Dark Tide (A Mated by Magic Novel) (2 page)

Holy fuck.
Even being a member of one of the most powerful clans on earth hadn’t prepared him for biblical.

Getting to his feet, he dashed for the dock, now almost a quarter a mile away. Under his feet, soft sand sucked, making his run seem more like a slow motion replay of a Giants touchdown.

About a yard away, her eyes widened and her cheeks went bright red.

Oh yeah, he’d lost his jeans, and when on vacation, he generally preferred commando. With his dick waving in the wind, he slugged over the last few feet to where she lay flat. He put both hands onto the dock’s edge, and lifted up and over.

Once he was safe, Maya shivered, and collapsed onto her back beside him. Then the water crashed together, resuming its normal state.

Damn
. Her eyes were almost vacant. She’d spent an awful lot of energy, and no healer could arrive for hours.

“Let’s go.” He held out his hand.

When she tried to stand, her knees gave out on her. He caught her in his arms, then lifted her against his chest.

Even with his own limbs like jelly, the contact went straight to his cock.

With lightning flashing in the dark sky, thunder booming, and sheets of rain pelting his skin, it took the last of his reserves to get them into the house.

As soon as the door was latched shut, he placed Maya on the bed and fell upon it, next to her.

Silky satin sheets caressed Maya’s face. Damn, she was exhausted. More tired than she’d been for a long, long, time. Heavy eyelids refused to open and cobwebs of a dream lingered. In it, her ex, Chris, had made love to her, full of passion and desire that he’d never shown in real life.

She inhaled the perfect scent of fire, laced with pine, and maybe, some kind of spice. Man spice. Then her inner vision shifted to lying naked beside a tropical sea, and Chris morphed into the American stranger.

A male voice spoke to her from far away. “Maya? Are you okay?”

In her mind she responded, but nothing came out of her mouth. Was that the Yank? She hated him, didn’t she? Right now, she wasn’t sure of anything but the dream-man in her mind’s eye, bringing her close to heaven.

Quite certain her panties were damp under the warm covers, she stirred. Naked breast tips caressed the sheets. That thought alone startled her to consciousness.

The Yank had undressed her?

Later, she’d ream him a new asshole. But right now, it felt so good to sleep. Where was that beach?

A heavy, calloused hand brushed over her cheek. “Maya. You need to wake up and eat something.”

That was definitely the Yank’s low, deep croon. She snuggled into the warmth of his palm.

Fire.
That’s what he was. Tingling heat coursed through her veins. Her nipples hardened again and her pussy ached for more of his touch. She moaned, imagining those big, broad hands roaming across her naked flesh.

Her sleep-date returned, kissing and stroking and...

“Maya,” said the voice, now stern, “Wake up.”

Damn it.
The bloke was ruining her perfect dream. She blinked several times until her eyes focused.

Josh Fialko sat beside her on the bed, hand on her cheek, his eyes black and heated. She swore the depths of the wide centers held a flicker of flame.

For the longest time neither moved.

Then, the tip of his tongue flicked over his lower lip.

Would he kiss her? So aroused, her magic soaked the humid air and the candle beside the bed hissed.

At that, he scowled, shot his hand back to his lap, and turned to the wall where shadows danced and flickered.

The Egyptian cotton blanket slid down to her waist as she sat. That’s when she realized she really
was
half-naked. Her arms shot across her chest and she dropped back down under the covers, mortified.

It hadn’t been a dream after all. He’d actually undressed her. She moaned.

That meant he’d seen her tiny 34B’s. Unlike her mom and sisters, nature had not been kind. The only good thing she could say for her flat chest was that in the heat, a tiny tank top was all she needed.

“What happened? Where are my clothes?” She allowed a good dose of outrage to replace her raging lust for him.

The top of his cheeks colored as he cleared his throat, stood, and placed another log on the fire. The flames cast a golden glow on his bare chest.

Clearly uncomfortable, he refused to look at her as he moved across the room, pulled a t-shirt and shorts out of the dresser, and placed them at the edge of the bed.

“You’ve been out for hours. How much do you remember?”

