Stray Magic Page 15

  “Did it work?” My right arm was tucked beneath the sheet and comforter, and felt too blessed heavy to withdraw.

  “It did. The venom was forced back through the bite, although the actual wound is taking longer. It should be gone within a day or so.”

  Good news. I felt around on my throat and found only sensitive skin. No punctures, no puckered skin or scabs.

  “It healed as well,” he said. More regret. He really needed to turn that off.

  I glanced at the blue comforter, then the ivory walls. I was in the room I used when spending the night at HQ. How had he known?

  “Your scent is concentrated here. I thought you would like a familiar place to continue your recovery.”

  I grunted. “Quit reading my mind.”

  He blinked and seemed . . . startled. As if it hadn’t occurred to him that I had thought the question and not asked it out loud. My stomach churned. Was this a side effect of being bitten? Or biting him in return? We’d shared blood. Not enough to turn me, and not in the right order, but enough to do something. Alter something between us.

  The energy wafting from him changed from a chill to something cold and spicy, like chipotle ice cream. What was that? Anxiety? Distress?

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Personal space!” I coughed, desperate for a glass of water.

  “I am not intentionally reading your thoughts, Shiloh. They are merely . . . open to me, as are the thoughts of my line when in close proximity. It is an ability forged through shared blood. The strength of our connection may dissipate over time.”

  “May?”

  More cold and spicy. “I have never shared blood with someone whom I did not turn. I am uncertain as to the end results, and your djinn blood makes guesswork impossible. I’m sorry.”

  “Awesome.” The fact that he was the only person in the bedroom finally caught up to me. “Where’s my mom?”

  “Downstairs arguing with your father.”

  I groaned, wanting to sink deeper into the bed and never get out. This was so not good news.

  “He seems pleasant enough for a djinn,” Tennyson said blandly. “When he wasn’t threatening to cut out my heart and serve it in a stew for lunch.”

  The idea that my dad—an unimposing figure, even though he ranked somewhat high on the djinn-power totem pole—had physically threatened a vampire Master made me smile. He was nothing if not protective of his only half-human child. If he was protective of my three full-blooded half siblings, I’d never know it. I didn’t even know them. Partly because they were all seventy-five years older than me, and partly because his relationship with my mother and me was something of a rarity among djinn. Most djinn preferred to ignore our existence, which worked for me. I was raised as human, among humans, and identified with humans—except on the rare occasions I embraced my djinn powers.

  “Only lunchtime?” I asked. Felt like way lon—

  “Lunchtime Friday,” he said. “Your teammates have returned, as well, and have been studiously avoiding contact with your parents.”

  “They’re scary when they argue.” It still didn’t explain why Tennyson was here, in my room, instead of Jaxon or Novak.

  “I convinced them I was the safest choice to watch over you. I was uncertain as to your reaction when you woke. They agreed that if you had changed, my guidance would be required to calm you.”

  My stomach churned. “There was a chance I could have turned?”

  “I led them to believe there was.”

  “You lied?”

  “Misled.”

  “Why?”

  A cacophony of scents and heat levels bounced off him too fast to catalogue or even attempt to identify. He crossed back to the bed, but didn’t sit. Instead, he crouched to eye level. His eyes burned with flecks of burgundy, darker than any shade of red I’d previously seen. I met his intense gaze without fear.

  “Not since my early years have I taken blood from someone without their permission,” he said. “I vowed long ago to never do such a thing, and yesterday I broke that vow. I stole without asking, and I needed to ask your forgiveness before the chance was lost.” He spoke with such anguish that tears actually prickled my eyes. A gentle warmth tinged with the subtle scent of cloves enveloped me. He truly was tied in knots over this.

  “You saved my life,” I said.

  “I could have as easily destroyed you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “You are as uncertain as I am as to the extent of damage I have caused you. Certainly your involvement with me has brought you no end of grief. Your leader is dead, your lover has been kidnapped, and your mother attacked.”

