Fates Magic, Page 2

"Spirits and spells,” she breathed.

  He was making love to her, a vigorous pace, viewed from above. The Ondrea in the vision arched her back and opened her mouth to make some sound, pleasure or pain—it wasn't clear—etched on her face.

  The living and breathing Ondrea felt her breasts come to hard peaks at the show. She wanted to turn to Gabriel to be sure he couldn't see it, but she dared not look away until she'd confirmed the man's identity.

  He had shoulder-length dark hair. It could be Gabriel. It could also be at least a dozen other young men of her acquaintance ... or a third or more of the magic users she'd seen blessed an hour earlier. After all, long hair was the current fashion for men.

  I must know. Who is he?

  The view shifted, until Ondrea stared out from her own eyes ... at Kieran Medici. She pushed away on a gasp, turning at last to see if Gabriel showed any sign of awareness.

  The next mirror caught her halfway, and the slats speeding past sent her careening into it. Ondrea lay on a different bed, laboring hard, holding tight to Kieran's hand while he cast a spell with the other.

  She shook her head in disbelief ... and the slats raced again. Ondrea reeled, landing hard against another mirror.

  Kieran held a little girl on one arm and wrapped the other around a very-pregnant Ondrea. He laughed, lines crinkling the edges of his blue eyes.

  Her breathing harsh in her own ears, she spun from the mirror. The slats of light were dizzying. The mirror she grasped at was a small one ... a hat mirror at best.

  Kieran was young again, his jaw set in fury. He shouted at Ondrea, and she did the same in return.

  Is this what life will be?

  Ondrea chastised herself silently. Her parents, in love as they were, destined for each other, still argued. Her mother said that being mated didn't mean an easy road, but one worth taking.

  Guiltily, she searched out another scene to balance the last. The moving slats seemed more pronounced, leaving her gasping for breath.

  The mirror frame cut into her fingers, sharp shards drawing blood that stained the thorn branch design darker still.

  The vision drew her eyes up. Kieran lay on the floor, his blood pooling around him, his shirt plastered to his chest with the same. Ondrea knelt at his side, pressing ineffectually at the wound, her hands and forearms covered in his precious lifeblood, sobbing.

  "No,” she whispered. “No."

  Her eyes took in details. They were young. It wasn't far in their future together. The dress she wore...

  Ondrea glanced down at herself. It was the dress she had on now. There was no question that it was.

  She returned to the vision, needing every clue she could gather to prevent this.

  Could she prevent it? If not, she knew Kieran survived it. She'd seen him older, their children together...

  Do I know it? Did the mirrors show possible futures or fated ones only? Ondrea's specialty was far from fate magic. Was paradox theoretical or factual? She couldn't remember.

  How does this happen? I must know.

  As before, the view shifted, moving around at sickening speed ... to Gabriel. He stood over them, one of his magical daggers in hand, a half-mad smile on his face.

  Ondrea staggered backward, venting a scream of horror.

  Arms circled her, and Ondrea beat at her captor. It was Gabriel, and she'd just seen a side of Gabriel she hadn't known existed. He was crazy, dangerous, a murderer.

  "Ondrea,” he shouted. “What is it?"

  Frantic, she bit at his hand, and Gabriel released her with a howl.

  She turned, searching for the door. Everywhere she looked, she could see Kieran: tickling her, holding her, kissing her, touching her ... and Gabriel standing over his broken body. The slats of light shifted back and forth in sickening waves.

  "What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

  And then she saw the door. Gabriel stood between Ondrea and the way out. Worse, if she attempted a translocation spell, he'd have time to stop her.

  * * * *

  Kieran wandered aimlessly, heartsick. His only hope was that Ondrea would still go to the Fates Room. If she did, she'd know the truth.

  But, will she accept me? Mates didn't typically turn from each other, but he'd spent years making a bad impression. Perhaps it would prove insurmountable.

  His nerves jumping, Kieran headed for the Fates Room. He needed reassurance. He needed to see more of their life together.

  At the turn of the corridor, a scream stopped him short. For a moment, Kieran stood frozen in shock. He was a healer, not a fighter.

