Fae Kissed Read online

  It’s not much, and it won’t help her true problems, but Alana still offered him a genuine smile. “Thanks.” With the true business out of the way and her curiosity in overdrive, her finger jut across the room, toward a chair without a name. It was the only one of the bunch. “Why is that one unmarked?”

  His drifting gaze squared in on the single chair with a rigid tightening of his jaw. “That’s the warlock’s seat. It’s been empty for years.” It may have been merely a chunk of wood, but Alana shared at the empty spot with great unease, and Nolan didn’t make it any better. “They aren’t to be trusted, at all.”

  5

  Left with more questions than answers, Alana figured the best place to go was back to the start. There had to be some sort of clue as to how the warlocks escaped the rift, it was just a matter of finding it.

  At least, she hoped.

  The whole temporal bounty hunter gig wasn’t all that bad, but every time she faced a trek clear across town, she wondered if the jail time would’ve been as bad as she’d thought.

  The crumbling mansion that had been desolate when first she’d arrived was now teeming with agents. Far from sight she’d climbed free of her car, with an eye keen on finding the least watched path.

  The last thing she wanted to do was end up in an interrogation for which she’d have no answers. There was no need for her to return, not when the team was gathering what evidence they could find. She’d be a mere interference, and beyond that, what she wanted was completely out of line.

  Hence why, she had to act fast.

  Even from the property’s edge she could feel the low thrum of energy that had pricked her with fear the day before. It still lingered with great strength, and though the ground bore a visible scar from the magic’s lash, many of the agents teemed in and out of the mansion itself.

  Shit. She’d missed something, and now she needed to get in and look around with a bunch of power hungry assholes lurking around.

  Wearing a tight-lipped frown, she bypassed the mansion’s front door and snuck clear around to the property’s backside. The back door was wide open, and as far as she could tell, no one was directly nearby. Across the open grass she ran, to the cover of the wall directly outside the door. A quick sweep of the immediate hallway showed no one in her way.

  Inside she slipped, creeping along the uneven, creaky floorboards as quietly as she possibly could. Edging nearer to the din of voices, she flexed her arms and pulled her fingers back in a crack of her knuckles to ease her increasing discomfort.

  “We need some samples from A1, all the way to the opposite corner,” a biting female voice ordered around the corner. “And don’t forget the residual readings.”

  Alana held her breath as the nearest set of footsteps headed away from where she hid. The closer she could get to the rift’s epicenter, the better, but already she could feel the raw power it had left behind.

  Just maybe, from here in the nearby dark corridor, she could find what she needed.

  In an accidental brush against the wall, she was jolted with an electric current that could only be provided by magic. Somehow, the old mansion’s walls seemed to be absorbing some of the rift’s strength.

  Dumbstruck, she settled the flats of her palms to the wall. That was all it took for her to feel the thread of life and spark of energy wind through her fingertips that felt so very akin to her own. It felt as if someone with her very elemental gift had weaved the rift open, and in a moment of startling clarity, she feared it had been her own, but hijacked.

  Was it possible, though? Could warlocks harness the echo of a power left behind in the wake of a powerful rift?

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Alana’s attention snapped to the woman, the same one with the biting tongue and a seniority far above her own. Immediately, she flung her hands to her sides and fumbled for a good excuse. “I was sent here to investigate.”

  “You were sent here for a preliminary investigation yesterday. So, let me ask you again, what are you doing here? This is a quarantine zone.”

  “I thought I’d left something behind, I came back to check,” Alana outright lied.

  Unfortunately, the woman wasn’t having any of it. “Do you want me to report you to the board?” The tip of her tongue flicked across her teeth in a moment of disgust. “Stick to your job, before it’s decided someone else can do it for you.”

  There were plenty of timejumpers out there, but most weren’t as skilled as she was. Still, Alana knew when it was time to leave well enough alone. “Sure thing.” She booked it out of there in a rush, but was weighed down with a tinge of hopelessness.

  That woman, and so many others didn’t care about her. They only cared about what she could do for them, what she could do with rifts. If it wasn’t for that… hell, jail probably would’ve been her only option. Instead, she’d been given a chance at life, just because she had a gift. Sure, it was in her favor, but it still wasn’t fair.

  The shrill ring of her phone ripped her from the depths of her thoughts. With a heavy sigh she flung the thing up against her ear.

  “Alana.”

  “It’s Mason. Listen, I need you to attend the Order of Magique’s meeting at the end of this week. They’ll be discussing the essence left behind by a user when opening temporal rifts. It’s possible they could figure out who the culprit is behind the one you went in the field for.”

  Alana’s throat constricted. “Could they really figure out who, though? Or just… the type of magic?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” he answered, leaving her at least a glimmer of hope, “but I’m sure they’ll explain it all to you then. End of the week, don’t miss it.”

  “Right. I’ll be there.” Even though it was the absolute last place she wanted to be. One, she’d be forced to face Nolan again, and two, she didn’t want to be present if suddenly the evidence falsely swung her way.

  6

  For Alana Creed, blessed sleep never went uninterrupted.

