KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (37 page)

According to K’vr archives, Lukyan never saw his brother again. But Lukyan used the villagers’ fear of Rogan’s power to maintain a position of might over them. And his strength did not die with him. His son kept the K’vr going, as did his son afterward. War and political change forced the K’vr underground, where they remained to this day, amassing wealth in anticipation of the day their legacy of magic would take them out of the shadows and into a position of unyielding strength that armies of the greatest nations would not be able to thwart.

And though Gemma knew that various grand apprentices, as their leaders were called, often wielded psychic abilities that helped them make money and influence others, she’d never seen anything like what Paschal could do—not even in her own father.

“Rogan wanted Sarina, yes,” Paschal offered, “but Sarina received the Queen’s Charm from her father.”

“That’s not the story I heard,” she contradicted.

Paschal did not argue. He said nothing at all. Then she realized his eyes had closed and he was, undoubtedly, asleep.

She cursed. She shook him once, but when he simply snored more loudly, she gave up. He was in no shape to tell her more right now, but he would. Eventually.

Though Paschal looked uncomfortable sitting on the floor with his head lolling sideways against a dusty shelf, she didn’t imagine she could move him without doing more damage. She pulled off her jacket and shoved it under his head. With sleep, he’d recover.

Hopefully, the same would go for her. Exhaustion unlike any she’d experienced was seeping into her bones, clutching at the insides of her eyelids from the base of her skull and yanking them tight like window shades. Still, she resisted. She had so much to think about—so many questions to find answers to.

First, how had Paschal gained this power to peek into the past? He was not, to the best of her knowledge, descended from Rogan. She’d long suspected that Paschal had access to Rogan’s magical source, which her brother had tried unsuccessfully to recover, resulting in his conviction for murder, among other charges. But Paschal certainly didn’t carry it with him. She’d searched his things on multiple occasions, and since they’d come to New York, they’d traveled light.

Though psychometric talent was rare, it was not unheard-of in her circles. One of the grand apprentices in their long line—a great-great-grandfather, if she remembered correctly—reportedly possessed the ability. Perhaps that was why she was able to see what Paschal saw?

She snuggled beside him and surrendered to sleep with images of Rafe thrashing about in the forest, searching for his sister, replaying in her mind. He’d wanted to find her with a desperation Gemma couldn’t quite comprehend. He’d left his wife and son behind to search for an errant sister. He and his brothers had risked life and limb on behalf of a headstrong girl in love with an older, more powerful man. Why?

So many questions… and no answers. Until, at least, Paschal awoke and told her the rest of what he knew.

Three

Mariah settled into
her spacious first-class seat and pulled her fedora down over her eyes. The smell of leather and sweat on the inside band assailed her nostrils, and she couldn’t suppress a chuckle. How ironic that Ben Rousseau had given her this very hat. He’d meant the gift as a joke. Called her a female Indiana Jones after she’d flown them to safety following a narrow escape from a Bedouin sheikh who didn’t appreciate their liberating a valuable scimitar that had been in his family for twelve generations.

Tonight, she’d proved yet again that she could get out of a tight spot without so much as a whip. She’d upgraded to the best seat on the plane without turning out as much as a quarter. A great trick, since that was about as much cash as she had left. She’d need to restock her wallet as soon as she got home.

Not that she had all that much cash left in Texas, but she always kept a few stashes in various locations around Austin in case she had to make a quick getaway. Escaping Europe hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed. Now she had fifteen hours to relax.

Maybe fifteen hours to wonder how the hell she’d managed to get this far.

The incident on the cliff haunted her, but she’d pushed the event out of her mind. She supposed there might be a logical explanation, but Ben’s words in the clearing rang loudly in her mind.

Magic.

Black magic.

Black magic that had saved her life.

Black magic that just might get her out of trouble, once she figured out how to harness it.

She cursed, shifted in her seat, double-checked her seat belt and waited for the Boeing 777-200LR to power up. For years, her competitors had called her insane for the risks she took. Now, finally catching her breath after the narrow escape from Valoren, she wondered if they might have been right. Not only had this been a particularly dangerous dig, but since she’d picked up that ruddy stone, something had changed inside her. Or around her. Had she really flown off the face of a mountain and lived to tell the tale? The whole incident was whacked.