  "Ondrea! What is it?"

  That set his feet in motion, storming toward the Fates Room. No matter what she'd seen, he knew who she'd seen. Obviously, the shock had been formidable. If there was one thing a healer could do, it was lessen shock and calm the body.

  A male shout of pain sent Kieran from a march to a run.

  "What is wrong with you?"

  He yanked the door open, flooding the room with light and silencing the mirrors.

  Ondrea was pressed to the far wall, staring at Gabriel in stark terror. Drops of dark blood gathered on her fingertips and fell to the polished wood floor. More than a few had dotted her fine peach-colored skirt.

  Kieran pushed past Gabriel, rushing to her side. He turned her hands up, evaluated the wounds, then looked around for the blades that had made them ... something of sharp spikes.

  The mirror frame was grotesque, dark wood with darker spikes, stained in what Kieran was certain was human blood. Of all the magic in the room, the magic from that mirror was seething in something unpleasant, most likely fed on the blood sacrifices of generations of magic users. Kieran shuddered to consider what such a mirror would show one.

  "What do you think you're doing?” Gabriel demanded.

  Kieran turned to him, noting the bite on his hand in mounting concern. There was no question Ondrea had done the deed. But why would she?

  "She's injured,” Kieran challenged him. “I'm a healer."

  Gabriel reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, and Ondrea pulled her hands from Kieran's, stepping between them.

  "No.” Her voice was low and wavering.

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow then pulled out a cloth to press to his bleeding hand. She sighed, relaxing visibly.

  "You have nothing to say to me, Ondrea?” Gabriel asked.

  She shook her head, trembling hard.

  "Are you all right?” Kieran asked, certain that she wasn't but at a loss to name what ailed her ... beyond the cuts on her hands.

  Ondrea managed a tense nod. “Yes."

  Gabriel reached his unmarked hand to her, and she shied from it. Taking it as a threat, Kieran guided her to his back.

  "What do you think you're doing?” Gabriel repeated.

  "Are you well, Ondrea?” Kieran asked again.

  Gabriel tried to round him, and Kieran shoved him away. The older man stumbled into the corridor, and Ondrea vaulted between them again.

  "No,” she ordered Gabriel. “I won't stand for it."

  He glared at her. “You have always known your mind until now, Ondrea."

  "I know it still,” she countered.

  "Then make it known."

  She didn't hesitate. Ondrea turned into Kieran's chest, pressing her cheek to his pounding heart. He wrapped his arms around her, certain he had missed something of importance but too stunned to work it through.

  Gabriel snorted and turned on his heel, muttering something about bad investments and insensible women.

  In the aftermath, they stood motionless. Kieran inhaled Ondrea's scent, nearly reeling. The scent brought visions of a home the likes of which he'd suspected they'd form together since she was a budding teen he couldn't get out of his fevered adolescent mind.

  "Will you allow me to heal the cuts?” he asked.

  Ondrea nodded, her head tipping back so that their gazes locked. Kieran swallowed hard, the urge to kiss her riding him. A spell to stop the flow of blood
and one to ward off infection later, they were in motion. It was best to wash the wound properly before administering the final spell to heal it.

  Two turns away, Ondrea stopped short.

  "What is it?” Kieran asked.

  She raised a quaking hand to a metal sphere. Ondrea looked to him, and Kieran nodded his understanding. He placed his hand next to hers without breaking eye contact.

  The sphere came to life, spinning beneath their hands as if oiled. The color lightened to gold, and a glow surrounded it. The whirring became a sweet tone.

  Tears gathered in Ondrea's eyes and spilled over. Kieran raised his hand to brush them away, and the sphere slowed.

  "Please, don't,” she begged.

  Confused, Kieran placed his hand over hers, and the sphere came to life again. Ondrea laughed and sobbed nearly in unison.

  "It's beautiful,” she stated. “It's just as my parents described it."

  * * * *

  Ondrea entered Kieran's rooms, her heart pounding at what she was doing. She was going to a man's bedroom, unchaperoned and with full knowledge of what might happen within.

