Page 9 of Urban Gladiator

The door was locked. I gathered my magic into a tight ball inside me and then shoved it down my arms and into my fingers to unlatch it. The lock didn’t budge. The further I delved, I sensed old magic. Centuries old. And it had been sealed with blood.

Dark magic had been used on this lock.

I backed away from the door, rubbing my hand against my side. The potent call of darkness was too great to bear being near for long periods of time. Prolonged exposure to dark magic made me drunk with power and susceptible to its enticing energy. It was like that lover you knew wasn’t good for you but touched you like no one else ever did. You ached for them, but deep down, you understood if you allowed them into your life, they would destroy everything you hold dear.

So I stayed away from it. But I could taste it whenever it was near.

I studied the room. It was larger than I would have expected my prison cell to be. The walls were a deep burgundy, and the furniture was all dark, heavy pieces. The wooden bed frame was black, with silken sheets in inky midnight. Nightstands, also in black, flanked the bed.

Did the man not understand color schemes?

Not that it was unattractive. It was, but if I’d been decorating it, I would have scrapped all the black for understated grays and brought in some white and other colors to offset the deep red.

There were chains attached to the wall near the headboard. Heavy black metal chains. A seating area to the right of the bed had black leather sofas. And there was even a television screen. If I was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, it could be worse.

There was an attached bathroom with a huge porcelain tub in, you guessed it, black. Damn thing was large enough I could take a swim in it.

My stomach grumbled as I plodded back into the bedroom. I hadn’t had the fortitude to eat yesterday. And now, after the night and rigorous fuck, my body protested the lack of sustenance.

I shrugged.

I could always conjure something up. But it would broadcast my powers, and I wasn’t ready to reveal them yet. Certainly, he would feed me if he intended to keep using me as his fuck toy.

Unless Rowan intended to starve me after fucking me. I sat on the couch contemplating my captor, what I knew and didn’t.

His hatred for witches was apparent. He was heir to the kingdom. If I played my cards right, I could end the Grant line. Although I admit, I never imagined that I’d enjoy sex that rough. My pussy ached from the pounding it had taken. The few wizards I’d bedded had been kind, considerate lovers. I enjoyed each one of them immensely.

But I’d never been shoved against a wall that way. I touched my neck. The ghost of his fingers squeezing my neck lingered. The gesture had made me feel owned. And I wasn’t altogether certain I liked being owned by him.

His eyes had glowed when he’d been buried deep inside me. Before he’d screwed me blind with his chiseled, muscular body. I’d never been with a man that physically powerful before.

But I could get into being manhandled like that during sex. I yearned to experience it without the magic dampener diminishing my pleasure.

Yet I couldn’t with him. I couldn’t forget for a single moment that Rowan was my enemy. And I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of making me climax.

There was a knock at the door. But before I could tell whoever it was to enter, a man floated right through it. “Ah, miss, your presence is requested.”

I’d briefly seen the ghost when we arrived earlier, but it had been a while since I had any dealings with them. Any ghosts that entered our village were sent on to the spirit world or turned corporeal. It made me wonder, with our exile, just how many ghosts were running around Avalon.

“For what?” He had been an attractive man with his golden hair and lean form. But his black eyes gave him away. It had been years since I had any dealings with a demon. They were always good-looking. It was one of their charms. And it was part of what made them so lethal.

“Breakfast.”

My stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “I guess he didn’t send you with a change of clothes for me, did he?”

“Uh, no, miss.” He winced and averted his gaze from my body.

“What’s your name?”

“Abraham Bixby, miss. But you may call me Bixby.”

I rose from my seat, unconcerned with my nudity. And well, Bixby was dead. I doubted he could do anything to me in my state. Although, I wasn’t sure. “Can ghosts have carnal relations, Bixby?”

His face turned beet red. His gaze darted anywhere but my body and face.

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I felt sorry for the ghost. “Oh, relax, I’m not propositioning you. I’m merely curious.”

“Ah, well,” he cleared his throat. “We can, if we are so inclined, but it’s not without its challenges.” He ran a finger under the collar of his dress shirt, as if the material had grown too tight.

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