Charming the Alphas (Hex My Heart, #5) (3 page)

Zane’s deep growl shifted into a moan. “Can’t say you have good timing, dragon. Why do you require our assistance?”

Both Lucian and Zane recognized the plea for help from a fellow otherworldly. Not many understood the ancient signs and that gave him pause. Only the Elders knew of the antiquated practices and it was normally only passed down to warriors like himself and Zane within pack life. For the dragons, it would be within the DraegonStone Order. That meant...

In an eerily calm voice, the first of the dragons who stood closest spoke up. “It is yer mate we seek. Where is the vial? Show us how much blood she drank so we c’n help.” Violent waves of energy raked through Marabelle at that moment, and Lucian pushed thoughts of ancient warriors to the side.

On some level he was relieved for any kind of reaction from Marabelle. It meant she still lived, which meant they had a chance.

“Nae. It’s the other way around. Now move aside, wolf.”

Lucian Growled in warning as the dragon moved a step closer.

“Please. I can help.”

Ice wrapped around his heart and for a split second all he could think about was their last kiss. Her sweet taste on his lips, the way she curled into their bodies as they worshipped her luscious curves. How her feminine scent consumed his senses. Living without her beautiful brown eyes and sweet smile would kill them both.

“Hurry.” Lucian gave a curt nod. They were out of time. Either they let them help or Marabelle would die. His heightened hearing noted her faint heartbeat that grew weaker with every pump. He locked gazes with Zane. They pulled back a step in unison, then two, but both stayed close enough just in case.

The dragon shifter pushed forward and knelt beside Marabelle. Lizard boy slung off his leather trench coat and shoved up his sleeve to reveal another sleeve of inked runes that wrapped around his forearm and disappeared beneath his shirt. With one hand poised above her chest in the same location as they’d had theirs, blue fire traveled the length of his shoulder, down the crook of his elbow and fed directly into Marabelle’s heart. Each rune fired up as they inked out magick to save his mate’s life.

Words fell from the dragon’s lips in a long-forgotten tongue older than Lucian could date.

In a more forced voice he added, “My name is Obsidian of the DraegonStones.” He meant ancient dragon from a twice as ancient order known as the DraegonStone Warriors. The tats, the sword and epic level of juju younger generations didn’t possess explained a lot. As did the accent—Scottish from the brogue that clung to his words. What none of that explained was their presence in Sweet Briar. Nor why their witch pinged on an antiquated order’s radar?

Zane visibly tensed beside him. “You’re rumored to be extinct. Among other things.”

“Aye, among other things.” A small smile lifted the right side of his mouth a second before all signs of their exchange erased from his face. All his attention focused on Marabelle.

“C’mon. Hold her down.” Man of little words.

Lucian stepped closer with Zane taking his place beside Marabelle’s feet. Zane tightened his grip on Marabelle’s ankles as Lucian locked her shoulders against the hardwood as wave after wave of raw energy fed into her from Obsidian, causing her body to buck. Instinct raged inside him to throw the dragon shifter off his mate, but he held steady. Barely—and only for her.

Didn’t mean he had to like it. He snarled. “What are you doing?” Before he could demand an answer, a fire started in the center of Marabelle’s chest and grew from there. But there were no live flames, only energy. Gold fused with sapphire until every cell of her body lit with an ethereal blanket of light.

Obsidian yanked his hand back, breaking the connection. “Och. Not sure if that will be enough.” A puzzled look crossed his face. “I thought wolves claimed their mates?” He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded like tearing papers, but was distinctly Scottish.

Call him old-fashioned, but he didn’t see the need to explain their decision to complete strangers. Instead of saying that out loud, he pegged the dragon man with a look that conveyed his message.

“Aye. If that’s how ye’ve been playin’.” Shaking his head with obvious confusion, Obsidian rocked back on his shit-kickers until he was eye level with him and Zane. “Because ye havenae I don’t know if she’ll survive drinking our blood.”

So that was what she’d done.

He asked as much, needing to hear it from someone who knew what the hell was going on. “What usually happens when your blood is used in magick?”

