breathing in her sweet scent, feeling her warmth on his soul. Fiercely, almost brutally, he found her mouth. Sable gave back every emotion, every movement, as if they were dancing, each accentuating the other. Deep and then deeper, he explored her body as he’d never dared before.
Her signature, tamped down and manageable, rose like the heat of a hot summer day. He forced her away, panting like a bellows.
“We’ll figure this out.” His guttural voice came from the back of his throat.
Sable’s teeth flashed from between her reddened lips. “I know.” Her voice was a match to his. “We’ll have to, won’t we? Otherwise, this on and off switch is gonna kill us.”
She hesitated and started to lean toward him again, but caught herself. His arms trembled with the need to close the space between them again.
Sable stepped back, gave him a humorless smile, and then disappeared behind her door.
Justus clumped down the steps and into the kitchen. He had to do something. Anything to occupy his mind before he backtracked and ran up the stairs. He shut off the lights and stepped outside.
Above his head at the peak of the house, her window held nothing but shadow. Justus gulped drafts of the morning-scented air, then turned and strode into the night. A streak of fur announced Zephyr’s presence, but he ignored the cat. The dark swallowed him, and his black mood became a fitting companion.
A hint of light caressed the east, foretelling the sunrise. He ignored it.
The rustle of near-soundless pads followed him. He didn’t look back.
Birds fluttered, then stilled as he passed, but nothing stopped his progress as he neared the far side of the corral. The horses were gone, sleeping or on their own mission somewhere. He walked on.
The dim path he followed slowly ascended, the way becoming rocky and less hospitable. Trees cast long, hoary shadows in the blush of the eastern sky. Sunrise was coming fast, and now Justus hurried, taking long, trotting strides. He burst into a rounded meadow of grass, long-stemmed and crackling.
The sunrise touched the tops of the hundred-year-old oaks, turning them to fire as he made his way to the middle of the bowl-shaped clearing. He stopped and grimly steeled himself.
Emotions coursed through him, careened into his mind—confusion, rage, betrayal...his emotions. It threatened to overwhelm him and nearly did every time he dropped his guard.
Spirit.
Except for brief periods when Justus had set the ward stone aside, it shielded him not only from the other wizards but also from Spirit. There was nothing between him and the element. Even now, it rumbled in a basso-throated roar, subdued, but eager to escape his control. And that leash he held on the volatile element was like a slender thread, easily broken if it gained even a mote of momentum.
Now the fight was on between him and the element of Spirit, the dark embodiment of magic that permeated everything and everyone.
He was strong enough to fight it.
He had to be, or no one was safe.
The End
Acknowledgments
Writing begins in a quiet place. It’s only later when the voices begin hollering for attention that you need help. My help arrived in many forms.
Penny Smith-Hickey, my niece and first reader. See what you started.
Charity Bradford and Marcy Hatch, My Pearls of Great Price. You honored me twice. Once when you critiqued Magic and second when you allowed me to read your books.
Angela Kelly, my editor, my friend. Truly, you are a miracle worker.
To my hubby and daughter, who put up with a glassy-eyed woman that talked constantly to herself, and did the Snoopy Dance when Musa Publishing asked her to join their team; sorry, but I’m still glassy-eyed and listening to the Voices. Thanks for your smiles and pats on the back. It means a lot.
To my Once and Future Readers, always and forever my gratitude.
About the Author
When my teacher started reading the Little House books to her second grade class, I was hooked. I wanted to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, have chickens, and milk a cow. I achieved that goal when I married my farmer-husband and started living the dream. But my imagination was always too big for the rural life. Sci-fi and fantasy—from Robert Heinlein to JRR Tolkien—intervened.
With a passion for dogs, good writing, and Doritos as companions, locating Middle-Earth on a dusty road in rural Missouri wasn’t difficult. All it took was a little Magic, hours of reading, and an overactive imagination.
As a dedicated acolyte of fantasy, I love all flavors. Urban, Epic, Contemporary, Dark, Paranormal, S&S, High. My writing passion is Urban/Contemporary but I dabble in Epic and I am always on the lookout for new writers.
With the help of Marcy Hatch and Charity Bradford, we three started the critique site, Unicorn Bell, where we give back to the community that made us what we are.
Yeah, paybacks are hell.
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