Dark Magic, page 3
part #3 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
“Her skill as payment for saving her life,” she concluded.
“Exactly.”
There was no remorse in his voice.
“For how long?”
“For as long as she’s needed,” he said firmly. “Give or take ten years, until our finances are stable. I don’t have time to look into it.”
“And do you think she’d be honest enough about it? Not a betrayer?”
Something cold glinted in his eyes, making her inwardly shudder. They both remembered a certain time when betrayal had caused the lives of their loved ones. Despite it happening when she’d still been a kid, she still felt the pang at the loss.
Past was past, but the pang would remain.
“She knows the consequences,” he finally replied. “She wouldn’t dare.”
And that was that.
No longer interested in keeping the conversation going, Leila nodded her head. “Alright. Conditions met. Good luck with the new employee and new money-making scheme. Don’t forget my allowance,” she said extra sweetly.
Then she swept out of there.
* * *
The delight in checking her bank account online and discovering Edmund had indeed transferred the money was a giddy kind of joy, but it was a fast one. It deflated even more when she passed by Malcolm’s open bedroom, where she found him bandaged up and sitting on the bed. He was scowling at something.
Or someone.
Stepping inside, she discovered that someone to be Sidney, who was staring at his sharp teeth with a quiet, almost morbid fascination. At the sound of Leila’s deliberate footsteps, the girl turned.
“Hello, Leila.”
“Hello, Sidney. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
The kid bared her fangs. “Jameson.”
Translation: Max was supposed to babysit her, but was preoccupied somewhere with Jameson. And Sidney didn’t like it.
“Sidney, did you leave without letting Max know?”
There was a tiny nod, Leila bent forward and looked Sidney in the eye. “He’s probably looking for you right now. Do you want him to be worried sick about you? He might be scared for your life, and he might do something that would hurt him.”
The word hurt seemed to trigger the girl, who held her arms out expectantly to Leila. With a sigh, Leila easily hefted Sidney up, ignoring the stunned expression on Malcolm’s face and leaving the room to look for Max. That was easy enough, and soon she was back in the bedroom, where she folded her arms and gave Malcolm the look.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, though his back had stiffened.
“For?”
“For hurting you, of course.” A pause. “For partaking in your liquor collection. That was probably expensive as fuck.”
The second admission took her aback, her feet already taking her near him. Closer scrutiny determined what she’d missed earlier: that the man was no longer blind drunk, but the remnants of that drinking session were still in his system.
She recalled in her mind who she gave access to her collection, then shrugged. “Just don’t touch the top shelf. I might end up hurting someone. Is that why Levi’s not here? Did he get shit-faced, too?”
“No, he needed sleep, and not on a chair. Ovie, too. I can take care of myself.”
The defensive tone was clear, but Leila didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she walked even closer until she was beside the bed, then took the chance to sit on the edge. Malcolm gave her a wary look, then shimmied to the other side to give her more space. The blankets slid off him.
She peered at the chains on his wrists and ankles, covered earlier, and her body went cold. Levi would never do this.
“Did Ovie…?”
“No,” he cut off gruffly, slipping his wrists back under the blanket. “This has been here, as you know. Might as well.”
She went quiet, eyeing the expertly placed bandages over his torso, then the one over his missing eye—things this stubborn man wouldn’t have allowed had he been in his previous, non-drunken state. Perhaps that drinking session wasn’t as innocent as she thought.
“So, is this how it’s going to be? Instead of you trying to get better?”
“Earlier, I wasn’t cuffed, and no one was around. See how good I did?” The sarcasm was thick, and he swallowed it in before attempting to turn around. “I’m sleepy, Leila. Go away.”
“Stop it with the pity party.”
“There’s no pity party. I’m trying to sleep here.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Leila, my patience is running thin right now.”
“And you’re drunk. If I could take you earlier, I can take you now.”
Curses rented the air, followed by a pillow glancing over her head. Frustration blazed inside her at how the conversation wasn’t going the direction she wanted, and that frustration rose when he finally turned around and presented her with his back.
“Real mature, Mulborough.”
“Go away, Masters.”
“It’s Lady,” she snapped haughtily, her temper rising as she glared at him and shot up from the bed. “And fine. Go be an asshole.”
She left the bedroom, feeling angry and wanting to hit something—obviously him, but that was unfair in his chained-up state. So she stalked back to Edmund’s office, intending to report the incident to him and demand that he do something about it.
Of course, her brother was no longer there, which only added to her agitation. She ended up in the backfield of the mansion, carefully taking off her clothes and shifting into her panther form. The animal freedom was empowering, allowing her to roam around the grass. It gave her control, made her harness her emotions like she often did.
Alone. Always alone, because no one was allowed to see her most vulnerable moments. It would kill her.
Ahead of the field was a blur: a cloudy, slightly shimmering barrier that separated this pocket into two, therefore not allowing odd creatures to enter. In a way, their clan was the gatekeeper of that realm, a protector of the human world that just wasn’t ready for them.
At least, not yet.
