Page 7 of The Warlock's Kiss

He’d been annoyed when the tingling sensation in the back of his skull—warning him that two people had crossed the ward at the front gate—had interrupted his concentration a few minutes earlier. That initial irritation had only intensified when he’d heard footsteps on the porch as the trespassers slowly circled the house; the relative quiet of the manor and his heightened senses had made the soft thumps audible from inside his study.

But irritation had flared into anger when he heard glass break down in the foyer. Apparently, merelywillingsomeone to leave could not make it so despite the immensity of the power at his command.

Visitors—whether invited or not—had always been rare here. That had been one of the reasons he’d chosen this location. That it was situated along an ancient ley line was a bonus; he’d been more interested in its remoteness. Before the moon had shattered, most of his uninvited callers had taken one look at the manor and left, understanding the message Merrick had intended the exterior to convey—this is not a place for you; leave.

Apparently, that message was lost on modern humans. Between these two and the group of teenaged vandals who’d wandered onto his property in a drunken stupor a few years ago, he’d well surpassed his tolerance for trespassers.

He strode toward the door leading out of the study, keeping his steps silent despite his anger. He’d never thought highly of humans, and this was more evidence justifying that opinion.

Whatever the situation was in the wider world—the plight of humanity was not Merrick’s—it did not afford these people the right to come onto his land and break into his home. Avoiding interaction with humans had been impossible during his long life; though he rarely needed to eat, he still required food and supplies, and he had little interest in living in a shack in the middle of the woods without a single modern convenience. But he only dealt with humans on his own terms.

Electric tendrils of magic flowed over his skin as he opened the door and walked across the loft. The power thrumming through him was enough to annihilate any mortal he chose to turn it upon—that would be the quickest, easiest way to resolve this matter. If these humans had come with good intentions, they would’ve knocked on his door. They would’ve implored him for aid.

He still wouldn’t have trusted them, but at least his irritation wouldn’t have escalated into fury.

The energy gathering in his hands was raw and bristling—two scintillating spheres of chaos wrenched from the magical energies underpinning the universe—and it feltgoodto have that magic flowing through him in such a pure state. When the moon had broken—an event the humans had aptly dubbedthe Sunderingon the few radio broadcasts still operational in the days afterward—Merrick’s power had been vastly amplified, but there’d been no reason to use it like this before now.

Merrick halted when the intruders, who were standing just inside the doorway below, came into view. Neither of them was looking toward the loft; their attention was directed elsewhere, their eyes wide and jaws slack.

One was a child, a boy too young to even sport hair on his face, and the other was a female. They both held knives, the boy’s comically large in his hand.

The woman turned her face toward Merrick.

Reacting purely on instinct, Merrick curled his fingers into fists, snuffing out the gathering magic, and willed the nearby shadows to envelop his body like a burial shroud. The woman’s gaze lingered on Merrick’s position, but he could tell by the way her eyes moved that she couldn’t see him amidst the gloom.

Human eyes struggled in the dark.

He studied her over the course of a few heartbeats. Her large, brown eyes gleamed with fear and uncertainty, and yet they were utterly beautiful—they were the most expressive eyes he’d ever seen. Her full lips were tantalizingly pink. She wore her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a few curled strands hanging loose at the sides of her face.

Her features had an alluring, feminine softness to them, but they also bore evidence of the hard world from which she’d come—her cheekbones were accentuated by a hint of gauntness in her cheeks, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.

Though she was clearly an adult woman, there was a certain innocence to her face—but it was an innocence that had somehow been sharpened and hardened by her experiences.

A strange but powerful urge rose inside him, fluttering in his chest. It took him a moment to realize that it was a magical resonance, a mana song, singing soft and sweet—a gentle melody existing beneath his own, existing within it.

Suddenly, he wanted to go downstairs, wanted to go toher. Not to kill her or frighten her, not to reprimand or confront her, but to be near her, to find outwhyshe looked like she carried the world on her shoulders, to find out why she was so sad, so worn, and yet sopure.

The boy moved out of Merrick’s view, proceeding toward the parlor.

“Danny, we should—” the woman whispered before hurrying along behind the boy. “Danny!”

Merrick’s brows fell low. He stepped forward and grasped the railing, leaning over it to glance down, but the two had already moved beneath the overhang.

He tightened his grip and clenched his jaw. Why had he hesitated? Why hadn’t he, at the very least, demanded an explanation from them? Instead of confronting the intruders, he’d hidden himself and stared at the woman like a smitten fool.

They broke into my home, he reminded himself,and they are human. That makes them as dangerous as any monster that’s awoken since the Sundering.

Merrick shoved away from the railing and walked downstairs. The footsteps and voices of the humans drifted to him from the parlor; they spoke in hushed but excited tones—the boy’s excitement fueled by wonder and the woman’s by fear.

Ignoring them for a moment—he told himself it wasn’t because he was concerned with how he’d be affected by taking another look at the female—Merrick turned his attention to the front door. They’d broken a pane of the left window, close to the latch. The damage, along with the fact that they’d left the front door open, was enough to rekindle his annoyance.

It would be overly merciful to toss them out unharmed.

He closed the door quietly and lifted a hand, drawing on the magical currents flowing through him. Everything in the universe, whether living or inanimate, whether organic or otherwise, was touched by magic and possessed its own magical resonance, each like a unique song wrought from mana.

He’d worked with glass before. He knew its energy, knew the way it felt, the way it resonated.

The glass shards rose from the floor, glowing faintly blue, as he cocooned them in magic, drifting to the empty window frame. After a few seconds of manipulation, the pieces were lined up and in place. With a final flare of energy, Merrick sealed the fissures between the shards. No indication of damage remained when the light faded.

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