Page 26 of Wrongfully Magicked
PORTER
Despite the urgency pushing me to hurry, I slow my pace when I see Anita clinging to Darby’s back, the girl barely able to keep her eyes open. She’s been through a lot over the last twenty-four hours.
Being blown up.
Arrested.
Depleting her powers.
Going on the run.
I curse myself for not being better prepared, but the last thing I ever expected was to find a woman in our midst. We’re a rough group, all sharp edges and lethal claws. When our baser urges hit, we each seek the fairer sex for a quick fuck, but we never bring them home.
And we never go back for seconds.
We avoid attachments at all costs, unable to afford the luxury of caring about anyone else, not wanting to give anybody ammunition to use against us.
Against all odds, Anita has been more than capable of holding her own against each of us. I don’t know if I should admire her stubbornness or curse it.
What I do know is that it will eventually come back to bite us on the ass.
Yet, against my will, I’m impressed by the girl. Though she’s only wearing a shirt in the middle of the night and blindly wandering the borderlands, she doesn’t complain. Most women would be in tears from the lack of clothes alone, not to mention screaming obscenities about being dragged into such rough and dangerous territory, but she doesn’t say a peep.
In fact, Darby practically had to coerce her onto his back to get her off her abused feet, the lucky prick, but I quickly shake my head at that foolishness. The last thing I need is to be distracted by the thought of having her in my arms, pressed against me while wearing close to nothing. It would only take one slip of my hand to touch her where I want most.
I swallow hard, the urgency to get her off the streets like an itch between my shoulder blades. I want her clothed and safe and away from prying eyes. I send her more of my shadows, wrapping them around her tiny form, and a pleased hum fills my chest at being able to provide for her. Instead of panicking at being smothered in darkness, she trustingly relaxes into it.
Even the guys hesitate when dealing with my shadows, knowing exactly how menacing they can become when riled.
But not her.
As soon as they wrap around her, Anita sighs and falls asleep.
My shadows are like a sixth sense, able to pick up smells, sounds, and tastes of whatever they encounter. Her touch is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and damn if it’s not fucking addicting. Her heat rubs against my skin as my shadows share every sensation with me.
I can feel every fucking inch of her in my head. My hands ache to touch her skin, and my mouth waters with the need to taste her essence.
Her presence is driving me and my shadows fucking crazy.
They seek her out without my permission, like they’ve claimed her as part of us, which is both fucking ridiculous and troubling.
My shadows are usually cold, an icy sensation that often seeps into my bones. Most of the time, I take comfort from the insulating chill, a cushion against the brutal world of emotions. With her, I don’t want to hide.
In fact, I want her to notice us.
I want her to see that we can be a fierce protector.
If anyone saw her with her skin practically glowing in the darkness, despite my shadows trying to conceal her, they wouldn’t hesitate to slit our throats and take her as a prize for their own.
No one will touch her on our watch.
A level three mage, my ass.
Something about her sings to my senses, my shadows urging me to protect her, and I’m unable to fight such a primal instinct.
Looking at the other guys, I see the same battle.
Well, except Soren. From the second the hellhound saw her, he was lost. I’ve never seen the big man so docile. He’s like a little puppy following her around, begging for attention. Darby resisted her for a few hours before he caved as well, and she has him wrapped around her little finger.
