Calling the Wild Read online

  They’d had sex, the slow comfortable sex of people who knew each other well, and whose bodies had found a rhythm all their own. The sex was good, but the feel of his arms around her in a hug, when touching of any form between them had been scarce, had been better.

  When he had brought her hands together behind her back, she thought nothing of it, and when cold moved against her wrists, she still wasn’t immediately alarmed as she should have been. It hadn’t been until she heard the clinking of chain that Moira had lifted her head from his chest, looking around, panic rising as she tried to pull her arms forward and could not.

  “Justin?”

  “Shh, Moira, it will all be okay.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need to restrain you.”

  “Restrain me? I don’t understand, Justin, please, you’re scaring me!”

  “It’ll be okay, they’ll be here soon.”

  “They? Justin, what have you done? Let me go!”

  She had struggled to get away from him, but he had held her legs, stronger than he should have been, and slipped police-issue ankle restraints around her.

  “You can’t get away. I bought these at the police store, just for this.”

  Moira had been sobbing, struggling to inch herself away from him, away from the perversion of the man she’d loved. “Why,” she had sobbed, “why would you do this?”

  “You’re supposed to be with them.”

  “I’m not! They’re evil. You know it! You’ve seen what they do, the monsters they send!”

  “Good and evil do not exist.”

  Moira’d freed herself, using an earth-based spell, whispered in her mind, to gain control over the metal in the cuffs, which had sprang open at her bidding.

  The memory of that long-ago escape helped Moira settle down. Kiron was just holding her, keeping her in place, presumably waiting for her enemies to collect her. Unlike Justin, who’d been swayed by both magic and his own longings for the power and money the offered him to betray her, the only way they could have gained control of Kiron was through strong magic.

  Moira relaxed in his arm. His hold loosened, and Moira began to slowly draw in power. She could see the inscribed lines in the cuff glow softly as she pulled in enough power to work the spell.

  When his white-hot magic pooled in her belly, rich and thick like the forest floor of The Wild, she cast.

  “Bondagium.”

  Against her, Kiron twitched violently, his body rocked by the clashing spells. Moira’s spell was linked to the essence of what he was, to The Wild, but whatever magic they’d used on him was also deeply rooted. Kiron let go of her, his twitching hands falling to his sides. Moira stepped away, and he almost fell to the floor. Moira turned and braced her shoulder against his chest.

  “Come on, Kiron. Please, please fight it.”

  He didn’t respond, couldn’t, and when Moira tilted up his head to look at his face, the center of his eyes were white. For the first time he had a distinct pupil and iris, but the colors were inverted, black where there should have been white.

  She needed to get him to a safe place. The club was packed, people jammed together, the music thrumming over the dance floor.

  Moira hooked his arm over her shoulders, cursing her shoes as led him towards a shadowed corner. Several people, mostly guys who seemed hopeful they could take Kiron’s place in her bed that evening, offered to help, but Moira brushed them off with a strained smile.

  She wasn’t quite sure where she was headed, but something tugged her towards a back corner of the club. They had to squeeze between the wall and a couch, but when they reached the corner Moira felt inexplicably safe.

  “Hold on, hold on. I’m going to help you.”

  Her words, hold on, were an order, and he obeyed, teeth clenched and one hand pressed to his belly. Moira pushed him to lean against the legs of a decorative stature. The statues evenly spaced around the room, were half submerged in the walls.

  The minute his back touched the statue’s legs a pale green glow enveloped him. Frightened, Moira reached out, and into, the glow of magic, resting on hand on his chest, over his heart.

  The magic was hers, and as she watched, the green deepened, moving from sickly pale to olive to emerald. Slashes of black darted through the green, fighting to find their way back into the body of their host. One brushed Moira’s arm and she jumped, hissing as she examined the streaking welt that now graced her wrist.

  At Kiron’s back, the statue started to glow, emitting a faint green light of its own. Moira looked up and saw that the statue was a woman, a woman with a lion’s head. There was a crack of white light, and the black streaks disappeared, as Kiron used a bolt of his own magic to finish off the other spell.

  Moira held out her hand, and the miasma of green magic around him jumped into her hand, fading away. When the magic faded, the corner of the club was dark, the only light coming from the glowing red inscription in Kiron’s cuff.

  “Kiron?”

  “It is me.”

  He pushed off of the statue and came to her, slipping his hands around her waist. Moira laughed, and if it contained and edge of hysteria, neither one of them remarked on it.

  “Your friend Danny betrayed us,” he said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “Too much to talk about right now. I know where the amulet is, we’re going after it.”

  “You were frightened when you came out. You said there was something evil here.”

  Moira looked up at the statue of the lion-headed goddess. “I may have been wrong about that. Let’s go.”

  Moira turned, and Kiron was right behind her. He had to be, she still had control of his will with the spell.

  “I’m going to leave the spell on, I don’t think they can bespell your will if I already have control of it.”

  “They should not have been able to do it anyway.” His voice was grim as they pushed through the dancers. Moira darted around one of the speakers at the corner of the DJ booth, hands over her ears, not that it did much to protect her from the music.