  I tried to sit up and failed to even get my head off the pillow. So I settled on glaring at him sideways. “My involvement with the Para-Marshals has brought me no end of grief, Tennyson, not you. Julius was involved in this long before you held Myrtle’s Acres hostage, so don’t you try shouldering all the blame. There’s enough to go around.”

  Surprise softened his features, making him seem less fierce. “You contradict your species, Ms. Harrison. A djinn would be more than eager to lay all blame at the feet of a vampire.”

  “I’m not my species,” I retorted hotly. “And will you please call me Shiloh?”

  “As you wish. Do forgive me my trespass?”

  “Your what? The biting thing?” He really needed to quit being so formal. “Yes, I forgive you. Just . . .” I couldn’t forget the unquenchable thirst I’d felt after drinking his blood, the fierce desire to have more. He’d warned me beforehand, sure, but I hadn’t expected it to drive me into attacking him. And my mother.

  “What is it?”

  “The blood thirst. It was temporary, right?”

  He cocked his head, contemplating the question, his emotions strangely guarded. He raised his left hand to his mouth and sliced the tip of his thumb on his fang. Blood welled. I scented it right away—warm and sweet and metallic. Coins and honey. He held out his thumb, stopping a few inches from my face. I stared at the shiny redness, and realized too late that I was licking my bottom lip. He withdrew his hand, taking with him the tantalizing scent.

  “Bless it all,” I said. I shivered, horrified by my reaction, and the endless teasing it would extract from Novak. The disgust from my father.

  “I’m sorry.”

  There was that word again. This time, though, I wasn’t feeling quite as magnanimous—it was a little late for sorry. But on the bright side . . .

  “I’m alive, Tennyson, that’s what’s important. Magic has side effects, and so does using vampire blood to heal from a venomous magical spider. I’ll deal.”

  He nodded. “Then shall I fetch your parents? Your friends?”

  “My mom,” I said. “I need to apologize for trying to eat her.”

  “She understands.”

  “So she says. Mothers hold grudges. It’s part of the job description.”

  “As you like.”

  He opened the bedroom door and left. I struggled to sit up higher on the pillows. Energy was slowly coming back and would only improve once I had some food and liquid nourishment. The image of a nice, medium-rare burger with all the fixings and an icy cold beer made my empty tummy sit up and beg. It wanted something besides the zucchini bread and blood it had been fed in the last twenty-four hours.

  Ugh.

  Footsteps thundered on the stairs—more than just two feet. Mom breezed into the room, pale-faced and red-cheeked, and was trailed instantly by my dad. Gaius Oakenjin was of average height and slim build, with taut muscles and a gymnast’s lean frame constantly hidden beneath baggy khakis and too-large coats. He was also stunningly handsome, his looks rivaling cover models with his dusky brown hair, wide, heavily lashed eyes, and an aw-shucks grin. He looked exactly the same way my entire life—and my mom’s life, and her mom’s, and her . . . .

  Except right now, rage and worry darkened his features, and his magic radiated off him in waves of static electricity. As an earth djinn, he
embodied strength and stability. The loss of either one brought out his aggressive side, and my little episode had done that in spades. We spoke maybe once a month, but I was still his daughter. Seeing him so angry and helpless broke something inside of me, and I started to cry.

  “Shi, baby, you’re okay,” he said in a voice as strong as the earth itself. He sat on the bed and pulled me into his arms. I let him hold me, lacking the strength to hug him back, and cried against his black polo. Mom situated herself behind me, and I was in a parent sandwich, all hugs and warmth and love.

  They let me cry it out, my sobs punctuated by the occasional coo or whispered word of support. I hadn’t cried so much since my Nana (Mom’s adopted mother) died three years ago of old age. Since djinn don’t react normally to human medicine, doctors could do nothing for her, not even ease her agony as her millennia-old body failed. Mom and I had been there at the end, holding her frail hands as Nana freed her spirit and went to rest.

