Devils & Thieves (Devils & Thieves #1)(30)

Here, Jane paused, and as she turned I caught the glittering silver wisps of her magic, slowly swirling around her head. I could smell it, too—the scent of iron fresh from the forge. I shuddered. Jane seemed to catch the movement and tilted her head, her gaze on me once again. “Do you know what she did, Jemmie Carmichael?”

Heads turned toward me. “No,” I said, shrinking from the sudden attention.

“She gathered up the strands of those souls in her arms, and she used them to bind herself to that devil. She had no fingers to tie knots, so she twisted and turned and wound them tight around her body and his. Then she hurled herself into the sea and dragged him with her.”

“Did she survive?” I asked.

“What a question,” said Jane. “Of course she didn’t.”

For some reason, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

“And that’s the story. There’s magic in it, my grandmother told me. It lives as long as the story does.”

After a few moments of hush, someone started clapping, and then a few others did. The elderly guy scooped Jane’s beer cup from the grass and shouted to the bartender to fetch her another. My ears were ringing as I pushed myself off the ground and headed for the exit.

“I need some fresh air,” I managed to tell Hardy as I stumbled forward without waiting for him. It felt a little like being underwater, breathless, and clawing desperately for the surface. Just as I could see my escape through the crack between the tent flaps, they were pulled aside, and I found myself face-to-face with Killian Delacroix, president of the Deathstalkers.

His eyes searched my face, and then he smiled. “Speak of the devil,” he said quietly. “And she shall appear.”





EIGHT


“WHAT—” I BEGAN, LOOKING OVER HIS SHOULDER TO THE open air outside. A few hulking Deathstalkers stood just beyond the tent flaps.

“Someone told me you were here,” Killian said blandly.

“Who?” I asked. Was it Darek? And if so, how much had he said? My cheeks flared with heat.

Killian said nothing, thereby amplifying my curiosity and my fear. If he said something about me and Darek in front of Hardy—

“Excuse me, Killian.” I started to edge past him, wanting to escape, but he put a hand on my arm.

“Wait.”

“Get your fucking hands off her,” snapped Hardy, who’d caught up with me. His eyes narrowed with promised violence.

Fingers still circled around the crook of my elbow, Killian said, “I mean no harm,” in his sweet, honeyed Louisiana drawl. My nose filled with the scent of copper and salt as crimson ribbons of magic unfurled around him and licked at Hardy’s cheeks.

“Okay,” said Hardy. “Fine.” He didn’t sound happy, but he no longer looked like he was ready to throw Killian into orbit.

The worst thing about Killian, if you asked me, was that he didn’t look formidable on the outside. He was wearing his vest that marked him as a Deathstalker, but he seemed small and meek and forgettable. Close-fitting jeans underscored how skinny he was. Round, tortoiseshell glasses sat on the bridge of a nose that seemed just a tad too small to hold them. His dark brown hair was combed over to the side, tamed by hair product with a slight sheen. More nerd than badass—except he’d just stopped Hardy in his tracks with a mere thought.

“I was just about to go greet your father,” Killian said to me. “Would you like to join us?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father on his feet, watching us. The room had gone silent. The air, stagnant. Outside, I could hear kids playing, screeching and laughing, unaware of the tension growing in the tent. What I wouldn’t give to be a child again, oblivious to this world we lived in. Instead, I was stuck between Hardy and Killian, watching Killian’s power slide toward me, knowing I was about to accept an invitation I was desperate to reject.

There was a brief scuffling sound outside, and then someone entered the tent on my left. The tent flaps fell shut, blocking out the noise and diffused light of the night.

I could smell Crowe’s magic before I could see him.

Killian released me. “Thank you for hosting this fine event, Crowe,” Killian said, and offered his hand. “Looks like you all have done a great job.”

Crowe stepped to my side. His fingers clamped over my shoulder, making me jump. Staring coldly at Killian, he raised his other hand and curled it into a fist while muttering under his breath.

Smoky-sweet skeins of venemon magic wended through the room, and everyone slumped in their chairs, their eyes closed. The only people still standing were Killian, Crowe, Hardy, and me. Even my father had succumbed to the spell.

Venemon magic could manipulate the human body, but I’d never seen anyone put an entire room to sleep. If Crowe had wanted to, he could have done it to me, too. I wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. And looking back and forth between the presidents of these two rival motorcycle clubs, I sort of wished he had. The tension was almost painful, and the sight and smell of their magic turned my stomach into knots.

“You think you can put me on the spot in public?” Crowe’s lip curled. “Think again.”

Killian clasped his hands behind his back. “I do believe this is entirely against the rules. Even if it is an impressive display of power.”

“So is mind-fucking one of my Devils,” Crowe said, jerking his head toward Hardy. “Would you like me to let him show you his magic?”