  “If you leave the spell on and they get control of you, I won’t be able to help you,” Kiron argued when speaking was possible again.

  “Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Wait until we are out of the club, then remove the spell.”

  Moira wondered what it cost him to admit that he needed her to maintain the spell. He, the powerful creature who’d stomped and roared when she first put the cuff on him.

  The wall behind the DJ booth was hung with long panels of sound-absorbing velvet. Moira pulled one panel away from the wall, looking for a door, and hoping the motion of the panels didn’t attract attention of the club management.

  “Why did it take you so long to free yourself?” Kiron asked as he ran his hands along the wall.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I felt the spell take hold I was not too worried. I knew you were strong enough to break it. I lost part of myself, and cannot remember exactly what happened, but I know it took you a long time to free yourself from me. Why?”

  “You said something that reminded me of someone, something that happened.”

  “Tell me.”

  “My boyfriend. He betrayed me to them. They wooed him to their cause using magic and his own greed. I was stupid, worried that our relationship was falling apart because he’d been distant and because it was hard living with me right then. He chained me up one night, saying that I needed to face my destiny. When I told him the people who’d been following me were evil he said there was no evil.”

  “He would have given you to them?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is a harsh betrayal.”

  They were halfway down the wall, and Moira was starting to worry. The door wasn’t there. She was also starting to get a headache from their close proximity to the speakers.

  “Did I hurt you?” Kiron asked.

&n
bsp; “When?”

  “When I grabbed you. I didn’t want to, but I could not stop myself.”

  “You didn’t hurt me, and I know that wasn’t you.”

  Moira was running her hands down the wall, her fingers pale against the black paint the drapes hid.

  Kiron reached out and covered her hand with his larger one. Their fingers tangled together, hands spooned, and that simple touch did more to soothe Moira’s frazzled nerves than anything.

  They were hidden behind a velvet panel, the air hot and close. She looked at Kiron, and he smiled at her, a lovely tender smile that turned wicked as her gaze focused on his lips. He kissed her, and the wall fell open under their fingers.

  They broke the kiss and looked at each other, then at the doorway they’d stumbled through. Sharing an uneasy glance, they took a step further into the dark. Moira’s arm scraped a small protrusion in the wall. She ran her fingers over it recognized what she was touching, and flicked it up.

  The air of menace disappeared as florescent lights blinked awake. Moira hastily closed the door. They were standing in a hallway so short it was almost a square. There were some cupboard doors in one wall. Kiron opened them and looked at the gallon jugs of paint and bags of sand inside.

  “Looks like this is where they keep their touch-up supplies,” Moira said.

  “Where, exactly, is the amulet?”

  “In the coffin in the museum. This hall is supposed to connect the club to the museum.”

  Moira balanced on one foot and bent her leg to take of her shoe, but Kiron dropped to one knee, removing them for her. Moira wiggled her toes in happiness, and fastened the ankle straps of her shoes around the chain of her purse.

  If everything went really, really well, she might have a chance to wear the shoes again. She’d wear them dancing with Kiron.

  “Ready to go?”

  “First take off the spell.”

  “Right, sorry I forgot.” Moira looked at Kiron and smiled. He arched a brow. “Kiss me,” she ordered.

  Kiron immediately stepped forward, cupping her neck in his hands and bending to kiss her, lips feathering over hers, noses brushing each other, before he angled her head to the side and brought their lips together.

  She signed in pleasure, leaning against the wall. When he broke the kiss, their mouths only a few centimeters away from each other, she whispered, “Bondagium.”

  Light flared between them, the scrollwork in his cuff fading away as she released the outer layer of the spell, leaving only the core, which tied them together, magic to magic.

  Kiron tilted his head to the other side and kissed her again. She smiled against his lips when they kiss ended.

  “Now I’m ready to go,” she said.

  Moira stepped forward and put her hand on the industrial push bar on the inside of the door opposite the one they’d come in.

  “Wait.”

  Startled she drew her hand away from the door as quickly as if it had sprouted teeth. “What is it?”

  “What time is it?”

  Moira clicked open her clutch and dug for her phone. “Almost eleven, why?”

  “The museum doesn’t close ’til eleven.”

  Moira would have walked out into the middle of the display while straggling tourists looked on. Placing her back to the wall, she slid down, frightened by how close she’d come to making a large mistake over a simple thing.

  Kiron sat opposite her, his legs so long that he had to brace his feet against the opposite wall. Moira reached over and pressed her hand into the doorjamb, pushing the boundary spell into the drywall, sending it deeper until it could settle in the metal that supported the walls. The spell hissed into place around them, creating a little bubble of safety.

  Behind one of the doors, Moira’s enemies waited. Whatever prevented them from entering the Luxor before, whatever had stopped the lion from coming after them, was apparently no longer a barrier. They were strong enough that one of them had been able to walk right up to Kiron and bespell him, while Moira unknowingly watched.

  Behind the other door was the amulet, the last boundary between her and the truth of the prophecy, the truth of her fate.

