Magic Side: Wolf Bound Complete Series: Books 1-4, page 35
She knew that the bastard Kahanov might be scrying, and she’d coopted his mark. Talk about sending a message. The woman certainly had stones, but she was toying with powers she didn’t understand.
I slipped into the cab of my truck, heart pounding, as all the things I hadn’t told her raced through my mind. At the heart of them had been the message Kahanov had somehow left on my desk—a small note, written in blood:
You have three days to hand over Savannah Caine. If you don’t, I will make your pack pay. One way or another, when the bodies are piled high enough, you will submit.
My veins burned, and I struggled to restrain my claws as my fingers dug into the steering wheel.
The pack was everything. Everything I was, and everything I stood for. But I would never submit. I was going to hunt the bastard down, no matter what it took. Then I would wrap my jaws around his throat and savor the sweet taste of his blood.
3
Savannah
Three hours later, Casey and I stumbled through the front door after a heavy night of celebration in which I’d done my best to forget about Jaxson, the sorcerer, and the sword hanging over my head. I just wanted a night to be normal. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was dead beat. It was a relief to finally be home.
Home.
A funny thought. Two weeks ago, I hadn’t known the LaSalles existed, and now I was living with them. I hadn’t meant to linger, but my Aunt Laurel had insisted. Also, I was broke, jobless, and apparently still very much the target of a madman, so it made sense.
I dragged my tired ass up the stairs to my bedroom on the third floor, then locked the door behind me and flicked on the lights.
My room was obviously inhabited by a madwoman.
First off, the decorations were bizarre—though to be fair, that was on Aunt Laurel. The deep red Persian carpet didn’t mesh with the palm trees on the heavy yellow curtains or the ship’s wheel mounted on the wall. What was the theme? There had to be one.
On the other hand, the more clearly insane feature of the room was my collection of sketches, which littered every available surface—a couple of my friends and my godmother, several of the night fair and the fortune teller. And a lot of Jaxson. He was everywhere.
But the images that drew my attention were those lurking in the shadowy corner of the room, overflowing from the old writing desk onto the ancient radiator and dresser.
The faceless man.
Ulan Kahanov. I knew his name now.
I’d drawn him over and over, trying to recreate everything I could recall of my visions. I’d never seen the blood sorcerer in person, only while scrying. I remembered the fall of his clothing, the broad set of his shoulders, and the details of his surroundings. But his face was always a blur, a messy smudge on the paper. I’d kept on sketching, hoping that somehow my memory could get around the veil cast by his anti-scrying charm.
It had been a fruitless task.
I wasn’t spending another night with the monster scattered around the room. With a flurry of motion, I scooped up the papers and shoved them haphazardly in the desk drawer. “I don’t care what you’re up to, I’m not letting you dictate my life.”
My gaze landed on the dozens of pictures I’d drawn of Jaxson. They were some of my best work. While the illustrations of the sorcerer were scribbled with desperate, frenetic energy, every detail of Jaxson’s face and body had been replicated with soft, meticulous strokes of the pencil. His strong jaw and handsome beard, his dark, wavy hair and radiant eyes. The powerful contours of his body.
What had I been thinking?
There was no way to forget the embarrassment and regret on his face after he’d kissed me in the woods. It still made my cheeks burn with shame and fury. I was, after all, just a dirty LaSalle. A sorceress with dark, tainted magic.
He thought I was so insignificant that he’d cut me out of his investigation. Treated me like a pawn. Kept me on a need-to-know basis. So why the hell was I drawing pictures of that jerk and leaving them around the room?
That was the million-dollar question.
“You don’t get to dictate my life, either,” I murmured, snatching the jumbled sketches off the dresser and bedside table and shoving them in the drawer with the creepy sorcerer, face down. I slammed the drawer shut with a satisfying thunk. “Enjoy each other’s company, assholes.”
Feeling slightly relieved at having completely and deftly rid myself of all my problems, I headed to the shower. I peeled off my sweat-soaked uniform and undies and dropped them on the mildly fragrant pile of clothes in the corner of the bathroom. I’d practiced three nights in a row and desperately needed to do laundry.