  Of course, he was her destined mate. Her parents knew there was an even chance she'd return from the castle bound to her mate already ... or at least, warming each other's beds. It wasn't uncommon.

  And, she knew Kieran. They were schoolmates from age ten through sixteen.

  The door latched behind them, and Kieran led her to a marble sink. His hands were gentle on hers, washing the wounds. His spell warmed her cheek and puffed strands of her hair. The lingering pains disappeared, and her fingers tingled in the wake of his magic.

  Kieran raised her hands, raining kisses over the newly-healed skin. “Have you other injuries?” he asked formally.

  She nodded, and he led her to a velvet sofa. Ondrea removed her jacket and bared her bruised forearm to him for inspection. The spell was repeated ... as was the brush of his lips over the site of her injury. Her breath caught at that.

  "Will you kiss every hurt?” she asked.

  "Do you mind it?"

  Mind it? Was he mad? “I believe other places may have need of your attentions,” she offered boldly.

  His head came up, and he released her arm. His look of longing made her heart race.

  In the next instant, his lips feathered over hers. They retreated, then returned more purposefully.

  Ondrea had played at kissing men before, rushed encounters that only her chaperone knew of. This was nothing like it. This time, there was no chaperone. There was no need to stop at a groping hand over her gown ... or beneath her skirt.

  Their positions shifted, Kieran laying her back on the sofa and following her down. He parted her lips and invited her to dance, his hips pressing to hers, bringing the length of his erection to her through layers of clothing she wished to dispel with a word.

  He eased back, breathing hard. “Are there still more places in need of—"

  His question clipped off at her move to unbutton her bodice.

  "The bed might be best,” he rasped.

  At her nod, Kieran pushed to his feet and lifted Ondrea after him.

  He paused. “If you wish to wait—"

  She unbuttoned two more of the moonstone studs. Kieran gazed at her exposed cleavage and nodded. Then he led the way to his assigned bedroom.

  The sight of the bed stole her breath. Ondrea knew very well what was fated to happen here. The mirror had been explicit. In a daze, she unbuttoned the bodice and went to work on the skirt.

  "Spirits and spells,” Kieran choked out.

  Ondrea sought him out, her cheeks burning at the sight of him stripped to the waist. She took a step toward him, stroking his exposed skin, mapping his body.

  Kieran's hands closed on the open front of her bodice, easing it back and down her arms. His breath warmed her lips, and he pulled her against him, their chests touching through the insubstantial layer of her underclothing. He dragged down her skirt, releasing her outer clothes to the floor. For a moment, he didn't move.

  Then he lifted her onto the high mattress, pulling up one foot after the other to ease her low party shoes away. His boots and socks went next, and his weight settled over her again.

  Kieran's mouth played at hers while his hand pushed up beneath her knee-length camisole. Inch by inch, her thighs and belly met the heat of his body.

  His mouth left hers, and he freed her breasts from the band, sucking one nipple into the moist delight of his mouth. His hand settled over the other, bringing it to an even harder peak.

  Ondrea wiggled against him, moaning pleas for more. In answer, he switched sides. She dragged the camisole off, dropped it to the pillows, and buried her hands in his hair.

  His groan rumbled against a sensitized nipple, nearly bringing her off the bed. His lips trailed downward, and his fingers hooked in her panties.

  Realization that he'd have her bare and more than ready had her already-wet core weeping onto her thighs. She tipped her hips up to aid him in removing the last of her clothing.

  "Yes, Kieran.” Her voice came out a strained whisper.

  As if that urged him on more than her words themselves, her panties were abruptly at her knees and, a heartbeat later, gone. Kieran spread her legs up and out, settling her calves to his shoulders.

  He came at her, tasting and taunting her, moving with Ondrea. It was maddening—too much and not enough.

  "Be done with it before I demand a taste of my own,” she exploded.

  Kieran faltered. His head rose and his body followed until he knelt between her thighs. His hands worked at the fasteners on his trousers.

  Ondrea licked her lips, and he groaned as if in pain. The trousers and underclothes slid away, revealing the length of his rigid cock.

