Free Midnight Magic by Ann Gimpel Page A

embroidered tunic. “If you want a roll in the hay, get over here. If not, I’m going to my own bed. Your choice.”
    Choking back an almost overwhelming desire to spit in his face, she reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you with that coat.”
    Another fork of blue-white lightning illuminated the sky outside her bedroom windows. Rain sounded like shrapnel, sharp against the glass panes. From the vicinity of the hallway, Hector growled menacingly. Clearly torn between his fear of storms and his hatred for Tyler, the cat scratched at the floor. His claws made long, squealing sounds as they scoured the wood.
    Oblivious to the pandemonium, Tyler favored her with a toothy grin. He set the bottle down and threw the tunic her way, before kicking off his shoes. Next came the wide-bottomed gypsy pants, followed by a yellowed pair of boxers. The sated-man stench became more intense by the second. Despite the fact he’d obviously been fucking someone—or maybe multiple someones—just a short while ago, he reached tapering fingers toward his dick and stroked it to fullness. Once it was banging against his stomach, Tyler looked over at her, clucking in irritation.
    “Take your damned clothes off,” he panted. “Else I’ll be done before you’ve even started.”
    She considered a catty comment about his lack of staying power, but bit it back. He’d never lasted long, but made up for it by being able to get hard again and again. Apprehension swirled through her. She squelched it down. Fear would give her away.
    She tossed herself on the bed and tried to smile. “Won’t take me but a second to get these sweats off. If you hand me a condom, I’ll put it on you. She pushed her stretchy bottoms off, but kept her panties in place.”
    “I like it better without.”
    “I gave you the Calvados. Please?” She held out a hand.
    “Oh, very well. I don’t particularly want any brats running around here, either. Just got to find my pants.” He scanned the floor, turning to determine where he’d dropped his trousers. Unsteady from the alcohol—and whatever Jeremy had spiked it with—he tripped over one of her discarded high heeled boots and crumpled to the floor. Moaning incoherently, he flipped onto his back.
    Tyler opened one eye, but seemed to have trouble focusing on her. “Bitch,” he managed. “Wine. You—” The hand nearest her scrabbled against the rug, straining for purchase in its thick nap.
    Terror filled Cassie. She shrank to the far side of her bed and got to her feet, putting as much floor space between them as she could. He was probably too drugged to hurt her, but... What would happen if he weren’t?
    Where was Jeremy?
    “Ha! I had no idea he was such a lush.” Jeremy materialized from behind one of the heavy curtains and extended his hands. Blue-white energy sparked from him. A short-bladed, bright orange dagger hovered in the air.
    Tyler’s body writhed in agony, and he drummed his heels on the floor. Face drawn into a rictus, he clawed at his throat. “Y-you can’t kill me,” he gasped. “If you do, Eleanora dies too. We’re linked.”
    “You’re lying,” Jeremy growled.
    Murietta swooped into the room, latched her talons into Tyler’s flesh, and buried her beak in one of his eyes before he could react.
    A high, thin howl of pain filled the air. Blood spurted from his ruined eye, soaking the side of his head.
    “T-truth,” Tyler wheezed when he was done squealing. He scraped ineffectually at his obviously narrowed airway and batted at the parrot poised to obliterate his other eye. She fluttered just out of reach. He eyed the glowing knife. “Seraph blade?”
    Jeremy nodded. “Just for you.” As if it had been summoned, the dagger moved closer to Tyler. Its orange hue shaded to golden, and it pulsated ominously.
    Jeremy glanced at Cassie. “Go get your mother. I need her here to figure out if this poor excuse for a shaman is telling the truth.”
    Cassie dove from the room, her feet