Windstorm (sampler)

Chapter 4

The walk up was torture. Pure, utter torture. My magic sizzled inside me, observant and tense to the point of severe discomfort, as I led the way, Cian a looming presence right on my heels. But there wasn't much I could do about it.

With all the wards set up on the narrow stairwell—painted a deep violet shade that reminded me all too much of the Fae—I needed to keep the male close. Since the barriers would be triggered by anybody else's energy but mine, proximity was the only way for strangers to reach the upper level, and that was definitely something I would need to amend. If I lived long enough to perform the spells, of course.

In my defense, none of my other clients even came close to the Fae's threat level. Not. Even. Close.

Humans, werewolves, vamps, even a few woodland spirits I had crossed paths with so far, were all creatures of power, but they could hardly match my own. If any of them tried to pull a stunt behind my back, I could blast them down the stairs with my protection magic before they managed to lift a finger. Cian, on the other hand... I wasn't sure even all of my wards and magic combined could stop him.

The stairwell opened up into a wide landing, the single door there lined with a beautiful silver shimmer. I breathed somewhat easier when the heat of Cian's body lapping against my back receded, but I wasn't in the clear yet. And inaudible groan uncurled from my chest.

For the hundredth time, I questioned my judgment, but even as I entertained the idea of a deeply encoded suicide streak I must had been born with, I let loose a vine of energy and sent it flying into the barrier sealing the door. The two magics entwined, recognizing one another after a series of carefully constructed checks. When all that was done, the ward pulled away, granting passage, yet at the same time standing sentry like a loyal bodyguard. One that was ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.

I spared the magic a loving glance, then crossed the threshold and peered over my shoulder to tell Cian it was safe to come in.

To my surprise, the Fae was studying the shimmering ward, his almost classical yet rough features drawn in thought. For a moment there, his purple gaze almost seemed...appreciative as he took in the barrier's unique form.

Naturally, it all evaporated the instant his eyes met mine, and I found myself staring at the exact same, painfully blunt disgust as before.

I bristled inside.

Damn it, I hadn't chosen to be half demon. And, lethal or not, his attitude was really getting on my nerves.

He'd come here because of my abilities, and had clearly noticed that I wasn't exactly your typical, average user when it came to wards, either. Yet none of that meant shit in light—well, in dark, more likely—of my heritage.

But what could I do? Scream how life wasn't fair?

Right, like that would go over well with a bloody near-immortal, perched on his bloody high horse. With Yelena as my mother, I knew full well their reasoning was very, very different from mine, instead following a logic I had a hard time believing I would ever understand.

All in all, it was useless.

Luckily, Cian decided at that precise moment to step into the room, effectively relieving me of my thoughts. His eyes skimmed across the small but cozy office I had set up here.

Every bit of furniture was carefully chosen to make the room more airy, but the pieces were still antiques—not those modern monstrosities with bland, straight surfaces that supposedly gave the illusion of extra space. I didn't think I could suffer such a piece even if my life depended on it. Of course the objects' pasts helped greatly in creating the welcoming effect the office emanated. Each and every one of them had had a pleasurable life, and their past experience fuelled the atmosphere, aiding me when dealing with clients who were lost in grief.