Page 26 of Curses & Keys
Another man appears in the doorway. Tall and dark, but this one isn’t wearing a uniform like the other two. He blurs, and I blink. Vampire. Where did he come from? The big guy I threw into the wall earlier disappears in a blur.
His friend shouts and follows them out of the room.
The leader jerks me off the wall. Using my body as a shield, he holds the knife to my throat while he marches us into the living room.
“Let her go,” a furious, familiar voice orders from across the room.
I look up. Jamison wears a thunderous expression on his face, and his hands swirl in a pattern, magic forming between them. Next to him is Hawthorne, whose hands are also raised in attack. Behind the two of them…is Gatlin, the shifter from the gym. I glance at the vampire fighting the other two soldiers.Another lightbulb moment. This must be Jamison’s team. Wonderful.
“Catch,” Jamison spits out.
Catch what? Seconds later, mage magic, biting and cold, rips me from the soldier’s grip and flings me toward Hawthorne, where his Elven magic, soothing and earthy, wraps around me like a cloak.
Cradled in his arms, I turn to watch Jamison conjure magical spears to pin the man to the wall. A stream of magic wraps around the knife, taking it from him. The guy swears loudly, then looks at me, but the words he intends to say never leave his mouth. When it’s obvious he can’t speak, Jamison uses his magic to shove the knife into his heart.
Brutal. I smile in satisfaction.
Gatlin heaves a sigh and brushes past us. “Mathias, stop playing with them.” He grabs one of the soldier’s heads in his large hands and twists hard, dropping him to the floor, his neck broken.
“Efficient,” I murmur, impressed by his method.
Hawthorne sets me on the island, and I see anger in the clenched line of his jaw. Strong fingers grip my chin and pull my head higher. Magic cascades down my neck, healing the torn muscles and bruising instantly. “I would have healed.” I don’t tell him that the sheer amount of magic in the room is helping me heal considerably faster than I would have on my own. Whether it’s a curse or not, my body absorbs magic. But I can only manipulate curses not magic itself.
He studies me, searching for answers, but I can’t give him what he seeks.
Mathias whips out a long, thin blade and slices the throat of the man in front of him. I raise an eyebrow, and my focus turns to the fourth member of this team. The epitome of a vampire. Everything about him is mesmerizing and dark. Eyes filled withshadows and framed with glasses. Styled hair, a pure, silky black. High cheekbones and a square-cut jaw. Rich brown skin. Tall and lean but with broad shoulders thrown back in perfect posture. Stunning.
Jamison bends down to go through the pockets of the soldiers on the floor.
“There’s another one in the bedroom,” I inform him, my voice clear again thanks to Hawthorne.
Gatlin disappears into the bedroom and reappears moments later, the dead soldier thrown over his shoulder. His gaze is speculative. “This one died from strangulation, but I didn’t see a weapon nearby.” Tossing him into the pile, he raises a sharp eyebrow at me.
Silence is my answer.
Mathias walks by to grab the man in the kitchen. “This one’s throat is cut.”
I point to the big guy on the floor with his neck broken. “He killed him.”
Once they’ve pulled anything of interest from their pockets, Jamison uses mage fire to burn the bodies to ash, then Hawthorne’s clean wind sweeps them out the patio door. Now that they’re taken care of, all four turn toward me.
I clear my throat. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of this battle without dying at least once.”
Nobody smiles at my statement. Tough crowd.
I hop off the island and walk over to the vampire. “Hello, handsome. I’m Phaedra. You are?” Supernaturals are known for their good looks, but the four of them together are a potent sight.
Obsidian eyes dart to Jamison, then return to me. He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Mathias.” His hand clasps mine briefly, and he frowns.
A man of few words.
“Hmm. Well, this is awkward. What happens now?” I glance at Jamison when I ask the question. “Obviously, this is your team. And given how fast you came to my rescue tonight, I assume I’ve been under surveillance?” When in doubt, play possum.
Jamison stalks forward, his eyes tracing over my body. “You’re lucky we did. This group has killed more supes in the last few weeks than humans have killed in the last fifty years. The fact that you’re alive tells me they didn’t get what they were looking for.” He pauses for me to say something, but I simply lift a shoulder. “A key, perhaps?”
I remain silent, not really wanting to lie to him.
“We can always search the footage,” he taunts me.
