Free The Shifting Price of Prey by Suzanne McLeod

demanding fingers, the pain/pleasure arrowing straight to my core. Liquid heat filled me making me
wish that this was for real.
    Reluctantly, I reminded myself it wasn’t. This wasn’t about my fantasies, but about distracting Malik to get at that spell.
    As his hand continued to map my body, making me yearn for more, I forced aside the distraction, letting my magic rise as I sent more images. He obliged, feverishly tearing the zipper on my
trousers, shoving them down my hips so they pooled around my ankles. I kicked them off, thankful they were loose and as the golden glow of my power surrounded us, I slowly reached up to grasp his
queue—
    He ripped off my briefs, jerking me off my feet, his firm hold on my hair the only thing keeping me upright. Heart thudding, I sent another picture, praying this would work like the others as I
tugged persuasively on his queue. Finally, he released me and I almost sagged with relief as he slid gracefully down to fall to his knees before me. I looked at him gazing up at me and my heart
stuttered. The flames in his pupils were feathered with gold. I’d almost caught him in my Glamour.
    My plan had worked better than I’d believed possible.
    For a second I revelled in his worship . . . then, half-regretful, I blocked it.
    Now for the next part.
    I bent, using his queue to tug his head back and slapped my hand over the brand on his forehead. The magic in the spell felt slippery, like soft jelly. I grabbed it, panicking as it threatened
to ooze out of my fingers. I gave it a small experimental pull; the body of the spell lifted away from Malik, but a forest of thin trailing threads –
tentacles? –
was still
embedded inside his brain.
    Eww
, the thing was like some sort of horrible jellyfish.
    Then some of the legs pulled out of him on their own, flicking round to sting my wrist. Intense pain shot up my arm and my hand jerked open. The spell disengaged, burrowing back inside
Malik’s skull and disappearing. A pained grunt escaped his mouth, red flames eclipsing the gold in his pupils. He snarled, lips peeling away from his fangs as he readied to strike.
    Crap. I was losing him.
    I clasped his face, digging my fingers into his temples, frantically pouring my magic into him as I shouted more images into his mind. He growled low in his throat; the flames in his eyes
flickered red, gold, red and then disappeared totally as his pupils, irises and whites all turned a brilliant gold. I stared transfixed as bloody tears ran down his face, and power rose around us
like a red-gold mist. I bent lower, needing to place my lips on his, to drink down all that power, to take it into myself until it filled the hollow place inside me. But before our mouths touched,
his cool hands touched my hips, slid up to my waist and, as he stood, he lifted me up—
    And I flew back through the air to land with a jarring thud on the nearest table.
    The pain and the heavy perfume of the roses next to my face brought me back to my senses. I stared at the ceiling, trembling as I pushed away the horrific thought that I’d been ready to
consume Malik’s . . .
what? Power? Soul?
And gave thanks that he at least was still following the script of images I’d shoved into his head.
    Hands manacled my ankles.
    Now to get rid of that torturous spell.
    I looked at him. He stood at the table edge staring adoringly at me from golden orbs.
    He’d lost his shirt. I gaped. Not so much at his broad shoulders, or his lean, hard chest with its silky triangle of black hair, but . . .
    I pushed myself up on my elbows.
    It wasn’t just his shirt that was gone. All his clothes were gone. He was naked . . . Gorgeous . . . My eyes followed the silky black hair that shaded a line down his washboard stomach,
all his muscles crisply defined beneath beautiful taut skin . . . skin that glowed a soft silver as if he’d somehow consumed the moon. I looked lower . . . all of him was—
    Oh my gods! That wasn’t in the script!
    He