That other realm had fucked Malcolm up, and she wondered if there was a solution to it.
An hour later, recharged and ready to talk to him again in a calmer manner, Leila wandered back to Malcolm’s bedroom. She got as far as the hallway it was located in before the commotion pierced her ears, after which she was already running.
She sighted Levi first, voice soothing as the healer shifter tried to talk reason into Malcolm’s ears. But Malcolm wasn’t listening, already struggling against his chains and stuck mid-shift as he growled angrily in the air. She took a step forward, ready to help.
A hand wrapped around her wrist, fast and familiar. The source was coming from the side of the doorway, which she couldn’t see earlier.
“Don’t. Let him work it out.”
Edmund looked as calm as he always did, but the spark in his eyes was gone. He let go of her wrist, gaze fixed on Malcolm as if analyzing him. Malcolm took note of this attention and tried lunging at Edmund, to no effect.
But he was starting to hurt his wrists and ankles with the effort.
“This could last hours,” she protested softly. It was a miracle her anger didn’t come back. “If this keeps up, he’s going to end up hurting himself.”
“Then maybe that’s what it’s going to take for him to understand that he can’t keep doing this.”
There was something cold and calculating about the statement, and normally Leila would’ve agreed. She realized that typically, clan members weren’t involved when it came to decisions like this.
“Are you sure we can’t try another avenue?”
The hint was there, and anticipation simmered inside her as Edmund tilted his head. But then he got it, and his jaw clenched right after.
“Not the avenue you’re thinking about, no. You know my policy about that.”
Yes. Magic and anything related to it was forbidden, end of story. Another cause of their family getting fucked up.
“But—”
“Don’t worry about this. I’m already working on finding ways to fix him.”
But not fast enough.
She eyed the blood trickling from Malcolm’s wounds, not arguing. Edmund wouldn’t take it kindly. Instead, Leila nodded, deliberately wrinkling her nose when she heard bones crack.
When her heart tightened inside her chest, she backed away and left them to their devices. But she didn’t head to her bedroom or any part of the mansion, though a drink or two would be bloody helpful right now.
She headed to the nearest pocket exit instead.
Chapter 4
The streets of New York were a fascinating thing, especially at night when the lights fought the darkness and produced twinkling that still looked gritty. Ovie supposed that was the charm of the city—just like his hometown in Ireland, where the beautiful view was haunting and mesmerizing at the same time.
Used to most of it, he walked familiar paths, staying at the lit areas where he could easily blend in with the human crowd. Most night creatures liked lurking in the dark corners, and he wasn’t in the mood to be jumped right now.
What he was in the mood for was a fight, and just in his human skin, where he could still have restrictions. That meant no interactions with supernaturals for as long as he could avoid them.
Not that he actively sought them out, of course. Considering nearly every clan’s kill-on-sight policy, it just wasn’t a good idea.
The crowd eventually thinned out, and now Ovie navigated his way between buildings until he got to the one he wanted: a club that advertised glittery drinks. He passed through the back entrance, walked the dim hallway that supposedly led to the front but actually led to the kitchen area. That kitchen had a wide space with just flooring, where he spotted a bald, bulky man with his arms crossed and filled with tattoos. The man had sunglasses on, usually a ridiculous sight at night. But on him, it fit.
“Carl, looking good,” Ovie said in greeting, nodding at the bouncer. The bouncer nodded back.
“Fitzgerald. Are you here to fight?”
“Depends. I’m gonna check out the scene first. How are the other entrances doing?”
“Not so busy, but it’s Friday night.”
Which meant there would be a crowd later, for sure. Ovie nodded again, then stepped forward as Carl let him pass. He opened what would’ve been a supply closet, but this one led to another door inside the small room, and he opened that next.
One more door later, and he was descending the stairs towards dim lighting that didn’t change until he finally got underground. One wouldn’t expect underground to be even more vast than the club, but there it was: a huge circle of space with bleachers on all sides and a caged boxing ring in the center.
His eyes scanned the crowd, noting that there were more young ones visiting today. Cheers and shouts were already filling the air with a certain charge, and it got to him enough that Ovie decided to go with it as he headed to the side office. The windows were thick, impenetrable glass, but a quick knock had the operator inside grinning and allowing him entrance.
“Ovie, my man! We haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
“Yeah, well, things have been busy.”
With the clan, obviously, and his missions, but he wasn’t about to say that. The thin, gangly man in front of him grinned anyway, showing off chipped gold teeth that contrasted with his baby face. He looked like a teenager, but everyone who frequented around there knew Junior Junior was a rich man in his thirties.
The underground fighting club had made him that way.
“Well, I’m glad you could make it tonight. Please tell me you’re going to fight. Things have been pretty stale around here.”
“This doesn’t look stale to me, Junior.”
As soon as he said the words, the groans started up, jarring the whole atmosphere. In the boxing ring, the lighter-skinned man was toppled to the ground, knocked out cold by the darker-skinned one. Someone dragged the unconscious man from the ring as the other raised his fists in the air, crowing out his victory.