  Jolted upright by the blare of her phone, she fumbled around in the darkness, full of confusion. Far across the room the microwave’s digital readout indicated it was three, or so she believed through the squint of her eyes. So why in the hell was someone calling her now?

  “What?” She hissed into the receiver the moment she flung it to her ear. Her head was pounding, and her tongue felt like sandpaper, so the last thing in the worlds she wanted was to be on the phone.

  “You’re needed downtown immediately,” Mason demanded, this time without his usual introduction. “There was an attack on the southern mage headquarters.” Okay, that was much worse than a phone call. “It was definitely a magic-created bomb. Get down there as fast as you can.”

  “Alright,” she groaned with a tangled shove of her fingers into her hair. Tossing the phone down with a thud, she tried to pull her hand free in a sweeping tug of hair, but only entangled herself further into the mess.

  So much for sleeping in and taking time getting ready.

  Instead, she hurriedly yanked on a pair of pants before rushing into the bathroom in a frantic search for whatever could be completed quickly. Spotting Taylor’s brush on the counter, she snatched it up and winced as she yanked it through her brightly-colored hair. Various strands clung to the bristles as she tossed it haphazardly back on the counter.

  Taylor wouldn’t mind.

  Stepping out of the bathroom door, she danced around the mess that had still yet to be fully cleaned up. Not that she’d entirely been any help in it. Though, sleep hadn’t really been a thing lately, either.

  Patting at her pants pockets in search of her keys, the moment her palms hit the clump of metal, she knew she was set. Out the door she raced, and back into her car for another trip across the damn city. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic at the tree in the morning.

  It wasn’t difficult to find the location of the attack, given the wail of sirens and bright flash of lights atop the responding mundane firetrucks and poli
ce cars.

  “Great.” That most likely meant a shitstorm of a night. Slamming the steering wheel of her parked car, Alana jumped out on the side of the mage’s building furthest from the response vehicles.

  Still, there were people everywhere.

  Morbid curiosity drew people from their nearby homes and apartments in droves to witness for themselves the aftermath of an explosion. The reactions were fairly normal, but it didn’t irritate Alana any less as she navigated her way around the gawking onlookers.

  Luckily, a familiar face popped up near to the building.

  “Nolan!”

  Immediately, he spun toward the call of her voice and reached out to pull her through the crowd with a coil of fingers around her upper arm. It was a grip he didn’t loosen, not even after they crept their way into the buildings nearest untouched entrance.

  “We need to hurry,” he said with great urgency before finally his hand fell away, “the cops are here, but haven’t cleared this area yet.”

  “Fucking great,” Alana mumbled beneath her breath. Cops, detectives, Taylor… none of that was anything she wanted to tangle with. Not today. “Okay, what are we dealing with? Mason didn’t give me much to go on.”

  “Well, we don’t have much to go on right now, either. The magic definitely seems to be from a warlock, though.”

  Alana couldn’t have frowned harder had she tried. “Get me near-” She had no need for him to explain to her precisely where the bomb had gone off. Ahead, the corridor they’d been walking down simply ceased to exist. Where walls and floors had been, jagged rubble remained. The lights and call of sirens grew louder, as the building could no longer block the noise.

  The essence of the magic used also lingered.

  It seemed to creep beneath her skin, clinging there with a dark ferocity that couldn’t be denied. A shiver rippled down the length of her spine, drawing a single one of Nolan’s brows to a questionable rise.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” she argued with a worried brow of her own, “I’m fine. Has anyone taken samples already?” It would be the only way to test with magic of their own to see if they could decipher who’d done it, to eventually find out the why.

  “A few, though I’m not sure on the validity of it. The blast created so much debris, it’s tough to find a good spot for it.”

  “Mm.” She could tell as much, even with it sifting across the open air. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as swinging a bottle around to fill it with that same air. “Okay, let’s get out of here, there’s not much left to… see.”

  They retraced their steps, back out of the building and to the back of the crowd that wanted so much to see what she just had.

  “You’ll be at the meeting later this week, right?” Nolan asked in a reminder that left her lips falling into a frown.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Wow, don’t look so excited to get the chance to see me again,” he purred in a slight tease before heading back toward the building. “I’ve got more to check out. Feel free to come along if you want.”

  “You know, exploded buildings at three AM aren’t really my thing, but thanks.”

  Off he traipsed, leaving her to stare at the building with a great bit of unease. Warlock or not, why would someone make the explosion happen in the middle of the night? There would be less chance of casualties… unless they weren’t looking to try and kill at all.

  “Lana?”

  Her head snapped up from her reverie, bringing her wide-eyed focus square upon her sister. “Taylor?” She questioned with just as much confusion, until slowly the truth came into focus.

  Taylor was a detective, too. They may have been two sides of a coin, but they still reflected much of the same path, even if one did include magic, warlocks, and timejumping.

  “What are you doing here?” Taylor demanded with a look of utter confusion.

  “Just… wrong place, wrong time, I guess.” It wasn’t as if she could tell her the truth, a truth that would land her in a straitjacket before the sun came up.