A quick shower drained the last of my residual adrenaline, and soon after, I slipped naked between the sheets and fell asleep on the rickety old bed.
The dreams came quickly, as they always did.
Carnival music echoed softly through the darkness, and a deep dread settled in my bones. I looked around, finding no source in the pitch-black void that surrounded me. But when I turned back, I was face to face with the fortune teller, who sat cloaked in shadow.
She reached out of the darkness and drew a card. The Wheel.
Her lips moved, but the sound of her voice lagged moments behind. “You cannot outrun your fate, Savannah. They’re coming for you. Beware the wheel of fortune. It does not stop. Time is ticking. You need to learn who you truly are so that you can stop the ones who are coming.”
She’d spoken those words to me before, in another dream, before I’d known who she was. From before I’d discovered my magic and my life had become a living nightmare.
The darkness of my dream began spiraling around me, sucking me down like a whirlpool. My pulse raced. I fought against the pull and staggered back, and suddenly, I was outside the fortune teller’s tent at the Full Moon Fair.
The ebony night hung overhead, but the moon and stars were blotted out by the thousands of floating lights that lit the fairgrounds. I was alone, but muffled voices chattered and shouted around me like the echoes of ghosts.
I searched for any sign of the monsters who were after me—the rogue wolves, the demons, and the faceless man. Nothing moved, but I could feel that they were out there, hunting, drawing close.
Something tugged on my chest. An invisible thread. Instinct called to me. Find Jaxson.
I ran through the tents into the great empty expanse of the Midway. The floating Ferris wheel towered over the fair, the only landmark I knew. I ran toward it, searching, following the string pulling on my breast.
Something moved in the corner of my vision. I stopped and turned, recognizing him in an instant.
Jaxson.
Waves of desire and heat coursed through my body.
His claws were out, and his eyes shone radiant gold. A sheen of sweat covered his bare chest and powerful arms, and the signature of his magic overwhelmed my senses. The scent of moss and deep forests. The taste of smoke and fresh snow.
With a sudden movement, he vanished behind the corner of a tent.
My feet pounded over the matted grass as I raced to catch up. “Jaxson!”
I slipped between the tents and looked both ways. For just a second, I saw him down the line, and then he disappeared around another corner. With a shout, I pursued, pulled onward by that invisible thread.
I swung into the gap where he had turned and skidded to a halt.
Something wasn’t right. The dream had changed. The shadows were all wrong. They pointed at impossible angles, as if they were drawn to the flickering lights overhead. The hair on my neck stood on end as my muscles tightened, and my palms grew damp.
A dark shape slid across the white canvas. The shadow of a man. Not Jaxson.
I spun.
A thin figure stood before me, radiating malevolence. His face was an inky smudge, a greasy blur that vibrated as he slowly turned his head.
The blood sorcerer. Ulan Kahanov, the faceless man.
We stared each other down alone between the long line of white exhibition tents. He tilted his head in an unnatural way, and my stomach turned. “Why, hello, Savannah. Imagine finding you here, all alone. Abandoned by Jaxson again?”
My heart strained, and a feral voice snarled in my head, Wake up!
The faceless man stepped forward. I tried to run, but my muscles were taut, and I couldn’t move.
“I’m dreaming. You’re not here,” I hissed and dug my fingernails into my palm. Pain shot across my skin, but I didn’t wake up.
“Yes, you’re dreaming, but that doesn’t mean much if I can still reach out and touch you.” He brushed my face, and a sickening shudder worked its way through my nearly paralyzed body.
A gust of wind ripped between the lines of tents, and the canvas shook. On the horizon, the floating Ferris wheel collapsed and slammed into the ground, sending flames exploding into the sky.
Then it began to slowly tilt and roll toward me.
The sorcerer gripped my jaw with his hand, tearing my attention back to him. “You will come with me!”
Wake up! the voice in my mind howled.