“See? Henrik’s unchallenged, and he’s getting cocky for it. Most of the new fighters have been weaklings.”
Henrik was an asshole, but no one said it out loud because he was good drama for fights. The man loved to tear up his opponents with words before he tore them up with his fists, and Ovie supposed the unconscious newbie got distracted.
“Fine. Maybe one fight. Just insert me where there’s a vacancy.”
Junior’s black eyes lit up. “For you, there will be a vacancy. Hold on.”
“So you’re going to watch my fight in this pansy-ass box?”
The underground handler laughed.
“You know I’ll always get out of this glass holding for your fights, man. You just wait.”
Ovie grinned and left the glass room, the stuffy area starting to become suffocating. It was mostly watching space for VIPs, but Junior liked to flex and use it when the actual boss wasn’t around.
With nothing much to do, Ovie found himself wandering, then finally settling on a spot in between some bleachers. He remained standing as the announcer introduced the next fighters: newbies again, but this time both of them were. The fight started almost immediately as eager hands tried to reach for each other, both too inexperienced to stay back. Punches were thrown in rapid movements, some hitting and the rest missing. No other types of attacks were added, which meant these two were paired for their boxing skills and nothing else.
Eventually, it became noticeable that while both had similar movements, one had longer stamina—and the one with the shorter began to lose his momentum and take in more jabs as the other gained momentum. The fight ended with the first man raising his hand in defeat, after which two bouncers had to hold on to the second man’s waist when he still tried to lunge repeatedly.
They were taken from the ring, and a small break came. A few of the watchers wandered off, most likely to get drinks and food from whatever underground entrance they came from.
“Ferocious Fitz. I thought that was you.”
The old nickname hadn’t been used in a while, but it was still familiar enough to have him glancing. The woman sashaying towards him was familiar, too, from the slim curves of her body to the glowing tan she had. Her blond hair was a silk curtain over her back, and her black dress left nothing to the imagination. Blue eyes were locked in on him, interest and a lazy kind of hunger mingling.
“Hello, Caroline. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“You know how it goes—boyfriend doesn’t want me attending these things, promises to keep me floating in money to stop working here.”
He raised a brow. “I take it that boyfriend’s no longer around?”
“You took it correctly,” she confirmed. “He was a jerk. And the lesson’s learned.”
“What lesson?”
“To take on someone rich and old next time.” She winked saucily, then flashed him a smirk. She then licked her lips, eyeing him up and down. “Of course, I will take my time, and I wouldn’t mind a nightcap after this.”
Ovie smiled when the woman’s hand slithered up his arm, the suggestion loud and clear. It was an old game they used to play, and one that had him falling in bed with her once or twice before. But that was the past—a time when he didn’t have his priorities straight, and when being young meant being randy as hell after every victory.
He hadn’t had a woman in a while now, but he didn’t feel enough attraction for her to lie to them both. So he gave her another smile, this one more rueful.
“Sorry, Caro. I have some errands tonight.”
She easily read between the lines and nodded, not the least bit perturbed. That was one thing he liked about her—the lack of hard feelings over a casual matter. Some women would’ve taken it personally.
“Your loss,” she said lightly. When Caroline sauntered off, he watched her back for a few seconds before settling back to watch the next fight.
This one involved more prominent fighters, whose styles included a couple of martial arts. Murmurs rose in the crowd as bets were placed, most towards the man who was supposed to be the martial arts expert: Timothy Yu. Unfortunately, he proved everyone wrong when he was flattened to the ground forty-five minutes later by his opponent: Edward Anderson, a blond, brusque California native who was currently choking him.
Bouncers came to break it up, and the grumbles in the crowd were apparent. Another break ensued, and he backed out from the bleacher area when he heard the crowd murmuring his name and more bets coming in. The name of his opponent hadn’t been mentioned yet, but Junior would find someone. So Ovie went to the back dressing room, which was thankfully empty. He stripped off his clothes until he was down to his training shorts, then removed his shoes as well. He debated wearing gloves before deciding not to, wanting his raw hands to feel the power rush he was about to experience. As ready as he could ever be, he wandered back outside, sweeping over the bleachers again and seeing older people this time.
A glimmer of movement caught his eye, and the familiar face had him nearly jerking back.
What the hell was Leila doing here?
Attention now solely focused on her, he took in the sight of her white dress, a direct contrast to Caroline’s black one. It was just as molded to her body, emphasizing prominent curves. The coat on her lap did nothing to hide those crossed legs, smooth as silk even in the dim lighting. An anklet winked around one dangling ankle, and a ring sparkled on her slim finger. The jewelry was minimal, and so was the dress, the long sleeves hiding what he knew were slim arms made of firm, subtle muscles.
If anything, the covered-up look only emphasized her body more than Caroline’s little black dress, and that was saying something.
She was talking to someone in low tones, and the expression on her face seemed pleasant enough. A casual conversation? Curiosity had Ovie glancing at the man beside her, surprised to find it wasn’t someone he was expecting. Perhaps he expected someone in a suit, someone as elegant-looking as her.