  Eventually, Mom handed me some tissues, then a glass of water. Snot-free and semi-hydrated, they let me settle back against the headboard, finally able to sit up straight. I got a good look at my right hand, which was wrapped tight in white gauze. The bandages over the top of my hand were stained with something yellowish-green, and each finger was swollen. The five tiny sausages barely moved when I flexed them. My fingernails were shiny red and looked ready to pop off at a moment’s notice.

  Gross.

  I almost laughed at the thought, but instead, I just settled back, too tired to give in to amusement at the moment.

  “What you did was foolish,” Dad said finally. He’d kept his spot, forcing Mom to shift over to the opposite side of the bed. His tone dripped with disapproval, though his expression remained conciliatory.

  “Which part?” I asked.

  He frowned.

  “Leave her be, Gaius,” Mom said. “Shiloh made a calculated risk and it paid off. She’s fine.”

  Fine was relative and remained to be seen, and I didn’t know how calculated my decision to break the blood oath had been. I’d made it in the space of five seconds or less, fueled by anger and the instinctive need to protect what was mine. Protect Vincent from the bastards prepared to hurt him.

  Not that I’d say any of that out loud in front of my parents.

  “The vampire has tasted her blood,” he said, not to me. “Do you think he’ll stop now that he’s had her? Vampires take what they’ve claimed, Elspeth.”

  I made a startled noise. “Claimed?”

  “She’s protected herself against worse and without our help,” Mom replied.

  “There is little worse than a Master vampire who has focused on a new toy.”

  “Toy?” Neither of them seemed to hear me, so caught up in their argument.

  “Djinn taste bad to vampires, and you know it, Gaius, having been bitten a few times yourself.”

  I stared, shocked by that little tidbit. Was I still in the room?

  “It’s our magic that tastes awful to them,” Dad retorted. Fury blazed a black light in his brown eyes. His temper was up and, with it, his magic. It blazed around him like a tiny thundercloud. “She’s also half human, which is their vintage of choice, so there’s no telling how the vampire reacted.”

  “So you’re assuming he enjoyed it.”

  “Assuming otherwise is foolish.”

  “You weren’t there, Gaius. You were never there for her.”

  The final statement hit my father like a slap in the face. He jerked, his lips parting. Mom looked so smug I wanted to slap her for real.

  “Shut up!” My volume surprised even me. “Please, shut up and stop fighting, for fuck’s sake.” I rarely swore in front of my parents, so the tirade had its desired effect—silence from both parties. No hints of embarrassment for their behavior, but I’d work with what I had.

  “Maybe breaking Piotr’s oath wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” I said, “but at the time I saw no alternative. So unless Piotr got away and any chances I had of questioning him are out the window, I have no regrets. None.”

  “He’s under restraints,” Dad said. “Your large friend Novak is questioning him, I believe.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. Novak’s favorite method of extracting information from a suspect was seduction. It was his best skill, he said, as well as the most fun for the fallen incubus. I’d witnessed it a few times, but always left feeling like a dirty voyeur, and for good reason.

  It was usually pretty effective, though.

  “Good, problem solved,” I said. “I want to be perfectly clear: I made the choice to drink Tennyson’s blood. He didn’t force it on me.” I reached out and grabbed my dad’s hand. “He saved my life, Dad.”

  “I know, Shi.” He squeezed back, mayhem in his eyes. “That’s the only reason why I haven’t killed him yet.”

  I didn’t miss the way he emphasized yet. I shivered at the intent—it wasn’t a statement, it was a promise.

  Chapter 12

  It took a little help from my mom to get me out of bed, down the hall to the bathroom, and out of my underwear and tank top—who’d gotten me out of my jeans and jacket was a topic for later discussion—and then into the shower. She tried insisting on filling the tub and letting me soak, but I didn’t want to risk sitting. We’d need extra hands getting me back up, and I was embarrassed enough to be naked in front of my mom. I wasn’t dragging anyone else into it.

