Visions of Magic (28 page)

“Shea?” Torin's hand on her shoulder drew her up out of the memory and she shivered as it faded.

“God, you tried to warn me, didn't you?”

“What?”

She was shaking. Trembling from head to toe in the aftermath of that memory. She could still feel the bite of the wind, hear the ocean,
see
the banked fury in Torin's eyes.

“Back then,” she said. “Back in the Dark Ages or whatever, you tried to warn me. You tried to stop me—us—from opening that damn door. I wouldn't listen.”

Still naked and damp from the shower, he drew her to the edge of the bed, sat down, then pulled her after him. She went willingly, curling up on his lap, burrowing her head into the curve of his shoulder. “And not much has changed over the centuries,” he murmured.

She tipped her head back. “Do you really believe that?”

He met her gaze and gently smoothed her hair back from her face. “No. No, I do not. You're still stubborn, but there is no great thirst in you, Shea. You've learned there are limits to everything. You still won't listen to me, but . . .”

She slapped him. “I listen. When I want to.”

“Ah. Yes, a fine distinction.” He waved one hand and her clothing disappeared. Shea was grateful. She needed to feel the heat of his skin against hers. The solid strength of him.

“It's all I can promise, Torin.” She looked up at him.

“As I suspected,” he murmured. Then his hand stilled on her back. “We have to leave again, Shea.”

“I know.” She chewed at her bottom lip.

“What?” He glowered at her until Shea opened her mind to him and he saw for himself what she had done while he was showering.

“Damn it, Shea! You allowed an enemy into your thoughts.”

“I was in hers as well,” she reminded him.

“And what did you discover?”

“Not much.”

“Was it the same woman you saw before? Who is she?”

“Yes—and I don't know,” Shea admitted, scrubbing her hands up and down her arms. “All I know is she's powerful and she wants me.”

“Well, she can't have you.” He pulled her in close. “Leaving your body is a dangerous business, Shea. You shouldn't try it without an anchor.”

Astral projection was a means of spiritual travel—to leave your own body behind and allow your mind, your very essence, to fly free. The only problem was, if you were cut off from your body, you might just end up stuck in the between world—not alive, not dead, just . . .
not.

“Next time I'll have you with me, okay?”

“Agreed. Now that you've unlocked your memories, do you know where we have to go next?”

She mentally grabbed hold of the memory that had plagued her only moments before. “I don't know the exact spot yet, but I have sensed we have to go to England first.”

“I thought we would eventually end up there.”

She turned against him, pressing her breasts to his chest. “Of course you did. You remember where we were.”

“No,” he said softly, meeting her gaze. “None of the Eternals remembers that last night very well. I only know that the coven was based in Europe for a very long time.”

“I remembered something else,” she told him. “A name. Haven.” She studied his reaction. “You know that name. Do you know where it is?”

“No, not precisely.” He caressed her cheek. “The coven allowed no one into Haven. I know only that it was hidden from all but the coven. But after that?” He shrugged. “Back then, none of you risked sharing too much with us. None of you was willing to allow us too close for fear that you would lose some of the power you craved so desperately.”

She laughed a little and the sound was filled with misery. “God, how did you stand any of us? I only remember pieces, but you've got all of the memories, don't you?” She looked up at him. “How do you see me now without seeing
her
?”

He cupped her face in his palms, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones. His gaze locked with hers, he said simply, “I have always seen you, Shea. For who you are. Not for the hungers or needs that grip you as they do all of us. But the woman inside. The woman whose soul has finally found its way. Your time has finally come.”

Shea dropped her head to his chest and just leaned on him, feeling his strength. His permanence. This man had been with her through eternity. He'd watched over her even when she hadn't deserved his protection. And he was still here, supporting her even though he had every reason to mistrust her.

Funny, she thought. Since the moment she'd met him outside the school—and didn't that feel like a lifetime ago?—she'd wondered if he could be trusted. She'd held herself back, unsure of him or his loyalties.

Ironic to realize that through the centuries it had been
she
who was the one not to be trusted.

His big hand cupped the back of her head and held her close to him. “Trust yourself, Shea. Trust in the Awakening.”

She nodded. “I'll figure it out, Torin. I'll get us to Haven.”

“I know you will.”

Shea took a deep breath and let it slide from her lungs. “Can you
flame
us over there?”

He smiled. “No. It's too far.”

“I suppose it's not a good time to mention how much I hate flying then, huh?”

“We won't be flying, either,” he told her, dipping his head for a quick, hard kiss. “With your magic Awakening, you could bring down the plane.”

“Oh, God.” Her mouth dropped open at the thought of crashing a jet with her powers. “Okay. No plane. Maybe not ever again.”

He smiled, running his hands up and down her back until he created a wonderful friction that took her mind off the trouble at hand. “When your magic is stable, flying will be safe enough. Safer even, as you will be able to ensure that the plane comes to no harm.”

“Uh-huh,” she whispered, only half listening now as his hands swept to the front of her and caressed her breasts, her tender nipples. She wasn't interested in talking about planes anymore. Or witchcraft. All she wanted now was to make love to him once more before they left.

“So,” he was saying, “we will take a boat.”

“Okay . . .” She wriggled on his lap and felt his erection harden instantly. Then she smiled, bent her head to his chest and kissed the flaming tattoo that marked him as hers.

He hissed in a breath. “We will leave for New York immediately. The crossing will take several days.”

She ran her tongue across the tattoo. “Okay, then. We'd better go.”

