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Suddenly she could feel what he felt—every pulse of his cock, the tight creamy grip of her own sex, the rake of her nails down his back. Something seemed to click between them, locking down, linking them mind to mind, heart to heart.
Kat screamed, a long, singing note of pleasure and pain as the magic built and built and built. She barely heard Ridge’s answering howl.
he birth of Kat’s power thundered in Ridge’s ears like the roar of tornado-force winds. He could only wrap both arms around her and hold on for dear life. Her blood filled his mouth as her sex milked his cock, and he writhed.
Never in his life had he felt anything like this.
Then it all just . . . stopped. The eye-searing energy disappeared, leaving him clinging blindly to her lithe, sweat-slick body. Kat fell limp under him, her strong legs releasing their desperate hold, her fingers relaxing their grip on his shoulders. His skin stung, and he suspected she’d dug her nails deep.
“My God.” She gasped. They were both panting. “What the hell was that?”
Ridge gently disengaged his fangs from her throat and licked the blood away. “That,” he said, his voice hoarse, “was magic. You’re a Maja now, Kat Danilo.”
NINE
Kat lay dazzled and panting. With a last, sated groan, Ridge collapsed beside her. She could feel his pleasure echoing in her own body like a deep thrum in her cells. Incredible. She wasn’t sure if it was his thought or her own. Never felt anything like that.
Magic swirled around her like dust motes in a shaft of sunlight, a dancing glitter. Half-hypnotized by the swirling patterns, she watched the tiny flashes dance around her head. Every time she inhaled, she breathed them in.
Experimentally, Kat puffed out a breath. Magic rolled from her mouth in a glowing plume, reminding her of chilly childhood mornings when she’d watch her breath mist.
“You look stoned.” Ridge rolled onto one elbow, watching her with an indulgent expression.
“I feel stoned. Sort of . . . floating.” Kat frowned suddenly. “Is it real? The magic, I mean?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t see it often, but sometimes when it’s particularly dense, vampires can perceive it. And I’m told Majae see it all the time. After a while, you quit noticing it as much.”
He looked different, she realized. Vivid, sharply solid. More real somehow. When she looked away, she could feel his presence like a low hum.
As if he was a concentration of pure magic.
A weaker hum came from a closed door across the room. “There’s something magic in the closet.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.” He yawned hugely.
Curious, Kat rolled out of bed and swung the door open. A pile of metal objects lay heaped on the floor. Kneeling, she picked up a helmet, scorched and dented. There was a cuirass too, along with greaves, gauntlets, and other assorted bits of armor. All of it was blackened, as if it had been through a fire, and most of the pieces showed dents and smears of old blood.
“I should have cleaned and repaired it, but I didn’t have the heart. Some bad memories there.” Ridge said from behind her.
“You were hurt.” She could feel the magical echo of old wounds, a reverberation of pain in her own flesh.
“Not as bad as some.” His voice was grim. “I lived.”
The flow of magic in the dented helm seemed to be disrupted. Acting on pure instinct, she fed her own power into it, straightening and reinforcing the flow. Light swirled around the helm, and the dents disappeared, leaving it gleaming as if brand-new again.
“Cool!” Kat looked around at Ridge, surprised. “It wants to be whole. I wonder if I could fix it all . . . ” Extending her hands over the pile of battered armor, she concentrated, sending a wave of magic swirling over it.
When she dropped her hands again, it was all repaired and shining. “Damn. That was . . . surprisingly easy.” Kat cocked her head, considering the pile, mentally tracing the smooth flow of magic. “All I had to do was straighten the kinks in the energy patterns, and everything popped right back out.”
“Can you make armor of your own?” He knelt beside her and lifted a long sword out of the pile, then handed it to her. “Creating the stuff’s a bit harder.”
“You mean copy it? Maybe scaled to fit me?” She weighed the big blade in her hands. It was well-balanced, but definitely made for a vampire’s strength. Too heavy for her by far. Transferring the weapon to her left hand, she bit her lip and concentrated. Magic swirled into her right hand, formed a column of light, solidified.
The new blade was shorter, lighter. She handed Ridge the original, then extended the copy, weighing it in her hands. The balance was a little off. She dissolved it and tried again. Better, but still off. Tried again until she was satisfied.
“What do you think?” She handed the sword to Ridge.
He took it, held it at full extension, then gave it a slow swing, careful in the limited space. “Good work.” Handing it back, he eyed her. “You know how to use that?”
