Wicked Magic Read Free Page B

rectangular room packed to capacity with too-full
tables taking up every available inch of space.
    Jeremiah had his elbows resting on the bar and his back
slouched so his shoulders stuck up in the air. Even when he was sitting, his
younger brother towered over everyone else. ’Miah had inherited thin, long legs
and golden-brown hair that mopped across his forehead from their mother. His
hair matched the shade of his eyes almost perfectly.
    Him? He’d gotten an unruly flock of dark curls. It wasn’t
his hair or height that made him and his brother so different. It was the
traits his father passed to him—blue eyes, a stubborn streak two miles wide and
a territory of bloodthirsty animals to keep in line. It was a crappy job, but
someone had to do it. Humans, while tolerant of the two-natured, had no
business policing them.
    His brother flashed an innocent, boyish grin at Sam,
something he’d been doing since the asshole could smile. He said something—God
only knew what—that made Sam still the rag in her hand on the cup she was
drying. Her eyes brightened and the corners of her lips curved. An ache moved
through Trent’s chest, down his stomach and grabbed hold of his balls. His palm
sweated against the table. When she smiled like she was right then, it did
wicked-fierce things to his libido.
    A flickering orange light flashed in his peripheral view.
Curling smoke added to the haze. He had no problem seeing through the fog. Sam
bit her lower lip. The action might have stifled her laughter but it didn’t
stop the sparkle of repressed humor in her eyes. It was all he could do to keep
distance between them.
    Fucking hell she was sexy. Apparently, his brother—who swore
he and Sam were just friends—thought so too. Jeremiah drew his elbows across
the counter and leaned close to whisper something in her ear. He used one long
finger to push a strand of hair behind her ear, tickling her skin as he went.
Bastard.
    Trent leaned forward, as if getting closer would help him
eavesdrop. Jeremiah’s lips moved, but the room was too loud, even with enhanced
hearing, for him to know what his brother whispered.
    Sam narrowed her eyes and a crease appeared along her
forehead. She shook her head twice in quick succession. The hand she’d been
using to bring the chain of her silver necklace back and forth across her neck
stilled. She dropped the round, quarter-sized pentagram and the medallion
settled between her breasts. Now that her hands were free, she pressed against
Jeremiah’s shoulder and pushed him across the bar and back into his chair.
    Through the myriad sounds of the room, the beat of her
tapping her foot rang clear, a sign he was entirely too in tune with her. A
sharp crack of magic whipped through the room with her irritation. He looked
around, waiting for the crowd’s reaction. No one stopped to look. Some days he
thought he was the only one who could feel what made her so damn special. The
room’s sounds muffled, muted by her magic, and her next words reached him as if
she’d spoken directly to him.
    “You tell him, ’Miah,” she growled, “and I swear to God I’ll
find some way to kill you myself. I don’t care what you shift into.”
    In tandem, Sam and Jeremiah turned to look in his direction.
What in the hell were they up to? Thick as thieves, those two had been friends
since diapers. The thought, good or bad, made his jaw tight. Eyes still focused
on the pair, he brought the mug to his lips and tilted it up. Nothing happened.
He pulled the glass away with a frown and looked into the thin ring of foam
lining the bottom of the cup. Empty. Damn, he needed a refill.
    Halfheartedly, he peered through the throngs of tables in
search of Brenda. Tall, with bright red hair and gigantic tits, the waitress
normally wasn’t too hard to find. Tonight she’d donned a pussy cat
costume—ironic as hell. When he didn’t spot her, he glanced back to the bar.
Watching Jeremiah flirt was painful—when he did it with