And yet, she’d barely looked at the rock since her escape from the woods. She didn’t want to take any chances. When she was safe at her place in Texas, she’d examine it closely and find a way to determine what price it might fetch. If she got home. There was a very good chance that either Hector Velez, the Mayan collector, or Ben Rousseau would be waiting for her at the airport. If they hadn’t already found her here.

She lifted her hat and took a look around the cabin. No one in first class looked the least bit interested in her. The man in the aisle next to her window seat had a U-shaped pillow tucked around his bulky neck, noise blocking headphones strapped around his ears and a black satin eye mask blocking out any light. His breathing indicated he was already fast asleep, and they hadn’t even pulled away from the gate.

Still, Mariah couldn’t help but shift closer to the window. With Velez after her for his lost coins and Ben Rousseau likely in pursuit to recover the stone, she couldn’t afford to trust any situation. But her best bet for now was to get some rest. Rejuvenate her body and her brain.

After about twenty minutes and two gratis single-malt scotches, however, she realized that relaxation simply wasn’t possible. A heat centered in the pit of her stomach kept her awake. Antsy. She shifted, displacing the bag she’d kept clutched in her lap since she’d boarded. After nearly killing herself to retrieve the stone, there was no way in hell she was going to chuck it into the overhead compartment.

“Ma’am, may I take your bag?”

Mariah lifted the brim of her hat. This was a different flight attendant. Not the one who’d asked her the same question first upon boarding and the second time about ten minutes ago, when she’d delivered her second drink.

“No,” she replied. “Where’s Lisa?”

The flight attendant’s seemingly permanent smile did not falter. “You have to store it at your feet, then, until after takeoff. If there’s anything I can get you, please don’t hesitate to—”

Mariah cut off the rest of the practiced platitude by complying and then lowering her hat. She was rarely rude by accident, having been raised by a woman who considered bad manners to be an abomination only slightly above a lack of education or a misguided fashion sense. On the other hand, her father would have agreed that simply covering her eyes with her hat was a perfectly acceptable way to tell someone that you had no interest in what they had to say. Lord knew the man had done the same thing to her more times than she could count.

With an audible sniff, the flight attendant moved away. Mariah figured she wouldn’t be getting another scotch anytime soon, but that was probably for the best. She wasn’t much of a drinker anymore. First, her tastes traveled to the expensive, and second, she’d come to value a clear head. Maybe if she’d laid off the hooch in her misspent youth, she might never have fallen for Ben Rousseau’s cool gray eyes and silver tongue in the first place.

Just after takeoff, Mariah reclaimed her bag from beneath the seat, surprised by the flare of heat against her lap. She tore off her hat, then dug into the bag to see if the stone was really increasing in temperature. This was the second time the stone had grown hotter—the first time was immediately before she’d nearly fallen to her death. As a pilot herself, she realized that any incendiary device on a plane wasn’t a good thing, though the rock had passed through security at the airport without garnering so much as a sideways glance from the screeners. It was, after all, just a rock.

Once her hand closed around a cool stone, she blew out a relieved breath. Flying commercial, even in first class, wasn’t her preferred mode of travel. She’d practically been born in the pilot’s chair, and she didn’t like handing over the yoke of her avionic destiny to some unknown flyer who might or might not have gotten a decent night’s sleep before embarking on a transatlantic flight. Still, she supposed she should at least find a way to rest while she could.

The scotch finally reached her bloodstream and, after a yawn, she retrieved her hat, settled it over her eyes and pushed back her seat. With her hand still clutched around the stone inside the bag, she fell asleep.

And then, just as quickly, awoke.

The sound of the plane engine had stopped.

She threw off her hat and slid up the window shade. They were still flying. Soft, cottony clouds, shining silver under the rays of a full moon, streamed beneath them. Mariah yawned, determined to alleviate the pressure in her ears that was blocking out all noise, but it did not work.

Silence pressed in on her, and when she turned to look at her seatmate, she jumped back, slamming against the window beside her.

The man beside her was no longer hefty and cocooned. Instead, it was Ben.

