Midnight Magic, page 182
Her stomach clenched. How did he know what she was? She couldn’t ask him in front of grandfather.
“Regina,” her grandfather said. “What’s going on?”
“Get me out of here,” she pleaded with him.
“Of course.” He moved as if to touch her, but she shook her head, so instead he gestured for her to proceed him.
She walked out, Grandfather and Bolt trailing after her. Although she could barely see for the tears in her eyes, she kept her head high and her shoulders back.
They rode the elevator down in silence. Her grandfather kept looking at her, obviously wanting to ask questions, but she shook her head every time he tried to engage her.
Bolt furiously tapped on his phone, probably to Arek or Nora. She didn’t want to think about what he may be telling them. Did they know about evil powers too? How did Bolt know?
They reached the street level where a black town car with tinted windows idled at the curb. Her Grandfather usually got around by car service. He opened the back seat door for her, and she stepped in and scooted over so Bolt could join her.
As much as she’d like to tell him to leave her alone, she knew he wouldn’t. He was contractually obligated to stay by her side.
He hesitated, but then slid in beside her.
Grandfather moved as if to close the door, but instead leaned in with a raised hand. Something metallic glittered in his grip.
The door on Regie’s side opened. An arm reached in and before she could react, she felt a sharp pain on her shoulder.
Her vision turned blurry and then everything faded to black.
CHAPTER 25
Regie woke up in her old bedroom at Grandfather’s house. Hear head pounded worse than the one hangover she’d experienced in college. She’d never gotten intoxicated again. Not because of her achy head, but because she could never risk losing control.
She turned her head and found Bolt sitting in a chair next to her bed, staring at her as if she was the foulest thing he’d ever seen. So much for the truth of the chemistry between them. He’d shed the jacket and the bowtie. The top buttons of his shirt were open, and he’d taken off his shoes and socks.
“What are you?” he growled. “How did you keep your scent cloaked from me?”
Regie considered playing dumb and pretend she didn’t know what he referred to, but it seemed a waste of time. “I don’t know,” she sighed.
He tilted his head. The gesture oddly animal-like. “You don’t know how you prevented me from detecting your magic?”
Magic? A hysteric giggle bubbled up in her throat, threatening to escape. She swallowed hard to keep it trapped. “I don’t know any of it. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sounded oddly defensive, but that was also how she felt. “Maybe you can explain it to me?”
He snorted. “There is no rhyme or reason to the evils of witchcraft. I would be the last person able to explain it.”
Regie felt like she’d woken up in an alternate universe. Were they really discussing magic and witches? She turned her mind to things she could easier grasp. “What happened in the car?”
“We were drugged.”
“Yeah, I figured that part out. What I mean is, who drugged us and is Grandfather okay?” She gestured toward the room at large. “This is his house.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “That’s interesting. I know as little as you, but the door is locked.” He gave the entrance to the room a dirty look. “I can’t break it down. It’s too thick.” Just as he uttered those words, the lock clicked, and the door opened.
Lightning fast, Bolt moved between her and the door. He faced the entrance, shoulders tense and fists clenched.
Her grandfather entered, holding a large black handgun pointed right at Bolt. “You’re both awake. That’s good.”
Regie sat up and scooted to the end of the bed. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” The gun confused her, but she was mostly concerned about the wellbeing of Grandfather.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Even better now that this brute has awakened the powers inside you.”
Bolt growled. Regie couldn’t tell if it was to mock her grandfather’s derogatory term or if he was truly that angry. But that was not the most confusing thing now. She stood and swayed when the room spun around her.
Bolt shot her a concerned look over his shoulder but didn’t move.
She grabbed the edge of the bed to steady herself. “I don’t understand. Why do you have a gun? Did you use it on the people who drugged us? Are the police here?”
Grandfather gave her a pitying look. “I am your kidnapper.” He shook his head. “I’ve spent months sending you messages and texts, trying to scare you to the point where your ability would manifest itself. Silly me, I thought self-preservation was what enabled magic. If I’d known I just had to get you laid, we could have had this settled a long time ago.”
Regies mind spun. She sank down on the bed. “What?” She meant to say so much more but basically that encompassed everything. That and, what the fuck?
“Look,” her grandfather said. “I’m actually very fond of you, but I’m dying. There’s an inoperable tumor growing in my brain. It’s been there for years, but your mother’s powers kept it under control. Well, up to a point. I guess if witches must heal too often, they eventually deplete their own life energy.”
“You killed Regie’s mother,” Bolt said. It wasn’t a question. He took a step toward Grandfather.
