Page 44 of Magic Hunted
A muscular man working at a bench drew my curiosity. His shoulders punched out a heavy overcoat, made from thick black material and decorated with gleaming metallic gold sewn in an intricate design on the shoulders and collar. Golden cuffs circled his wrists, decorated with delicate swirls and a design that was familiar, but one I’d never seen before. His coat reached his knees and touched the tops of his solid black boots.
His long dark hair flowed over his shoulders, so dark that some strands were midnight blue. Pointed ears peeked from between his thick strands. The man was Fae. His full attention was on a book laying on the scarred workbench before him. He wove his hands above the thick tome. Golden sparks glittered, emerging from his palms and falling into the book.
The pages were illustrated with beautiful designs, as delicate and intricate as the spindly writing. The pages lifted and fluttered in an invisible breeze. As though he filled them with a life of their own.
His dark brows were downward pointed slashes over a face drawn tight in concentration. A bead of sweat dripped from his temple, over the harsh dip of his cheek and dripped from his angular jaw.
Whatever he was doing to the book, it took a massive amount of concentration and energy. A pinwheel of sparks gathered between his hands, spinning so fast that they turned into a glowing ball of energy so brilliant it turned white. Whoever this man was, he was extremely powerful and wielded magic as though it was an extension of himself.
He angled the ball toward the pages and spread his palms flat. The ball sank into the book. It lit up in a flash of gold that faded, but when it did, the paper sparked with the light that was now imbued into its structure.
A door flung open, and two men strode in. They were no less imposing than the magic-wielder, with broad shoulders, thick thighs and builds telling of hard physical activity. The man with blazing blue eyes and white hair stopped short when his gaze fell to the book. The expression on his face moved from thunderous to bleak. He steadied himself, his chest heaving, making the silver threads on his short-waisted black jacket gleam in the firelight. “I hope you understand what you’ve done, brother.”
Another man paused behind Silver-hair, shooting a thunderous expression at the man wielding magic. His blond hair flowed like silk over his shoulders. He should have looked feminine, but the sharp angles of his face and neatly trimmed goatee ended any confusion other than all-male. His crimson jacket was open, baring the contoured ridges of his chest. The hint of numerous black runes peeked from the sides of the open jacket. His thick thighs were encased in black leggings, and the enormous sword sheathed at his hip almost reached the ground at the heel of his boot. He wore the same knee-length sturdy black boots as the magic-wielder.
“It’s the only way,” Magic-wielder said. His voice was hoarse and defeated, telling of his exhaustion.
Goatee studied the book. His lips tightened into a straight line, sparking with its own energy and I had the distinct impression that the magic-wielder had just birthed it to life. “At what cost, brother?”
“You know the cost!” Magic-wielder said, his voice louder and angry. “We’ve discussed this and we all agreed.”
White-hair’s eyes blazed. “Those filthy humans don’t deserve this. They are magicless vermin. We could annihilate them in a second, yet you let them live. Why?”
Magic-wielder stepped to White-hair and clasped his shoulder. “Think about what we’ll gain. And that is everything.”
“There are no guarantees,” Goatee said, hope and desperation a caustic mix in his tone.
“She could be in one of the four realms here. Hidden from us. If we looked harder, then we might find her,” White-hair said.
“We’ve already used our army for a decade. Spent magic at the cost to all of us. Wherever she is, it isn’t here,” Magic-wielder said.
“And you still think she’s on Earth? Instead of giving them the means of our destruction, use this to find her there,” Goatee said.
“It doesn’t work like that and you know it. We must infuse the land with magic first before we might ever find her,” Magic-wielder said. “We must bleed before we reap the reward.”
The muscle at Goatee’s temple worked as he spun to the fire. White-hair wore his bleakness bone deep. “There will be no blood left in our bodies if we hand the grimoire to them.”
The grimoire? My attention slipped from the men to the book.Thatwas the grimoire? It looked as though it not only imbued magic but also the verylifeof Faerie. Open, each side was thicker than my biceps. The pages were cream parchment, bound in soft brown leather.
Magic-wielder swayed. White-hair caught him and helped him slump into one of the armchairs. Magic-wielder swiped hair from his face and I had my first good look at him from the front.
I know that face.
I’d seen him when I died.
He was the face caught in agony, encased in ice.
White-hair pushed a goblet into Magic-wielder’s shaky hands. “You’ve put too much of yourself into the grimoire, Cedar.”
Cedar? Magic-wielder wasKing Cedar? He lifted his ashen face, stretched into determined lines. “I did it for us. I did it for her. She’s worth it, brother. She’s wortheverything.”
I was sucked from the room. My body jerked and my eyes snapped open to see Shanyirra’s glowing irises bleed back to solid white. She withdrew her hand from my shoulder, but I didn’t miss her hand trembling, nor the way her eyes flared wide in shock and horror.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Haera, what did you do?” Ashir gasped as all three of my mates crowded around me.
Dias rubbed his chest while Savvas’ features were tight and drawn. Ashir stroked my shoulder, my arm, anywhere he could touch me as though soothing me also soothed him.