  “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  Alana’s gaze drifted noticeably around the crowd near to them. “And what about all of them?”

  Her sister frowned heavily, and the sight of it made Alana’s heart ache. She was standing in the middle of so much more than just an exploding bomb, and there was no way she could ever make her understand.

  “Look, fine,” Alana defended quickly with a raise of her hands, “I’m going.” Before Taylor could counter otherwise, she walked off down the street toward her car, “I hope you get some sleep later!”

  The din of the investigation behind her quieted as she took to the next corner. Across her eyes her hand rubbed, in an effort to ease the ache from so little sleep. That very hand was wrenched away, by a rugged pull that had her opposite hand swinging in a tightly-curled fist.

  It slammed, directly into the palm of Jaxon Stol, and rather than letting her jump back, his fingers curled in a hold around her fist. “You do have a way of getting yourself into trouble often, don’t you?”

  She wanted to be angry, should’ve been angry, but it was so difficult when all she could think about was the strength in his hands and the heat that rolled off of his skin. “Call it a life skill,” she uttered before her brow wrinkled in question. “Are you responsible for the bomb?”

  “No,” he scoffed through a breathy laugh, “if I wanted Nolan dead, he’d be dead.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She pulled her hand free of his grip and took a step forward, pinning him between her and the wall at his back, “would that be because he’s a mage and heads Magique, or because he shows an interest in me?”

  His eyes settled squarely on her, while the curvature of his lips pulled into a smug smirk. It was sexy as hell. “Can I say both?”

  Turned on or not, Alana still rolled her eyes while taking a step back. “Okay, what are you here for, then?”

  “I need your help.”

  Laughter burst from her lips and was stifled only by the sudden raise of her hand. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Okay, not entirely. It’s… more of an opportunity. Trust me, you’ll want to be in on this one.”

  7

  As it turned out, the opportunity was well in Alana’s favor.

  Of the two warlocks, Damon was the one who’d unsettled her waking hours with his virulent warning. Jaxon, she’d yet to figure out, beyond the insane amount of attraction she felt whenever he was near. It tugged on her, and begged her to throw herself at him - against all conventions that demanded otherwise.

  Warlocks never mixed with others, especially not someone like her.

  With Taylor busied at the sight of the explosion, she spent hours at the apartment setting up wards to keep her safe. They were far from foolproof, but knowing the barrier was there to protect her in her absence gave her a false sense of security.

  She’d cling to it as much as possible.

  Jaxon hadn’t given her many details of where they’d be headed. Instead, he’d simply teased her with the notion that the event was one warlocks simply couldn’t resist. He hadn’t needed to fill in the blanks that that would include his brother, Damon.

  Having turned down his offer to pick her up at her place, she agreed to meet him outside the building they’d be spending their late evening at. Unfortunately, it seemed the asshole wasn’t very punctual at all.

  Having foregone a coat entirely so she wouldn’t be forced to carry it around with her all evening, she stood outside the entrance of a high-rise shivering in the cold. Her t-shirt barely offered any protection against the chilled wind, and a wrap of her arms across her chest only helped a bit more.

  “Goddamn asshole,” she muttered beneath her breath as more people meandered past with a curious side-glance at her. Whatever they wondered, remained unsaid as they slipped inside and on to the event she was waiting for.

  Loudly, Alana groaned in frustration after fifteen minutes had alre
ady passed by before a sleek, black car pulled up directly in front of her. She’d nearly given up hope Jaxon would even show, and barely paid it any mind as the back door swung open.

  She paid very close mind though when he was the one to step out in jeans that hugged his hips and a dark t-shirt that drew her eyes adrift across the form of his muscles.

  “My eyes are up here,” he purred, forcing her attention to rise in a slow crawl up the front of his chest.

  “Have I offended you?” She teased while finally settling on the mischievous squint of his eyes.

  “If I got offended every time someone stared at my chest, I’d never stop being offended. I’ve got better things to worry about.” His head nodded toward the door, “come on, it’s cold out here.”

  “I know,” she muttered while hurrying along with him inside, “I was stranded out in the cold waiting for your fucking highness.”

  He said nothing of her choice nickname, given the wicked grin he wore spoke for him. Within the confines of an elevator they stepped, while she watched with a deep curiosity as he hit the button for the top floor.

  “Really? A penthouse party?” She wasn’t certain whether to be impressed or completely placid over the idea. It sounded rather cliché.

  “So judgmental,” he cooed with a lean back against the far wall. “Tonight, is the Warlock Glaring. Once every fifty years or so, a dormant current of magic awakens. The location is never the same, and as far as I’m aware, this is the first time it’s been this far off the ground. It took some time to find a suitable place to tap into it.”

  Alana’s mind raced with the possibilities of such magic, and couldn’t help but wonder whether how it would affect her, or if she could even use it at all.

  “Oh,” he amended with a curled lip, “we warlocks can’t resist it attending. My brother, included.”

  “Mm, you mentioned as much, though now it makes sense why.” Mostly.