“Not quite yet, I think,” he murmured and lifted her off his lap just high enough to give him the room he needed to enter her body. He looked into her eyes. “I want you, Shea. Now and always.”

At his words she slowly eased herself down onto his thick shaft. She took him in deeply and felt all the jagged pieces of herself slide into place. This was what she needed. This connection. This joining with Torin.

He moved within her, his gaze locked with hers and every stroke of his body made his eyes flare with more passion than she had ever known before. Her hands at his shoulders, she gave herself over to him and the real magic he created inside her.

Again and again, they moved together. She twisted her hips on him, sparking a delicious friction that sizzled along her nerve endings like live wires. Her heartbeat pounded, her blood pumped thick and hot in her veins. As she rode him, Torin dropped one hand to her center and used his thumb to caress her most sensitive spot.

More electricity arched between them. Brighter. Hotter. She let her head fall back and moved into him, over him. Shea felt his body tense and knew he was close to release. Just as she knew he would wait, contain his own passions until she had found hers. He would drag this moment on forever if it meant she had one more moment of pleasure. And knowing that, feeling that, she reached for the bliss and caught it.

Calling his name she shuddered in his grasp as her body erupted into a series of exquisite orgasms that left her quaking and limp. Only then did Torin claim what was his. Only then did he hold her body down on his and empty himself inside her, with a groan that was her name.

“Wow,” she whispered, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “That just gets better and better.”

He kissed the side of her neck. “And we will have eternity to improve on it even further.”

She stiffened in his arms. “Torin. Something's wrong.”

He lifted her off his lap and sprang to his feet. “What is it?”

“Darkness,” she whispered. “It's coming.”

Then the world exploded.

T
he door crashed open.

Windows splintered in a shower of glass shards.

Shea screamed and tried to jump away from the glass, but her foot came down hard on a jagged fragment and the pain shot up her leg. Two big men grabbed her, each of them holding one of her arms, twisting them behind her back. Naked and terrified, shaken out of the cozy sexual haze she'd inhabited only a moment before, Shea looked to Torin as half a dozen strangers streamed into the room, shouting, waving clubs and guns.

Torin roared in fury and reached out for her, just as a middle-aged woman threw a knitted blanket at him. The soft folds draped over him and he sank to the floor under its weight.

“Torin!” Shea's scream rattled through the room. She twisted and pulled against the men's grips, but she couldn't budge them. What the hell was going on? What was in that blanket that it could take Torin down like that? “Who are you people?” she shouted. “What do you want?”

“That's enough of that, missy,” the older woman said, shaking her head. “Keep your voice down. No point in shouting—no one's going to come to help a witch!”

Shea's stomach sank.
Oh, God.
They were here for her. To take her who knew where. Maybe there were prison guards waiting in the parking lot. Maybe . . . no. She deliberately stopped her imagination from racing ahead of the situation. The woman had said no one was coming to help her. Which probably meant that no one was coming, period. These people, whoever they were, were most likely doing this on their own.

“Just look at you.” The older woman clucked her tongue in disgust. “Naked as a jaybird, and him no better!” She whirled around, faced a teenage girl and shouted, “Tessie Marie Grainger, you close your eyes this minute. I'm not going to have to explain to your mama that you saw a naked man while you were under my protection.”

The blond girl in question stared at Torin a moment longer, then reluctantly closed her eyes. But the smile on her face said the memory was a satisfying one.

Shea squirmed and futilely twisted, trying to get free of the two men holding her arms behind her back. But their grip on her was so tight, so strong, she couldn't even snap her fingers to clothe herself. Instead, she was forced to stand naked in front of a room full of psychotic strangers. She felt their gazes on her like a caress from a dirty hand.

“Who are you?” she demanded, tossing her hair back and lifting her chin in helpless defiance.

“Watch your tone now, missy,” said the woman who was clearly in charge as she reached down to toss the edge of her blanket across Torin's lower body. “Honestly. You magical people, not a sense of propriety among you. Both of you naked and it not six o'clock in the evening. No doubt you were having sex and it's barely dark out. Is it any wonder God-fearing Christians have to take matters into their own hands?”

Shea snorted at the woman's sanctimonious tone. “Don't make this about religion,” she said. “It's not. This is just fear. You're afraid, so you're striking out.”

Martha humphed. “Looks to me as if you're the one afraid here.”

Torin groaned and struggled to sit up. He failed and his gray eyes flashed a warning that told everyone in the room they had better hope he didn't get free.

“Don't you waste your time there, mister,” the woman told him. “I knitted that blanket myself. There's threads of white gold mixed in with the yarn, so it'll hold you.”

Well, that explained why the blanket was having such an effect on Torin. It also cut short any hope of him escaping that blanket and getting them out of this. Shea's gaze swept the room, going from one face to the next. They all looked so . . . normal, she thought. Except for the fact that they were carrying clubs and guns and were holding her and Torin captive. Her gaze swung back to the older woman standing in front of her.

“You knitted a blanket with white gold threads?”

The woman turned to look at Shea, eyes wide. “Well, of course. How else could we control him while we take you? And let me tell you, missy, white gold thread yarn is pretty darned pricey.”

Shea almost laughed. Almost. She was being held prisoner again, but this time, it wasn't prison guards. This time it looked like a local chapter of the PTA, for heaven's sake. “What is it you want from us?”

“Well, first things first, I think,” the woman said. “My name's Martha Chapman. I'm the president of the local Seeker society.”