Page 18 of Blood Magic (Ariel Kimber 3)

I could do this.

Probably.

Maybe.

Shit.

Who was I kidding? Certainly not myself. I knew my life was just a few stops shy of a train wreck and it was slowly approaching.

I knew it. But, by no means was I ready for it.

Chapter Six

It was quiet as I made my way down the stairs. The second box I opened had been the one for me. I’d found a black bra, black leggings and a red tank top with a garden gnome on the front. My feet were encased in a pair of red fuzzy socks. My hair had been pulled back into a high ponytail on top of my head with some strands of hair having escaped and hanging down my neck. A wide red headband finished out the look. I wore no makeup. I figured with the stitches in my face, makeup would be next to worthless. If you were looking at my face, the stitches and angry red marks were all you would see.

Why bother with makeup when I had that eyesore?

So, I didn’t bother.

There was no point.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened. No sound. They were being quiet. I hoped that didn’t mean they were up to something.

I checked the living room and it was empty. That left the kitchen. Maybe they were hungry. I couldn’t imagine why or how that was even possible. Quinton had been practically force feeding us every couple of hours. There was a decent possibility I had gained a good ten pounds just from being there for a few days. Of course, it hadn’t been food Quinton had cooked himself. Julian had cooked everything. I wondered what the rest of them ate when Julian wasn’t around. Take out, probably.

I didn’t make it to the kitchen because I found them in the dining room.

Tyson sat sprawled out in a chair with his feet kicked out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He looked entirely at ease and relaxed. I envied him this. His dark, dark eyes were closed at the moment and I missed seeing them. Tyson Alexander was Quinton’s nephew even though they were only a few years apart in age, Quinton being the older of the two. Something he lorded over Tyson on the daily. They were more like brothers than nephew and uncle. Quinton’s dad, Ty’s grandfather, had liked women and they were lucky there weren’t a dozen more Alexander boys running around out there in the world. The female population would be overjoyed because both Alexander boys were easy on the eyes. Tyson had the same body type as Quinton. Their biggest difference was that Quinton’s hair was buzzed close to his scalp and Tyson’s dark brown hair was long, down to his shoulders. He had the kind of hair you wanted to run your fingers through over and over again. His smile, when he brought it out, was damn near blinding and looked like it could be straight out of a commercial advertising toothpaste. His eyes, like Quinton’s eyes, were so dark brown they were almost black, and they were bottomless pits. Eyes you could get lost in and not mind if you were never found again.

I liked it when he was at ease. Tyson was quick to temper, and he said a lot of mean and hurtful things when he got angry. I had only found myself on the wrong side of his temper once and I hadn’t enjoyed it all that much.

Quinton had a bit of a temper as well. Perhaps it ran in their family.

I pulled out the chair beside him and plopped down in the seat. I didn’t relax how he did and allow myself to loosen up. I wasn’t the relaxed type and I probably never would be. I was always waiting for some boogeyman to pop out and the next bad thing to happen. It’s what my life had trained me for. Relaxing wasn’t my gig.

Tyson’s eyelids cracked open a sliver. He took in my stiff posture and his lips quirked up in a small smile.

I shook my head as my eyes slid to the dining room table where Julian was opening up what looked like a black physician’s bag. I half expected him to pull out torture devices and weird clamps. He did no such thing.

He pulled out two medium sized glass mason jars with lids screwed on. One was half full of some thick looking white cream. The other jar had been painted black and flecks of the paint had chipped off, showing the clear glass. I couldn’t see the color of its contents. He pulled out a few more objects and placed them on the table beside the jars. A silver bowl. A sharp looking knife. A small jar with white powder in it. A book of matches.

My eyes grew wider with each item. We needed these things for my face? Last time he’d simply rubbed some weird cream on me and called it good.

“Be right back,” he muttered as he placed the last object on the table.

Julian headed off towards the kitchen and Tyson sat up straight in his chair.

“Are you nervous?” Tyson asked me.

I shrugged in answer. Truthfully, I wasn’t nervous at all. I was curious. I loved it when they used any kind of magic in front of me and, to my ever-growing disappointment, they rarely did.

“What ever he does will most likely be painless.”

Most likely.

Way to sell it, Tyson.

“I don’t mind pain,” I muttered. “I’m used to it.”

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