The older man immediately brought up the gun and held it steady. “You stay right there and don’t move. Maybe you’re the key to keep Regie’s powers flowing, but I’m pretty sure you’ll work just as well with a gunshot in your body. A gut wound takes a long time to bleed out. I can probably harvest most of her powers before you die, especially if I promise she can use some of them to save you.”
Regie stood again and took a step toward her grandfather. “I don’t have any healing powers.” The darkness inside her knew only how to destroy and kill. She took a step toward her grandfather. “I don’t know how sick you are, but please put that gun down. We can figure this out. We’ll find a doctor who can help you.”
“I’ve been to all the doctors. There is no cure.” He smiled and looked at her, his eyes cold and calculating. It was as if a stranger observed her. “No cure but magic, that is. That’s where you come in, dear granddaughter. I’ve fed and clothed you for years, waiting for you to become useful and now the moment is finally here.”
Regie tried to make sense of his words, but the aftereffects of the drug made the room spin and she thought she’d throw up. She sat down on the bed again.
Bolt unbuckled his pants, dropped them, and pulled the shirt over his head.
“What are you doing?” Grandfather asked. “I may need you to fuck Regie if her powers don’t cooperate, but this is not the time.”
Bolt chuckled. The air shimmered around him and the pressure in the room dropped.
Regies ears popped, distracting her from Bolt getting naked for a beat and when she looked up again, he was gone. In his place, a silver wolf stood, shaking a pair of boxer briefs off its back paws.
Grandfather dropped the gun and stumbled backwards.
The wolf growled and then turned to grin at Regie before leaping at Grandfather. The older man turned and ran out the door, the wolf chasing him.
Regie doubled over and vomited on the floor.
EPILOGUE
Four months later.
Bolt watched Regie place flowers by her grandfather’s headstone. The old man had lasted only a month before the brain tumor claimed him. Laney coached Regie on how to use her powers. Together the two women had tried to figure out a way to use magic to keep him alive. Regie had been willing to sacrifice herself to save her grandfather.
He didn’t understand all the ins and outs of how magic worked, but Laney had explained that even if Regie drained herself to the point of death, it would keep Lansford alive for only a limited time. Not even witchcraft could cheat death. At least not the kind that didn’t require blood sacrifices.
Laney had given him a real lecture on that. More like read him the riot act. She’d told him she was sick and tired of his petty comments about witches. If he insisted on leaning into his prejudice, he should at least know what it was he hated so much. He’d been relieved to escape when Arek sent him to the Middle East for a hostage extraction mission. That’s where he had spent the last few months.
And now he was here, lurking at a distance to catch a glimpse of the woman who’d stolen his heart.
Regie wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. The gesture hit him in the gut and the shame he felt for walking out on her without saying as much as goodbye intensified.
She turned around and started walking toward her car, which he stood next to. She stopped mid step when she spotted him. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and kept walking. That was his woman.
Brave and stubborn, meeting each challenge head on.
She had more courage and dignity than he did.
After the rest of Heimdall Shield had arrived at her grandfather’s house, he’d left without saying goodbye. Laney had given him a few choice words about that too. Both before he left on his mission and after he came back.
He walked toward her, meeting her halfway.
She stopped and calmly watched him. Her beautiful cobalt eyes were red-rimmed, but also shone with defiance.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shrugged but didn’t say anything. Not the reaction he’d hoped for.
“I should have stayed with you after I disarmed your grandfather. I’m an asshole.”
She nodded.
“I should have been with you when you buried your grandfather.”
She nodded again.
Okey then. “Give me a chance to make it right. To show you that I can do better.”
She tilted her head. “But I’m a witch. You hate witches.”
“I don’t hate them. I used to not trust most of them. Besides, I have my own issues.”
“You’re a wolf. Laney has explained some of how that works, but I’m still trying to bend my mind around the whole concept.”
“Maybe we can figure it out together?” His heart ached with hope.
She looked down, scarping her shoe on the ground. “I don’t know. So much has happened.”
He took a step closer and when she didn’t back away, he took another.
She looked up at him.
He cradled her face between his palms. As soon as his skin touched hers, a zing tingled his fingers. “Do you still feel sparks?” His voice broke at the end, and he had to clear his throat.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed and dipped her head just once.
Hope swelled in his chest. “Do you trust them?”
“I want to,” she whispered.
“That’s a start,” he said, claiming her lips with his.
A soft sigh escaped from her mouth, and he tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss. She leaned into him, sharing his body heat.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. For the first time in months, everything felt right.
Mine, his wolf growled.
Ours, Bolt corrected him and the beast chuffed quietly.
* * *
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Regina and Bolt’s story!
