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His hand was warm. He spread my palm flat, rubbed his thumb over the creases in a way that bordered between sensual and studious. “You are positively electric, tonight.” He pushed faintly on my scar. “And tense, so very tense.”
I hated everything about the process, and yet couldn't help but imagine what magic he’d work across my skin were his hand to slide beneath my shirt, to grab my breast and kiss me hungry…
Caelan flipped the edge of my hair with his pen. “Marcy?”
A bucket of ice water drenched my imagination. I jumped, shivered as if soaked. “What?”
“Do you need to step outside?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, rubbing goosebumps away.
“Marcy is a bundle of unreleased potential. Her needs are quite obvious,” Zakar purred, walking his fingertips back to his side of the table. “Give me five minutes in the back, my dear, and I could provide you with some relief. Fifteen minutes, and you’ll be cured.”
“Much obliged if you would refrain from harassing Miss Davins.”
“Would if I could.” Zakar sighed. “Over sparks that fly, I’ve no control.”
“I won’t ask so kind next time.”
“Understood.”
“I, um,” I stuttered, feeling weightless on a cloud, and the angel who’d carried me there was green-eyed and dark of wing. “Whatever that was, don’t do it again.”
Zakar’s well-timed smile tipped. He rose from his chair to stand behind me. “Show me your hand again, Marcy. I won’t touch it.”
At Caelan’s nod, I flipped my palm back upon the table.
Leaning between Caelan and I, he made his point inches above my palm. “I see the power in your lines here, and here. You’re a daughter of the cunning folk. The pulse of magic in your veins draws me, as mine does you,” he continued in a husky tone against my ear.
“You’ll find I’m drawn elsewhere,” I said.
“Then allow me to change your mind with a glimpse of the other side.” He kissed my neck.
From the moment his lips touched my throat, my body became a deadweight for pleasure. I couldn't raise my hand or flinch away. My body wanted whatever he wanted, however he wanted it, happy to be touched, to be played with.
“Enough!” At the snap of Caelan’s voice I had possession of myself again and Zakar was on his ass. I rubbed the shaman's touch away, wary now as he grinned up at me from the floor.
“Ouch, sheriff.” A shallow seam of blood spilt his cheek.
After wiping his hand on the tablecloth, Caelan cracked his knuckles back into proper human form. I didn’t realize he could shift so fast, let alone restrict the change to a singular section of his body.
“Shall I take him downtown?” he asked me, settling back in his chair.
Zakar pulled himself up on one of his display stands. “You know, that sort of uncouth behavior isn’t going to get you what you want.”
“Go on and put your eyes on my hand, then,” Caelan said, laying his inked forearm on the table. “Or, we could take a trot back and see if you can meet my needs.”
“Another time.” Zakar said through a thin smile. Blood discolored the side of his beard. “I’ve got wounds to lick.” He winked at me as he spoke. “Allow me to hurry you on your way. I don’t know who ordered what at Bayberry General, but I know the what that ordered the who.”
“And that is…?” I prompted.
He dusted the sleeve of his coat and returned to his chair. “It’s whispered by some to go by the name of wendigo. A spirit possessing a man, using this body full of potential—” Zakar’s eyes shone wide and luminous. Again, as if spurred by toxic, carnal impulses, an unwanted thrill raced through my veins. “—to conduct magic to its dark wishes. Speaking of hunger, your touch has got me positively ravenous, Marcy.”
“Killing a man is easy, but there's no killing a spirit,” Caelan said, glancing sideways at me. “We’ll have to trap it.”
Zakar nodded. “I’m not saying Ingram Hayes has or has not sought assistance from a talented shaman such as myself, but, in my travels I’ve collected a number of manuscripts on true dark magic. One must be prepared, after all, for the rare circumstance in which a dog chooses to bite its master’s hand. I have accounts of ancient Algonquians themselves, and methods of containment those in the most desperate of situations have found successful.” He lowered his voice, looking for once uncomposed and nervous. “There's a book in my office. I’m certain the sheriff has his references, but speed is of the—”
A pale, monstrous arm burst through the fabric of the hidden door, sunk claws into his throat and wrenched the man through.
