Magic In the Blood

    I exhaled as minty heat from his palms soaked through my heavy coat. Mint spread down through me, like water against a fire. The mint calmed the magic pouring through me, blanketed it, pushed it back to my muscles, my bones, and then down deeper-pushed the magic back into the ground from where it came. Zayvion’s touch eased the ache of magic, giving me room in my own body to breathe again.

    “Excellent,” Zayvion said. “Slower breaths. Good.”

    I did as he told me, let the mint fill me, cool me, stroke soft and sweetly through me, leaving shivers of pleasure across my skin. Sensual. I wondered if he was like this in bed.

    Now there was a memory I wished I still had.

    “Can you open your eyes?”

    I could and I did.

    Zayvion’s face filled my vision. His eyes were brown and burning with gold I did not remember seeing before. And beyond that, beyond the tiger brightness, was a vast, vast feeling of emptiness, of space. I could suck up all the magic in the world, pour it all out into him, and never be able to fill him up.

    Nice.

    “I don’t know if you remember,” he said, “about this. About us. I’m Grounding you, Allie. If you want to help, just clear your mind and think calm thoughts. Meditate.”

    Right. And after I did that I’d jump up and sing some show tunes.

    That also must have shown on my face because Zayvion’s lips quirked. “Whatever you’re thinking-it’s not helping.”

    Well, it was good to know he couldn’t read my mind. I licked my lips, or at least I thought I did. I actually couldn’t feel my mouth, couldn’t feel my body other than in a distant, half-asleep, still-room-for-breathing sort of way.

    That worried me.

    But instead of panicking, I took a nice, deep breath and focused on Zayvion’s gold, gold eyes.

    I am a channel, a river. Magic flows through me but does not fill me, does not change me.

    Zayvion could fill me, could change me. And I’d like it. That didn’t help clear my mind either, so I went back to the river thing, repeated it to myself until it became a mantra, a meditation. Repeated it until I could feel my body-cold and wet down my back, butt, and legs; warm and dry down my front from Zayvion leaning across me, his wide back sheltering me from the falling rain.

    Until I could feel the heat of him more than the heat of magic.

    The mint sensation grew stronger, like I’d just been rubbed down with wintergreen leaves. Tingly, cool, and warm everywhere, inside and out.

    “Beautiful,” Zay said, soft and sexy-like.

    I licked my lips and felt them this time. “Thanks.” “Sure.” He didn’t move. I didn’t want him to. He was so close, the overpowering pine scent of his cologne mixed nicely with the smell of winter grass and wet jackets. Even though I probably shouldn’t, I liked the combination. I gave myself a heartbeat or two to wonder what his lips would taste like.

    Hells.

    I kissed him.

    I think he was surprised. But it didn’t take him long to get over that.

    His lips were soft, thick, and gentle. I opened my mouth for him, and he responded, deepening the kiss, making promises, or maybe just suggestions, that I completely agreed with.

    I inhaled the heat of him and my body stirred with sensations and memories that had nothing to do with magic.

    Zayvion made a needful sound at the back of his throat, and the magic within me rose up, coaxed higher by Zay’s mouth on my own, his thumb tracing the whorls of magic that pulsed against my throat.

    Wait, I thought. Something. Something wasn’t right about this.

    Zayvion’s mouth moved to the edge of my jaw, and then his lips, soft, warm, opened against my throat as he sucked, nipped.

    I moaned. Magic, oily and hot, pulsed through me, rising to Zayvion’s tongue that gently stroked across the marks on my neck, easing the edge of my need in only the smallest degree and making me want more.

    He knew me. Knew what I wanted.

    “I’ve missed you,” he breathed across my skin.

    Then the rest of it-the reality of it, of where I was, of whom I was with, and why I was here-hit me.

    I was making out with a man I couldn’t remember, and wasn’t sure I could trust, on my father’s grave.

    Talk about a mood killer.

    “Let me up,” I said, my voice a lot stronger than I’d expected. “Up. Now. Off.” My voice rose with each word. “Off me. I can’t. Not here. With you.” I meant to say not on my dad’s grave but I didn’t get the chance.

    Zayvion pulled back, studied my face, those gold eyes dark with hurt or anger-I so wasn’t in the mood to suss out the difference. I didn’t have to. He rocked back on his heels away from me.

    The rush of cool air between us made me gasp so hard, it hurt. He looked away at the horizon, the muscle at his jaw clenched, while I gathered myself until I was sitting and then standing.

    He stood too, with the kind of grace that comes from martial arts training. When he finally looked at me again, his face had settled into Zen calm.

    “I’m sorry,” he said. A shadow of hunger shifted in his eyes, gold, then brown, then was extinguished, leaving his gaze emotionless, flat.

    I sniffed and rubbed my gloves over my butt, trying to brush off grass and mud, trying to pull myself together. Why did I feel so guilty?

    “I needed the… that Grounding. Thank you. Sometimes… magic… It’s not always easy, but usually I’m fine. Today’s been”-horrible, I wanted to say, but instead I said-“long. So don’t apologize for Grounding me.”

    “I wasn’t.”

    Oh.

    That flare of heat and desire flickered in his eyes. He blinked once, slowly, and gave me the Zen calm again.

    “Oh,” I said. “Good. And you’re really good at that. Grounding,” I clarified. “Studied much?”

    His lips tightened at the corner. For some reason, that question brought him pain. “Yes. But Grounding isn’t really my specialty.”

    “Really? What is?”

    He nodded. “I don’t think you want to know.”

    “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

    Well, could I be more awkward and standoffish? No, I think not. Before things could get worse, I took a deep breath and tried to say something that didn’t sound like I was itching for a fight.

    “What are you really doing here?” I asked.

    “Looking for you. To ask you out. On a date.” As he said it, his gaze flicked over my shoulder and rested just a little too long on the horizon.

    So I turned and looked back there too. Close to the mausoleum at the top of the hill, a figure moved, walking among the graves. Heavy knee-length coat, a hat. It didn’t look like anyone I knew, but from this distance it was hard to tell.

    “Is there a problem?” I asked.

    See how I bought myself time to think about the whole date thing?

    “Not yet.” Zayvion had not moved, had not stopped squinting off into the heavy drizzle. “Maybe not at all.” He wiped rain off his face and pulled his beanie closer to his head. “This place always makes me jumpy.”

    “Always? How often do you come here?”

    Zayvion finally looked away from the figure, who had stopped walking between graves and was now standing, just standing there, staring in our general direction.

    “I was last here at the burial,” he said quietly.