  She glanced up at him then eased to sitting, her legs spread wide around his. At the first stroke of her tongue over the soft, pink head, Kieran shivered in delight. At the second, he spasmed against her mouth.

  Ondrea took the head inside, sucking lightly, learning his tastes. They were easily learned. Kieran pushed deeper with a breathless curse.

  Several long minutes passed, his cock sliding over her lips and tongue, his muscles tensing and flexing against her hands.

  His retreat came without warning, leaving her stunned, and he whipped off the last of his clothing.

  "Kieran?"

  His fingertips traced her lower lip. “Either we're going to finish with two busy mouths or with your sweet sheath full of me."

  The vision from the mirrors danced in her mind. She wrapped her legs around his thighs. “Full of you,” she managed.

  His eyes closed as if in prayer then opened again. He lowered himself into position, drawing her legs up further.

  At her next breath, Kieran was lodged inside. She arched against him, awash in pleasure and pain, her body and his spasming against each other.

  "By the elders,” he gasped. Kieran thrust deeper, holding her tight against him.

  Ondrea's body reached for something nameless, and she fought his hold, forcing him minutely back and forth. Kieran pistoned in and out, fevered, driven as he'd been in the vision.

  "You will be full of me, Ondrea. So full."

  She gasped at his double meaning. Soon, she'd be filled to overflowing with his seed. Just the thought of it sent whispers of power and pleasure mixed over her nerves. Ondrea tried to hold it back, afraid she'd cause some mishap with unintended magic; it was a mistake any magic user over the age of ten loathed to be caught in.

  "You can't hold it in, Ondrea,” he rasped. His body sped to a furious pace, and an expression of bliss softened his face. “Fate, but the magic is wonderful.” His skin shimmered in magic.

  Ondrea stopped fighting the rise of her own, and the sweet agony of it overwhelmed her. She grasped at his shoulders, and the feel of his muscles working beneath his skin finished her off.

  She screamed, her concentration tearing into a thousand fuzzy pieces. Her muddled mind processed the shar
p smell of plants in transition from immature to ready herbals.

  Kieran's shout mixed with hers, his heat bathing her and spilling over. A second touch of warmth, of magic unleashed, followed the same paths. The slight pains of use disappeared in a haze of continuing climax.

  Then Kieran's mouth was over hers, in hers ... his body hard and manner insistent. He pulled away slightly, trailing hands over her possessively. “Thank you for that gift, Ondrea."

  Her cheeks burned at his meaning. “My maiden's barrier?” He knew she was a chaperoned woman. If she came to him as less, what would he think of her? Such a thing was unacceptable.

  A male smile of satisfaction curved his lips up in a crooked bow. “That as well.” He shivered, and a jet of his seed caressed her. “Being your only lover is quite the gift."

  "Then what?” What other gift had she presented him with?

  He laid a kiss on her chin. “Your trust.” One further along her jaw line. “Your passion.” On her cheek. “Your magic. Spells, but I am going to have to make love to you in the greenhouse. With power like that, you could cure legions of injured and ill."

  His mouth captured hers in a drugging kiss.

  Injured ... Kieran had to know. Ondrea drew her mouth away, loathe to interrupt such a moment for something so unpleasant. “Kieran, I must tell you—"

  He thrust into her, bringing Ondrea off the bed in delight. “Later, please. For now, I want to taste your passion again."

  She nodded her agreement, her breath stolen away by his renewed vigor.

  Later. Before we leave this room, he must know about the threat Gabriel poses.

  * * * *

  "Kieran,” she pleaded.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I believe you, Ondrea. I do."

  "But how do we stop it from happening?"

  The words fought emerging. “Perhaps we can't,” he suggested. “Fate is fate."

  She shook her head, seemingly horrified by the thought of it.

  Kieran laid a gentle kiss on her lips. “If all the visions are true, I survive it."

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “He means to kill you.” She choked on the words.

  "We have no proof, but we have foresight to arm us."

  "The elders—"

  "Even if they expel him from the castle, the attack will come. We don't know where it is meant to happen. Perhaps it was never here."