I bolted upright with a jolt, heart pounding. I’d torn off the covers, and sweat drenched my bare skin. My aching palms were covered in blood. I swung my legs out of bed, staggered to the bathroom, and flicked on the lights. Running the tap, I watched as water and bright red blood spiraled together down the drain. My palms stung beneath the flow, and I bit my lip. I’d really dug my nails in. I didn’t think they’d grown that long.
Once my hands were clean and the blood had slowed, I splashed water over my face and neck. It was cool and refreshing, like the icy trickle of my own magic. Breathing deeply in and out through my nose to calm my nerves, I grabbed the hand towel and dried my face.
When I looked up, the girl in the mirror had bright yellow eyes.
I blinked.
Pure blue. It had been an illusion, just like in the bathroom at the rink. Was it any wonder I was seeing things with werewolves hounding me day and night?
I rested my palms on the porcelain and fixed the naked girl in the mirror with a hard stare. “Get a grip, Savy. It was just a dream.”
But I could still feel the sorcerer’s clammy touch on my skin, and a shudder quaked through me.
You’re in Aunt Laurel’s house. You’re safe.
With fear and frustration burning the back of my neck, I plopped down on the bed and ground my teeth. “I’m hiding from a psychopath in my aunt’s house and relying on a jerk to solve my problems.”
What a terrible plan.
I wasn’t an idiot. In my heart, I knew I wasn’t a match for Kahanov. I needed the protection of both Jaxson and my powerful, but likely insane, aunt.
But I believed the fortune teller’s words, even if they only existed in my dreams. I couldn’t outrun my fate. Something was coming—I could feel it in my bones.
It was like a giant storm looming on the horizon. And I was woefully unprepared.
The dream was a warning. I needed to discover what Kahanov was up to, and I needed to master my magic so that I didn’t need Jaxson or my aunt or anyone to protect me.
And figure out who I truly was, whatever the fortune teller had meant by that. Piece of cake, right?
Maybe tomorrow I would get some answers.
I reached out with my hand and focused my will on the shadows in the room. The icy sensations of my magic trickled over my skin, and slowly, the shadows began to dance and move.
My cousin could control fire, and I’d met all sorts of magical people with wonderful powers in my short time in Magic Side. For whatever reason, my magic was as cold as death, looked like smoke, and had the power to control darkness.
I sucked in a deep breath. “I really, really hope I’m not evil.”
I pulled the shadows around me like a cloak, then let them swallow the room. If only I could make it all go away—the faceless man, the constant nightmares, and the relentless fear lurking in my head.
All that, and Jaxson Laurent.
4
Savannah
Five hours later, I staggered down the stairs in a desperate search for coffee.
Casey was sitting at the table eating a bowl of Fruit Brute, which featured a howling werewolf on the front. I was certain it had been out of production for years, yet he’d bought it from God-knows-where just to troll me every morning.
“Do you know anyone who makes sleep potions?” I groaned as I poured myself a piping hot mug of black gold from the pot.
I would have asked Uncle Pete, but he was out of town. Not that I wanted to drink one of his foul concoctions.
Casey nodded and mumbled through a mouth of cereal, “Yeah, they can knock you out for days.”
“No, I mean, if you drink it, it’s like you’ve actually slept, because I need to pound a couple of those.”
“Another rough night?” my aunt asked as she whisked into the room.
Casey met my eyes.
I hadn’t wanted to face the music quite so early, but I knew I couldn’t outrun this. My mind still echoed with the fortune teller’s warning, and I could almost feel the sorcerer’s nails digging into my chin.
I sighed and poured myself a bowl of cereal as I filled my aunt in on what Jaxson had told me.
When I was done, she pursed her lips and put a kettle on the range. “I find it strange that Ulan Kahanov was the one hunting you.”
“Why?”
My aunt tossed her long silver hair over her shoulder. “I knew of him. He was a creepy bastard, for certain. But from the little you’ve told me, this doesn’t seem like his style. He was a loner known for experimenting on his victims with blood magic, but only one at a time. He worked with demons, but never anything coordinated like the attacks so far. Nothing so dramatic.”