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For more sexy Norse wolves, read book 1 of the series, A WOLF’S HUNGER, which is Arek and Laney’s story.
asamariabradley.com/a-wolfs-hunger/
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Sign up for my newsletter to receive the prequel to the series, A WOLF’S DESIRE, for free!
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Read More from Asa Maria Bradley
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Website: asamariabradley.com/
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If you enjoyed this book, you may also enjoy...
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The Power of Lightning Series
A FLASH OF FEAR
A FLASH OF FATE
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The Theia Ayers Series
SIREN’S STORM
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The Viking Warriors Series
VIKING WARRIOR RISING
VIKING WARRIOR REBEL
LOKI ASCENDING
ABOUT ASA MARIA BRADLEY
Bestselling Author Asa Maria Bradley grew up in Sweden surrounded by archaeology and history steeped in Norse mythology, which inspired her sexy Viking Warriors and Norse Billionaire Shifters paranormal romance series. She also writes urban fantasy about empowered heroines who kick ass while saving the world.
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Booklist attributes her writing with “nonstop action, satisfying romantic encounters, and intriguing world building” and Entertainment Weekly says “when it comes to paranormal romance with explosive action scenes, Bradley has that nailed.” Her work has received the honors of a double nomination for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA contest, a Reviewers’ Choice Award nomination, a Holt Medallion win, and a Booksellers’ Best Award win.
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Asa came to the United States as a high school exchange student and quickly fell in love with ranch dressing and crime TV dramas of all flavors, two addictions she unfortunately still struggles with. Currently, she lives on a lake deep in the forest of the Pacific Northwest with a British husband and a rescue dog of an indeterminate breed. Sadly, neither obeys her commands.
HALFWAY TO THE GRAVE BY AUTUMN BREEZE
COPYRIGHT
Halfway to the Grave © 2022 Autumn Breeze
Edited by: Lynda Lamb @ Refinery Edits
HALFWAY TO THE GRAVE
It’s surprising how easily a person can get used to telling a ghost to fuck off. And how quickly it gets old.
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Sekani Aelor, private investigator, can see the dead—and he’s currently being haunted by a pretty, sassy Ghost Boy who can’t remember his name, much less how he died. Three weeks and one broken coffee machine later, the former homicide detective is ready to commit murder. But you can’t kill the already-dead, just help them with their unfinished business. In order to rid himself of his unwelcome house guest, Sekani will have to figure out what that business is.
* * *
On his quest for answers, Sekani stumbles across talented art student Callum Maslow. Someone wants Callum dead. They’ve tried once already; a second attempt may get the job done. As the questions pile up and answers seem further and further away one thing is clear—time is running out for Callum.
* * *
And for Sekani’s ghostly stalker.
SEKANI AELOR
—we don’t ask for happiness, just a little less pain—
Charles Bukowski, “Letter to William Packard,” July 1985
* * *
Seven letters. Two words.
It’s surprising how easily a person can get used to telling a ghost to fuck off.
And how quickly it gets old.
Once they know you can see them, hear them—unlike everyone else—they tend not to listen.
After twenty years of being harassed by the dead, I’m not surprised by much anymore. Certainly not by how rude and pushy they can be. I suppose they have good reasons. Most of them want peace—or at least some form of resolution—and until they achieve it, they’re stuck here with the rest of us sorry sons of bitches.
And I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Just because I can see the dead doesn’t mean I have to help them. Been there. Done that. Never again.
This guy was persistent as hell though.
Three weeks ago, I made the mistake of speaking to him. In my defense, I’d thought he knew he was dead.
Nope.
Freshly dead.
Just how freshly, I didn’t know; I was ignoring him. He was not the first ghost to go all poltergeist on my ass.
But seriously, fucking with my coffee machine was a new low.
I hit the button again and—again—nothing happened.
No hot brown bean water to perk me up before work.
At five in the morning.
This is why I preferred the dead dead. As soon as they started walking and talking and fucking around in my life, things went south fast—like super fast.
A man could live without a lot of things. But coffee?
No.
Reaching behind the machine, I unplugged it on the off chance this wasn’t his doing. Turn it off and on again. I plugged it back in and hit the button and a whole lot of nothing happened. Was I surprised?
Nope.
I glared at my unwelcome house guest. He’d been haunting me long enough to know just how much I depended on coffee to get through my day.
“Isn’t it your job to guide lost souls?” he asked. I snagged my keys off the counter, checked my pockets to be sure I had my phone and wallet, and headed for the door. He was hot on my heels, as he had been for the last twenty-three days. Eventually, he’d get tired of following me around. It wasn’t as if I did anything interesting.