  “How long should we wait?” Kiron asked.

  “Give it fifteen minutes, in case they have to sweep anyone out.”

  Moira shifted on the floor, regretting that there wasn’t more skirt in this dress. This enforced time gave her a change to think about what Danny had said, what he’d done.

  “Kiron, do you know anything about Egyptian Mythology?”

  “A little.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “All right.”

  Moira turned her head, letting her hair fall forward. She was trying to pretend she was resting, but what she wanted was to hide her face from Kiron, hide her reaction to whatever he might say.

  “They are old gods, and there is old magic that protects that land. Their gods were old when the Titans ruled, and they held power for longer than most. The truth of their start is lost, though fanciful stories created by the humans remain.” Kiron’s voice fell into an easy rhythm, rising and falling with a clear, steady pace. “They were not as fickle as the later gods, and their power was great. The believed in the power of the sun, and knew the value of their river.”

  She could see it, a wide ribbon of blue, banks wrapped by thin strips of green that hugged the river up and down the length of the double kingdom.

  “Moira, why do you ask?”

  Keeping her head tilted away, she spoke the truth. “I think I may be one of them.”

  Kiron lunged for her, the movement so sharp and frightening that Moira shot out a fist, catching him in the stomach. Ignoring her blow, Kiron cupped her face, looking deep into her eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  His response was a kiss, his tongue pushing past her teeth, forcing her mouth open. Lost, but trusting, Moira kissed him, trying to gentle the kiss. She thought she had when his tongue retreated, but then he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nipped her, hard enough to draw blood. Moira jerked, but his hold on her head prevented her from pulling back.

  He sucked the blood from the wound he’d made and sat.

  Moira slapped a hand over her mouth and probed at her abused lip with her tongue. “You want to explain to me what the hell that was?”

  Kiron had his head back, mouth working as he savored his blood the way a wine connoisseur would taste a rare vintage. Moira’s glare faded as she looked at him, and when he met her gaze both their expressions were serious.

  Kiron placed his fist over his heart and bowed his head in greeting. “Hail, Powerful One, Destroyer, Mistress of Dread. Hail, Sekhmet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Moira leapt up and slammed the bar of the door. Cursing when it didn’t open, she smacked her hand against the wall, dropping the boundary spell with such force that the atmosphere changed with a pop.

  This time when she pressed on the bar the door opened, swinging into the replica burial chamber. Moira stepped inside, and the voices crashed over her. The prayers of a thousand years, raised up in fear and respect, tumbled through her.

  All the artifacts were fake, but the dimensions and layout of the room were exact replicas, and that was sacred enough to trigger a reaction in her. Now she had an idea what it was, suspected who the voices were, Moira was able to stop them. Reaching into herself, Moira touched her spell.

  She’d been eighteen, and in her first semester of college. Of all the freedoms living away from home had brought her, the one she enjoyed the most was the ability to practice witchcraft without having anyone looking over her shoulder. It was the winter solstice, a bright clear night, frigid in the desert where she’d gone to perform her first ritual.

  That night she had performed a ceremony to awaken her magic and let the God and Goddess know a witch had woken. It was a right of passage each witch had to perform, and she’d practiced with her Master for months.

  She’d performed her
ritual, using tools to call a weak circle, her power then a candle flame compared to the sun-bright power she could now call, and carefully repeated the ritual words.

  What happened after the last syllable faded into the desert night changed her forever. Power arched from the sky, striking her like a bolt of lightning, destroying who and what she was to make way for a new, more powerful, being. Moira had been trapped in the arch of white light for an eon, a year, a breath, a moment. Then the power retreated to the sky.

  Moira had collapsed onto the ground, terrified and elated. When she held her hands next to each other, green lighting arced between them. She reached out to touch a fat little cactus, just to see what happened.

  It died.

  One moment it was hale and sound, the next its shriveled husk lay on the desert sand. She dropped her circle and ran for the closest plant, where the same thing happened.

  She’d wandered the desert for three days, hungry and thirsty, but never tiring. She’d gone mad, the death she caused driving her insane, a long path of shriveled cacti, dead birds and snakes left in her wake. She could feel them, could tell which ones were healthy, which were sick or injured, but no matter what their condition, her presence killed them.

  On the morning of the third day, she convinced herself the death-touch was some odd byproduct. Working against her instincts, Moira had opened herself up, letting the full range of her new power run free. Death spread from her in a flood. The plants and animals died en masse, thrashing and screaming in pain. The sand heaved and rolled, forcing burrowed creatures into the light where they could die at her behest. The sand beneath her feet turned to glass. The final horror had come when a high-pitched whine caused the horrified Moira to look up. A small propeller plane, touched by her spell, was falling from the sky, the inhabitants dead in their seats. She had watched it crash against the desert floor in a fiery ball.

  Eventually she found the place where she’d cast her circle, finding her belongings half buried in the sand. Naked, her clothes having melted away from skin that glowed like the sun and gave off the same heat, she’d knelt in the punishing sand, and opened her grimoire.