“I dunnae. All depends on the spell. From the power I sense and the age of that spell, I’m goin’ to say yer witch lost something and wanted it back bad enough to perform some shady magick.” Obsidian gave a curt nod toward the book on the table. “That spell book holds more than a few cures, if ye know what I mean.”

He did to an extent.

That wasn’t the whole story, but the person he needed to ask needed him to focus on stabilizing her before he could interrogate her. Marabelle’s skin burned blazing hot beneath his touch. Lucian and Zane jerked their hands back. “How is she still breathing?” No way she’d survive much longer. He didn’t see how she still lived now.

“She wonnae be fer long. I... This has never happened. Nae that I’ve seen. If she goes any longer without yer mark even if ye cannae fully claim her...” Obsidian rolled his shoulders in a shrug and cocked a brow at them as if they should know this shit already. Truth be told, it fucking ate him alive that he didn’t. “It’s the only way to balance the forces that war inside her. For now. Even that isn’t a promise, but I do know she needs our healer. She’s versed in the ancient magick and fer Marabelle’s sake, luck would have it she has two of ye to draw on to help her survive the time it takes to get to the healer.” The second dragon who had stayed quiet up until now stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of a blade similar to Obsidian’s that hung to mid-thigh tucked beneath a long coat. His wolf scented the ancient power that mirrored Obsidian’s. Brothers?

“Aye. Mark her and tame some of the energy warrin’ in her. We need to pony up and get the fuck outta here. Trust us or let her die. Choice is yer own.” Please didn’t seem to be a favorable word in their vocabulary, but Lucian appreciated the direct approach more anyway. Something in him believed the dragon meant well. Otherwise, both of them would already be staining Mara’s wood floors with their blood.

Lucian moved quickly. With Marabelle’s limp body pinned between them for support, he took one side as Zane took the other. The world shifted to the monotone shades of gray, and together they sank their fangs as gently as possible into flesh. Mashed-up images bombarded him. Some of Marabelle, others of Zane. Then there was so much pain. He could hardly draw a breath the wall pressing into him.

Thousands of razors slit across his flesh. Warm blood spilled over skin, rushed behind his eyes, as an iron fist squeezed the life from his heart.

“Her pulse, Luc. Her pulse—it’s gone.” Zane shoved at his shoulder, drawing him back to the surface.

His eyes shot to Marabelle as chimes rang in the background. On the last stroke of midnight, Marabelle’s heart stopped and she lay dead in their arms.

They had failed her.

T
wo hours earlier.

Marabelle Winters glanced at her watch. At ten o’clock on a Friday night she’d officially become a full-fledged criminal. “For realz, lady, you need a brain scan.” She muttered more to herself than the crazy warlock on her ass.

“Come ou’ ya lit’le bitch, I c’n smell ya and I c’n smell ’em, too.”

Smell who, too?
Only thing she smelled was wet dog.

A gargled, scratchy voice ping-ponged off the high walls and echoed over the entire open-style library.

She switched her phone into silent mode and shoved it into the back of her jeans.

Who the hell talked like that? Every warlock she knew walked around with a golden horseshoe shoved up their asses and had the pedigree to back it up. Hell, the entire Council suffered from a plight of wealth and prestige. It came with the territory of blackmail and deception. And war, she mentally added. War always brought wealth for the winning side and the last one to occur left the High Council with a fat horde every otherworldly Royal house turned green over. Except werewolf and dragon shifters. If the stories her father told her as a child were anything to go on, the shifters wanted blood for blood.

Several voices clicked over in her mind, but she couldn’t place the broken enunciations from the list of people she knew within the High Council. Whoever was on her tail packed one helluva punch with their spellwork.

She hugged the wall for any kind of protection between her and the crazed warlock and told herself not to overreact. She strained her ears for approaching footfalls to pinpoint his location, but found only silence. Maybe she’d managed to ditch him? Peering around the corner, a bright burst of light caught her shoulder, and she ducked around the corner.

Whew
. Marabelle blew out a couple of breaths.
That almost took my damn eyelashes!

A few milliseconds slower and it would have probably taken more than just hair.