  She unbraided my hair while I sat on the toilet in a towel. She brushed it like she had when I was ten and prone to massive tangles—gently and with care to never pull or cause pain. I let her mother me. She was scared and she needed the distraction, to feel useful. I don’t know if she’d seen her own mortality in the spider that bit me and could have bitten her instead of merely choking. I couldn’t ask.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what, Shi?”

  “Trying to bite you.”

  The brush paused in a downstroke, then continued to the ends of my hair. Up to the scalp, down again. “You weren’t yourself.”

  “I know, but I wanted to say it.”

  “Okay.”

  She squeezed my shoulder and put the brush down on the sink. She turned on the water, adjusted the temperature to just below scorching—that’s where I liked it—then helped me stand and step into the tub. My body still felt ten times too heavy and we’d taped a plastic grocery bag around my bandaged wrist. She shut the curtain and left me to it.

  I got what I could one-handed with a bar of soap. My hair was harder and I didn’t do a good job of it. Not that it mattered, since I planned on having Mom braid it up again. No muss, no fuss. Long hair was often more trouble than it was worth, but I treasured the times I could wear it down in thick layers and feel like an attractive woman. Vincent liked running his fingers through it while he—Vincent. I swallowed hard.

  At the end of my patience with the bathing process, I checked that all the soap had rinsed away, then turned off the faucet. I coiled my hair around my left hand and squeezed. An avalanche of water spilled to the bottom of the tub and swirled away.

  The corner of a red towel peeked through the shower curtain. I grinned, a little surprised Mom had hung around. The bathroom had to be a sauna by now.

  “Thanks,” I said as I took the towel. “You may want to step out, though. I’ll probably need the full width of the bathroom in order to manage drying off.”

  No answer.

  I tossed the towel over one shoulder and yanked back the curtain with, “Seriously, Mom—”

  Only it wasn’t my mother leaning against the sink, it was Jaxon. The only reason I didn’t immediately sic the Quarrel on him and send him downstairs to pick an ill-advised fight with Novak was because he met my gaze and held it. His eyes didn’t wander, even though everything except a brief swath across my left breast was on full display.

  “Do you want me to hurt you?” I asked.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said. The tension in hi
s jaw and brow, old clues I’d picked up a long time ago, bore witness to his sincerity and concern.

  “I’m fine, and you could have seen for yourself after I was dressed.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you naked before.”

  “Yeah, when we were having sex. You know, back when we were dating. Two things of which we are doing neither right now.”

  “Would you rather your mother towel you down?”

  An acid retort died on my tongue. Drying off had seemed like a tedious chore a minute ago. Letting Jaxon do it wasn’t my first choice; however, he won out over anyone else currently occupying our HQ. A gentle, no-strings-attached male touch won’t go amiss right about now—especially one I’d once enjoyed and found to be quite skilled.

  I tossed the towel at him. He stood up and helped me out onto the fuzzy green floor mat. He made a spinning motion with his forefinger, so I turned around. A flutter of nerves erupted in my stomach. With a gentle touch he used the towel to squeeze water out of my hair, then worked the soft terry across my shoulders and down each arm and all along my back. He used the taut towel and no hands on my backside, and equal gentleness on my legs. As much as dry me off, the light caresses also woke me up, teasing and warming my skin. Kind of like when—

  No. No sexual thoughts about Jaxon. Bad Shiloh!

  Spinning again to face him gave my insides another nervous flutter, and I watched him as he dried my front. Around my breasts, soft on my belly, avoiding anything lower altogether, which produce a gentle pang of regret. After all the emotions and physical exertion of the last few days, a release from a skilled lover—and for all our differences, Jaxon has always been terrific in bed, intently focused on giving me as much pleasure as possible out of each encounter—was something that would be amazingly welcome.

  But we weren’t together—couldn’t be together, as both of us knew only too well. He was an excellent partner, but it was strictly business. And usually that was easy to deal with.

  Until little moments like this, when I remembered how many intimate secrets we knew about each others’ bodies. Secrets most coworkers never learn. A pang of longing hit me square in the chest, along with a sense of missing him, even though he was right there.