“I, uh...” The vision of his naked exodus from the ocean played out in her head. Her cheeks, already warm, burned to the tips of her ears. A fucking Greek God. That’s what he was. Then, holy hell, she remembered his size. Could this moment get any more awkward?

Like the wax, dripping down the candle’s edge, and pooling in the base of the holder, she melted.

“Um. Not much after parting the water,” she lied.

Footsteps neared the bed. “The storm was real bad. Still is. You were soaked to the bone. Shivering like crazy. I hung your stuff in the bathroom to dry. Sorry. I, uh, I figured you wore a bra.”

Like that makes it all okay?
He probably was waiting for her to say something like, ‘no worries, mate.’ Not going to happen. Especially with her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

No doubt reading her mind, he said gruffly, “Put something on. I’ll get you some food.”

He stopped at the door, turned back as if an afterthought, and met her stare. “Oh, and thanks for saving me.”

She frowned as he disappeared around the corner. Ignoring the shorts that would never fit, she pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head and inhaled. It smelled so good she’d probably steal it and take it home. And that just pissed her off even more.

Willy whined beside the bed, thumping his tail on the floor. He looked up at her with big, worried brown eyes, when lightning flashed.

She patted his head.

“It’s okay, buddy. It’s just a storm. It’ll all be over soon.” But even to her, the words didn’t ring true.

In the mirror over the dresser, a pale face with dark circles under green eyes stared back. A mass of red tangles hung over her shoulders and down her back. She ran her fingers through the knots full of salt and sand and sighed. Obviously, her next order of business had to be a shower.

At once thankful that she’d convinced her dad to install solar hot water, she moved into the washroom and turned on the faucet. As the warm water washed over her body, she relaxed and tried to recall the hours before the storm.

It started when her dad said he hadn’t seen or heard from the Yank. Feeling guilty, she’d checked the weather report. With no storms on the radar, she’d headed out to the island. But in mere minutes, the sky had filled in and the freak clouds and the wind had begun. In all her life, she’d never seen the weather change so quickly or so violently, unless...unless influenced by magic. There must’ve been an undercurrent of the paranormal mixed within those storm clouds.

But something of that magnitude was impossible, even for the strongest of witches.

Still.

The wind whipped violently against the boarded up windows. Even inside, the weird energy hung in the humid air like a heartbeat. A pulse. Usually her perception was spot on, but the signature of this magic was muffled. Air. Water. Fire. Earth. It was as if all the elements were mashed together, creating chaos.

She finished her shower, and wrapped one towel around her hair and another around her body.

Josh chose that moment to come back into the room and his brows furrowed. “Do you have to do that?”

“Shower? Yeah, I did.” She narrowed her gaze.

“No. Be such a tease.” He crossed both arms over his chest and glowered.

The man was insufferable and that just didn’t deserve a comeback. She shot daggers in what she hoped was an exact imitation of his expression, then stomped back toward the shower where she’d left his t-shirt.

He stepped in to block her way and pointedly stared at the discarded shorts on the bed, then back at her, as if there was something she should do about them.

“You can’t be serious. They’re huge.” She reached to pick them up by the waistband and compared them to her small frame to emphasize her point.

“Well, find
something
to cover up with.” Walking down the hall, he muttered something about not being a fucking saint.

What an ass. She donned the t-shirt, washed out her undies and put them on wet. Then, she angrily combed out the snarls in her hair with a ridiculously small tooth comb. A couple of broken plastic teeth later, and with her scalp throbbing, she finished.

After searching all his drawers, she found a pair of plaid boxers and rolled down the waistband. She still had to tie a knot in the fabric to keep them from falling off.

Deciding she’d done her best, she grabbed the candle and headed into the kitchen. The normally bright and airy space seemed oppressive with the shutters closed. An LED battery lamp glowed, casting stainless steel appliances in blue.

He must’ve heated the oven’s burners with his internal energy because he handed her a mug of steaming hot coffee. Then he placed a plate of something brown and unrecognizable on the table in front of her. Her hands still shook uncontrollably as she put the cup to her lips. She managed a sip, and sighed.