“Prison apparently changed him.” I twirled my spoon reticently around the bowl. Fruit Brute was awful, but the sooner the box was empty and out of the house, the better.
Casey slurped a spoonful of bright pink milk from the bowl. “Maybe the rogue wolf that Jaxson put down was the one actually pulling the strings. That could be good news for you. He’s dead.”
I hadn’t told my family that that rogue wolf was Billy, Jaxson’s brother-in-law, or that I’d been the one to kill him. Instead, I’d helped the pack sweep everything under the rug. Now, I wasn’t sure whether that had been the right choice.
My aunt nodded thoughtfully. “That could be. Our family didn’t have any serious interactions with Kahanov that would warrant a target on your back. He was just another monster, brought down by the Order. However, half the packs in the Great Lakes hate us for manufacturing wolfsbane. Maybe they caught him after he escaped from prison and tried to use him to get vengeance.”
I shrugged. Billy had planned on murdering our whole family, but I knew for certain who was pulling the strings—Kahanov, the faceless man…who might not be so faceless in my nightmares if I asked the Order for a photo.
I put my head in my hands and rubbed my temples. “I’m just exhausted from being hunted. I can’t have a night out without being followed by a pack of werewolf bodyguards, and I can’t stop worrying that some deranged blood sorcerer is going to send demons after me.”
My aunt nodded. “I completely understand.”
Then she left.
I shook my head and went back to my bowl of cereal. The LaSalles were a strange bunch.
Moments later, my aunt returned and slapped a thin leather album in front of me. Lifting an inquisitive brow, I carefully opened it. Inside were faded newspaper clippings and photos. The first headline read, Local LaSalle Girl Slays Rampaging Ogre! There was a picture of a girl, not more than fifteen, standing by the smoking corpse of a monster.
I flipped the page. Malign Magic Mingles as Malicious Mage Meets His Match! The faded color photo showed a red-haired girl on the steps of some public building. My aunt.
She leaned in and spoke softly. “That was Edwin North, a particularly heinous criminal and a pervert. He messed with the wrong girl.”
My mind whirled. An album of monsters and villains she’d overcome. Or to think of it another way, people she had murdered.
What was my death toll now?
“Savannah, you have power—deep, untapped resources of magic. I can feel it vibrating around you. It’s a gift, but it means you will be hunted and challenged all your life. Get used to it. You have to face down your fears and not let them get in the way of the magic around you.” My aunt touched my hand and smiled when I looked up. “I don’t keep this book because I’m proud, or because I need trophies. I keep it because sometimes I’m scared. For myself, for my husband, for my son, and now, for you, too. It reminds me that the gods gave me the talent to protect myself and the strength to overcome anything. You have that strength. I know it.”
I swallowed and nodded as I turned the page.
A fierce, bearded face looked back at me with dark, half-mad eyes. The headline above the little black-and-white photograph read, Victor Dragan Dead at Last. Laurents and LaSalles Overcome the Dark Cloud Hanging Over Magic Side.
My aunt tensed. “Dragan was the worst. Absolutely deranged. And I disintegrated him at the end.”
I scanned the article. “You worked with the Laurents—the werewolves. I thought you hated each other.”
“Dragan was a demented aberration—half sorcerer, half werewolf, driven mad by a dark split in his soul. The pack came to us for help. We thought it could be a new beginning, but Alistair Laurent, Jaxson’s father, betrayed us not long after we brought Dragan down. A treachery so deep that it still cuts my bones.”
With a sharp motion, she turned me to face her, eyes blazing with unbridled fury. “Never trust a wolf. When it comes down to it, they will always choose pack over justice, pack over truth, pack over anyone else—and that includes you.” Her shoulders dropped as she gave a heavy sigh. “That, more than anything, is why I don’t like you working with Jaxson. He may be helping you now, but one day, he will have to make a choice, and you’ll be on the losing end. I guarantee it.”
