Regan Hastings - Visions of Magic

Shea clung to the shadows, keeping low, half expecting to hear a shout at any moment. To feel strong arms covered in flames wrap around her. To look up into gray eyes that were as merciless as they were mesmerizing. She took a breath and ducked beneath a low-hanging branch of an oak that looked as though it had been standing in that spot for a century or more. Taking off her shoes, she tucked them into the waistband of her skirt. Bare feet would make climbing easier. A dense canopy of leaves hid her from sight as she hiked her skirt up to her thighs, grabbed hold of a heavy branch and pulled herself up. Her injured knees scraped against the bark and pain she didn’t have time to acknowledge shot through her.

Shea tossed a quick glance through the leaves at the brightly lit house behind her.

No sign that anyone was after her. Yet. Clinging to a branch, she pulled her shoes free and then tossed them, one after the other, over the wall. Her bare feet walked up the heavy limbs of the oak until she was within reach of the top of the wall. Leaning out, she held tight to the tree with one hand and reached for the wall with the other.

Don’t look down, she told herself, focusing solely on the top of the cinder-block wall. She bit back her fear, released the tree and clambered onto the wall, stretching out flat atop it. She threw a quick glance at the street below.

Torin’s house was set back from the main road, where streetlights threw soft golden circles of light. Here by the wall, there was only more darkness. Better, she thought. Staying out of the light would help hide her. She swung over the edge, dug her toes into the wall, then carefully dropped to the ground. Blindly, she searched for her shoes, tugged them on, then hurried toward the road.

She hated having to be anywhere near the main street, since Torin would be following her soon. But what choice did she have? She wasn’t even sure where she was.

Her heels tapped lightly on the asphalt and she cringed at even that slight sound. But better to risk the noise than to step on something and injure herself before she got a running start.

Her breath came in uneven gasps and her long red hair fell in tumbled curls around her shoulders. Her gaze continually swept her surroundings and she jolted at every brush of wind against a bush. Somewhere down the road a dog howled and Shea shivered.

Overhead, clouds raced across the sky. The ever-present wind tugged at her hair, her clothes, with icy fingers and through it all, the pulse beat of the ocean thrummed in the air.

At the corner, Shea pushed her hair back from her face and paused in the shadows, scanning the road in front of her. Not much traffic. Must have been later than she’d thought. The residents were all tucked in behind their privacy gates, secure in their elegant mansions. And with any luck, none of them would ever know she had been there.

She stepped into the street, avoiding the circles of light thrown from the old-fashioned streetlamps. Thankfully, this part of Malibu obviously preferred form over function. If they’d had the more modern lights here, she would have had a much harder time remaining unseen. As it was, she had to move quickly, walking on grass and gravel, trying to get as much distance between her and Torin as possible. Then she would be free to lose herself in a new identity.

The tightness around her chest loosened with every step. She would survive. She’d done it before. She could do it again. This time was no different.

But it was different.

The last time she’d disappeared, she hadn’t been a murderer. Now she was. She’d killed that man who had attacked her. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t meant to. Mistake or premeditated, he was just as dead. She bit down on her bottom lip and told herself that it was an accident. She’d never hurt anyone in her life until today.

Shea swiped one hand across her eyes, wiping away the sting of tears with impatience. Being sorry wouldn’t accomplish anything. Wouldn’t change anything. What had happened, happened and there was just no going back.

So she would go forward.

And what about the fire? The pulse of energy that had jolted from her fingertips? What was she supposed to do about that? For ten years, she’d been denying that she was a witch to anyone who would listen. Now, though, that argument wouldn’t work, even with herself. There was magic inside her, whether she wanted it or not. And she really didn’t.

Even being suspected of witchcraft was dangerous.

To actually be a witch was usually a death sentence.

Frowning at her own scattershot thoughts, Shea told herself that she’d do what Torin had said and would learn to control it. Just because she apparently carried magic within her didn’t mean she had to use it. She would stop the magic. She’d figure it all out. But she’d do it her way, on her time. She wasn’t going to trust anyone. Certainly not a man who could manifest the very flames she was terrified of.

On her own, she’d be safe.

It was the only way.

She smiled to herself, ducked beneath the overhanging branches of a jacaranda tree, lacy leaves tickling her skin. The soft slide of her shoes on the grass was the only sound except the ocean. Even that lonely dog had stopped howling. Maybe that was a good sign, she thought.

She was free. The danger was behind her and safety lay within reach.

A deep voice erupted from behind her. “Gotcha!”

“Gone?” Torin narrowed his gaze on the housekeeper. Anna was practically vibrating with agitation. Her eyes kept shifting to avoid looking directly into his and she had her hands fisted so tightly at her waist that her knuckles were white.

To save time, Torin started for the staircase, wanting to see for himself that Shea was indeed missing. He heard Anna and Rune right behind him, but didn’t bother looking back. Instead, he merely growled, “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

“Just what I said. I know you told me that no one was to go in her room,” Anna said a little breathlessly as she hurried to keep up with him, “but I heard an odd noise and thought it best to check it out.”

“And…” He hit the top of the stairs, took a sharp left and stalked down the hall, gaze fixed on Shea’s open door.

“And, nothing,” the older woman said. “She wasn’t there.”

“Where in the name of the gods could she have gone?”

Rune’s viciously muttered question reverberated in Torin’s mind. Along with another one all his own. Why would she go? Foolish woman. She knew she was in danger. Hadn’t he just saved her from a mob only hours ago? Why would she risk running?

Had he pushed her too hard, too fast? Had he expected too much too soon? No, he told himself firmly. It had been aeons! How patient was he to be, damn the witch!

With those questions and more running through his thoughts, Torin walked into Shea’s room and opened up every sense he possessed. He closed his eyes, reaching out to her, trying to locate her as he had done through countless centuries. There was a bond between Eternal and Witch and no matter how tenuous those strings of attachment grew at times, they were never completely severed.

Unless…

He threw a look at Rune. “There’s nothing. I can’t feel her at all.”

“Then she’s been captured. They’ve probably got white gold on her to tamp down her power.”

White gold inhibited magical abilities. For Eternal and Witch alike. It was like a dampening field where power was muffled and connections were nearly impossible to maintain. Torin couldn’t use the very magic that bonded him and Shea to track her. Once that power was shut down, his link with her was if not shattered, then at least muted.

He walked to the balcony and stared out at the night and the world beyond his compound. Here he’d offered her safety. He’d offered her power and the mating that would usher them both from the dark past into a future unstained with old sins and bitter regrets.