“You can’t have it,” she argued. “I found it first.”

Ben smirked, but did not answer. He reached out to touch her face, but she slapped his hand away. He’d lost the privilege of touching her a long time ago.

The moment her palm made contact with his skin, he changed. Morphed. His complexion darkened. His hair deepened to the same blue-black as polished ebony and then lengthened until it covered his shoulders. Only his eyes remained similar—but where they were once light gray, they were now the color of a silvery, moonlit sky.

“Who are you?” she asked, though her voice bounced around in her head as if there were nothing to absorb the sound except her skull.

He did not answer. He simply stared at her with an intensity that made her want to cover herself. She still had clothes on, but felt entirely naked to his gaze. And her arms wouldn’t move. Or her legs. She could not turn her head. The seat belt suddenly tugged tight against her midsection, and her blouse pulled across her chest.

“If you work for Velez, I don’t have the money. But I’ll get it. Soon. I have this—”

His quizzical expression cut off her explanation. He had no idea what she was talking about, and yet he stared at her with a curiosity that, though not threatening, chilled her to the bone. Again, the sensation of being completely exposed washed over her. It was as if he were looking inside her—as if his stare could penetrate not only her clothes, but her very skin.

“Tell me who you are,” she demanded.

He shifted nearer, and the unmistakable scent of the forest assailed her. Not just any forest, but the one she’d escaped at Valoren. The sweet aroma of pine, the deep, loamy fragrance of soil, and the musky essence of man struck her hard. He said nothing, but stared at her intently, starting at the top of her head and then sweeping downward. Each trailing of his gaze over her body ignited a sexual awareness she did not want to feel. She’d never seen this man before. He had no right to examine her so… intimately.

But she could do nothing to fight him off.

“Please,” she begged, thrown into unknown territory by her utter helplessness. He rewarded her weakness with a smile and then lowered his mouth over hers in a kiss that defied everything she’d ever known about kisses.

He was gentle, but not shy. Exploratory, but not inexperienced. His mouth tasted of dry red wine and some exotic fruit—like plum or currant. His lips were warm and his breath intoxicating. She couldn’t fight the instinctual pull to wrap her arms around his shoulders and feel the sinews of his muscles through his shirt, but the moment she could move again, she woke with a start.

“What the fuck?”

This time when Mariah ripped off her hat, it sailed all the way to the galley. The flight attendant coming around the corner with a tray full of mimosas screamed, then doused herself and the passengers in the front rows with orange juice and champagne. The man beside Mariah, no longer the dark stranger or Ben but again the hefty, world-weary traveler, stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

“Such language,” he muttered, and then returned to buttering his bagel.

Mariah muttered an apology, then sank back into her seat. She’d been dreaming. Only dreaming. But it had felt so real. If she didn’t know she was persona non grata with the airplane crew at this moment, she would have ordered enough scotch to keep her occupied until landing. Instead, she gripped the bag tighter, squelching a yelp at the heat of the stone within.

She didn’t know what the hell she’d found in Germany, but she now knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt—at the first opportunity, she was getting rid of it. And the sooner the better.

* * *

Had he possessed corporeal form, Rafe would have grabbed onto something solid to hold himself steady. The pull, particularly when he had wondered what it might feel like to kiss Mariah, had increased to nearly inescapable levels. He’d dreamed of tasting her, imagined the yielding of her lips against his. But as quickly as he’d felt freedom, the stone encasing his soul constricted. Fortunately. While he remained safe within the stone, he defied Rogan’s magic and stood firm against the elemental call that could come to nothing good. Rafe had had his chance at love and desire—and thanks to Rogan, it was gone.

Once the sensation of floating on the air ended with a jolt and jostle, Rafe understood that Mariah had returned to the ground. He did not understand, of course, how she could fly without his magical assistance, but he knew that she had. Her emotions, so guarded and controlled with everyone she spoke with, flooded from her heart every time she touched the stone. He knew things about her he did not want to know. How much her resentment toward her former lover had faded. How her disappointment in her failure for a man named Velez gnawed at her. How her heart ached for someone she could share her fears with—someone who would not turn her weakness into a weapon to wield at will.