Page 976 of One More Kiss

By the time we’d met, she had already lost her entire family and been imprisoned for the magic in her veins. As a powerful witch, she’d very nearly been killed so her energy could be absorbed by another who’d been hell-bent on destroying the world.

As for me? Well, being sold on an auction block was hardly the highlight of my life.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I head down the street. I move quickly toward the small studio apartment I rent with the money I earn from killing those who need to die. Some jobs are paid—some I do because they need to be done.

Hunter by birth. Assassin for hire. What an impressive combination.

I shove into my apartment and head straight for the shower. After stripping out of my clothes, I stop in front of the mirror and study the roadmap of scars left behind by a life of fighting.

As they do so often these days, memories of my past assault me. No matter how many times I try to forget, or how many years pass, the screams of my family echo in my head. Hell, I would have joined them that night too if not for a strange twist of fate.

The massive scar running from my left shoulder down to my right hip is proof enough of that.

Swallowing hard, I step beneath the hot spray of my shower and try to wash the anguish away. But here in the quiet solitude of my space, it simply grows. Expanding until my chest is so tight it feels like it might kill me.

* * *

Something crashes to the ground.

A muttered curse pulls me from sleep, and I reach for the blade near my bed. Getting to my feet, I creep forward, slowly, toward a shadow in the corner. Expanding my senses, I listen for a heartbeat. It stands, lifting something from the ground before it turns to face me.

I grab it by the throat and slam it back into the nearest wall, my blade pressed against tender flesh. One flick of my wrist and whoever the hell decided to break in will cease to exist. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Drex?” A feminine voice chokes out.

My heart all but stops in my chest as a vice tightens painfully around it. Because I know that voice. It’s one I will never forget. “Mags?”

I release her quickly and step back to flip on the light. It illuminates the room, giving me the first real look I’ve had at her in over half a decade. She’s traded in her sunshine hair for a bright pink color similar to that of cotton candy. Instead of her typical casual clothing, she’s wearing black leather pants and a black sweatshirt.

Two daggers sheathed at her waist, she looks ready for war, making me wonder just what the hell she’s been doing for the last eight years.

“You dyed your hair.”

Reaching up, she toys with a cotton-candy-colored strand. “I needed a change.”

I try not to think too strongly on what else might be different. Instead, I focus on the fact that she’s standing in an apartment she shouldn’t know exists. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

“Locater spell,” she says, cheeks flushing with color as she looks me up and down. It’s then I realize I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demand.

“Here and there. Spent some time in Salem and my hometown.” She moves through my apartment, studying what little décor I have—a small collection of hand-carved wooden animals. A nervous habit I picked up from my father.

“And you’re standing in my apartment because…”

“I need help,” she replies, stopping on the opposite side of the room from me. “And I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Figures you need something.” Turning away from her, I head into the small kitchenette and pour myself a glass of water.

“Look, I know it’s been a while. And that my leaving probably stung—”

“It was agonizing,” I shoot back. “I was there for you every single time you needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to. I would have given my life for yours, so don’t downplay what your bailing did to me.”

“Drexel—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not interested in the why’s of it, and I sure as fuck don’t want an explanation.” But even as pissed as I am, as long as it’s been, I’m so damn pathetic I don’t even consider turning her away. “What do you need? I will see if I can help.”

She stares at me, wide eyes that once regarded me with the same level of attraction I know were reflected in mine. It never mattered that we were young, probably far too young for me to have known I was in love with her.

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