Page 2 of Junk Magic

The Corps’ new digs were in a decrepit, thirteen thousand square foot warehouse on an arid bit of desert in the vicinity of Nellis Air Force base. Or, at least, the upper level was. It was mainly taken up by administrative offices, training areas and housing for new recruits, while the newly excavated subterranean sections hid the harder to explain stuff, like the interspecies medical facilities, weapons storage and labs.

And the lock up, which was where it looked like we were headed.

“Uh, sir?” I said, wondering why my new students were already incarcerated. That usually took a few weeks, at least. But Hargroves wasn’t listening.

“Open up,” he snapped at the guards standing on either side of a large, metal door.

Considering the types of wards draped over it, I didn’t know why they were there at all. It could have withstood a nuclear blast, much less an escape attempt. Not that the junkies, scammers and drunks that made up most of its current residents warranted that kind of precaution, but then, it hadn’t been made for them.

It had been made for them, I thought, after we passed through the door and down a corridor, only to stop in front of a large, well-warded cell.

And, suddenly, I caught a clue.

I also caught Hargroves’ eyes, which were looking almost pleased for once. And forgot about my resolution about not pissing off the boss. Because he certainly hadn’t made a similar one!

“You have got to be freaking kidding me.”

* * *

A couple of very long hours later, I pulled my Harley into my driveway only to find a similar bike already there. The sleek crotch rocket was parked alongside a battered pick up, with a ladder and some paint buckets sitting in the back. I suddenly felt better.

I let myself into the house, which looked less like a war zone than it had for months. A previous issue with another class of students had utterly trashed the place. It wasn’t their fault; a mage had used their inexperience to enthrall them and then send them against me, resulting in a fight where I was caught between not wanting to kill my students and not wanting to die at their hands.

The result had been the almost destruction of my brand-new house, something my boyfriend was trying to rectify.

And looking good doing it.

Not that Cyrus ever looked less than edible. But in an old tank riding up to show off sculpted abs, and paint splattered jeans clinging to a better backside than any man deserved, he was stunning. Enough to make me pause in the doorway in admiration.

He heard me, of course. I hadn’t inherited my mother’s super sharp senses, but Cyrus had the full wolfly package. He’d heard me drive up; hell, he’d probably heard my bike from a dozen blocks away and he’d smelled me before I hit the door. Yet he didn’t turn around. He just kept painting my living room wall with the tasteful soft beige I’d picked out, the smooth movement of the roller a counterpoint to the stretch and flex of all those muscles.

I was suddenly very happy that I’d brought dinner.

Dining in was sounding better all the time.

I dropped my keys into a dish and Cyrus finally glanced over his shoulder, the too-long, dark brown hair curling against his neck, because he only remembered to get it cut occasionally. And what looked like two days’ worth of scruff on his cheeks, even though I knew he’d shaved that morning. He’d been staying at my place while renovations continued, and I’d found little bits of hair in my sink before I left. It was annoying, like the fact that he appeared to need six towels to take a bath.

A grin broke over the handsome face, and the whiskey-colored eyes lit up at seeing me.

I could deal, I decided.

“Fun day at the office?” he asked.

I took off my jacket and stretched, watching his eyes follow the movement. “No.”

“No?” An eyebrow raised as he came down the ladder—with no hands and without looking at it, because Weres have uncanny spatial awareness. “Just no?”

“Just no,” I agreed. There were days when I wanted to talk about the job—or bitch, more often. This wasn’t one of them.

With tarp-covered holes in the walls, I didn’t run the AC much, just a fan over the bed at night. And, even to my human nose, he smelled of paint and sweat and the beer he’d had on a break, the bottle of which was still sitting by the wall. I didn’t care.

Hard arms engulfed me, a harder body pressed up against me, and a mouth came down on mine that wasn’t just hard, it was hungry. And so was I. I had the tank off and him pushed against the wall in seconds, and was working on the phoenix belt buckle one of his own sort-of-students had given him when he grabbed my wrist.

“Not now.”

“Why not now?” He was ready; I could feel it. And, God, so was I! Time to work off some stress.

“We have company.”

---