“Thanks.”

A crack of thunder made her jump, and she nearly spilled the hot liquid into her lap.

“It doesn’t seem to be settling down.” Like a caged tiger, he paced the small space in front of the shuttered glass, lips pulled down.

“I think it’s about to.” She shook her head. “It’s odd. Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” He stopped near her chair. If his frown got any lower, she’d need to shovel it off the floor.

She stared right back, not intimidated by his mood. “The storm. It doesn’t feel…natural.”

“Why do you say that?” He raked his palm over the dark scruff on his chin, eyes narrowing on her.

“I don’t know. Something isn’t natural.” She conjured a small ball of water and lifted it to his face, hoping she could make him understand. The swirls, normally like clouds over the earth’s globe, had one mean eye, like the storm of Jupiter.

“You think it’s magic?” He scoffed, “No magic could produce a storm that big.”

She shrugged. Why should she give a rat’s ass what he thought? “Whatever.”

“You should eat.”

Glancing down at the brown mush, she crinkled her nose. “Thanks, but I’ll stick to coffee.”

“It’s just refried beans. There’s the perfect amount of starch and protein to help you regain your energy. I had to expend mine to make it for you.” He pursed his lips.

Had she finally insulted him?
Good.

“My energy is fine.” She took another sip of the bitter brew, then curled her legs underneath her, leaning back on the kitchen chair.

Josh pulled up another chair and straddled it. “Suit yourself. Could be another day before you can get to a healer. I know I could use one right now.”

“A healer?”

He squinted at her as if she’d grown another pair of limbs. “You’re kidding right?”

“My father mentioned them once or twice, but as far as I know, there aren’t any living near us.”

“Then what do you do when you’re injured?”

“We go to a regular doctor, like regular people.”

“But you’re
not
regular people.
We’re
not.” His voice rose as he stood, and she couldn’t understand the anger behind his words. He bellowed, “What do you do at solstice, or when the clans fight?”

The witch was going ape-shit over nothing.

“We don’t fight. And why would we need a healer during solstice?”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know, maybe in case you drowned your intended mate.”

She laughed at that, thinking he was joking until she noticed his intensity. “I don’t know how the magic thing works for you fire witch Yanks, but around here, we don’t go around killing our mates.”

“That’s good to know,” he muttered. “Still, you should have healers. They can tap into the energy and actually seal up bullet wounds. I wouldn’t even be here if not for one.”

His hand rubbed at his shoulder.

She wanted to ask about it, but instead put her empty cup down and picked up the plate. Taking a small bite of the seafood-bean mixture, she grimaced and swallowed. It didn’t taste as terrible as it looked, but still, it was pretty bad. She stirred them around, thinking about what he said about mating, and wondering what other differences there were among the clans.

“What’s it like when a fire witch mates?”

The scowl, which had barely gone, returned. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been mated.”

Well, of course not.
If he’d been mated, she never would’ve felt the spark between them. Witches, no matter their power element, mated for life.

“I just wondered–”

“I said I don’t know,” he bit out. He scrubbed his hands over his face and exhaled a low, uneven breath.

His guarded expression told her not to push it.

Placing the plate down, she stood, stretched and went back into the warmth of the bedroom.

She couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed and roamed down her legs.

The attraction was mutual, but she could tell he wanted no part of it.

Obviously, he needed something more in a mate than she had to offer. Someone like his ex-wife. Her death had been plastered all over the internet. Classy, beautiful, always put together.  Something she would never be.

No wonder he didn’t want to mate with her. Her hair was a mess, her breasts flat, her face plain. A dag. That’s what she was. Well she damn well wasn’t going to just lay around all day and lust after a bloke that wanted nothing to do with her.

She grabbed a flashlight from the bedside drawer, and found a raincoat in the closet. Then she snapped her fingers at Willy. He gave her a doggy smile, wagged his tail, and trailed behind her. At least they were good mates.

“Where are you going?” The fire witch eyed her suspiciously.

“The storm is calming. I’m going to check on the damages.”