Another ball of flaming magick barreled toward her and slammed into the tall pine bookshelf, which knocked her backward into another shelf with large tomes and countless smaller parchments. Book after book crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
Way to reveal your location, Mara!
Shit, she was so screwed. Did anyone know how to write in shorthand? These big ass books were going to be the death of her.

On one hand, the spell thrown at her provided enough light to see where her next move would lead her. The only problem was the little ball of light happened to be a very displeased orb of magick, hocked up with enough juice to power a small town and had a very ticked-off warlock behind the wheel with a bone to pick. So maybe, hijacking a couple of books from the High Council’s vault was a big no-no after all. By now, she supposed an apology and a smile wouldn’t help her cause any. Hitting her pursuer’s teammate over the head with a brass divider didn’t exactly say hello in the right tone.

She dived to the side, barely missing the massive thousand-page tome that landed with a thud on the marble flooring in the spot she’d vacated only a second before. It took her twice as long to realize it missed and she hadn’t turned ghost.

Black and ivory tentacle-looking fumes of magick burst three feet from the center of the book before taking a nosedive, effectively slamming the pages closed. Eyes wide, she stared at the book. “That’s new.” She’d seen magick do a lot of things, but whipping out of a book was up there with aliens and ET. She edged closer for a peek at the title.

“You gotta be kidding.” She cracked a smile and shook her head. Lucian and Zane would get a kick out of that. Irony, the tricky bitch, had a sense of humor and she never failed. Staring back at her in a flourish of fourteenth-century gold and scarlet calligraphy read: “How to Protect Against Wards and Black Magick.”

Pressed flat against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, Marabelle peeled her back off the wood far enough to steal a peek around the corner, her new location half masked by the cart of library books she’d abandoned before clocking out of work earlier that evening.
Score one for the librarian.

A deep hum filled the room. “WTF was that?”

A massive army of tiny golden balls zoomed beneath the arched entryway and fanned out. No way! She knew better than to ask.
Never ask. The answer is always shitty.

The spheres filled the large chamber. Probably on the orders of the very pissed off warlock she’d picked up between slipping out of the High Council’s secret vault and tripping the ward she’d somehow missed.

Which was a puzzle in itself. She never missed wards. They were her thing along with healing potions and spellwork.

Rookie move, sweet pea! Her father’s words played in her head.

Wards served as alarms for the magick folk. Pre-made spellwork, when done right, hid things from the humans, such as the actual gigantic size of the High Council’s palace to the smaller things such as hidden sections within the palace that held books the High Council would rather keep hidden. But they’d left her with no choice. If she wanted her magick back, this was the only way even if it all stood a good chance of blowing up in her face! Maybe she should have waited until Lucian and Zane could have helped. At least they could have taken out the dude trying to take
her
out!

Her nails bit into the wood as one of the orbs drifted down the opposite aisle within feet of her position. She clung to the rapidly reducing amount of shadows to hide in. Ignoring the fact her lungs cried for a deep gulp of air, she froze. If luck had any say in tonight’s events, the nasty bugger of a ward would confuse her for one of the many statues scattered throughout the library.

The magick may seem pretty on the outside, all sparkles and glitter. The truth of the matter was those things went off at the slightest twitch of movement and would send you on a nice, long trip with the reaper. That cloaked bastard didn’t know the meaning of second chances either.

Despite her less than noble actions tonight, kicking the cauldron didn’t have a slot on her agenda of sticking it to the rat-faced Royals. Marabelle squished her panic into the tiny black box it had come from in the corner of her heart and let her eyes slip closed.

Inhale. Exhale. Goddesses she wished she’d waited for her guys. Three were better than one.

Chocolate cherries, strawberry tarts, raspberry squares...

Her heart slowed and her breathing plateaued.

One by one, she rattled off her favorite childhood treats as she followed the shadow of the guard out of the corner of her eye.

Her mom had taught her as a girl to think of something that made her happy when an ugly situation knotted up her insides. She liked sweets, and chocolate always made her happy. It was that or tick off every place she’d gone down on her men or them on her. That list was shorter, even if more interesting.