Finally! I found a new snippet from Magic Slays and I've been meaning to share it in my blog since last week. But alas, the daughter got sick and I was busy being paranoid and taking care of her that I haven't found the time. It was actually a stolen snippet by Gordon (I subscribed from their blog). Those couple are funny (grins). So, I'm not gonna delay anymore. Read on below!
A few feet down, a floor to ceiling glass window offered the view of Beast Lord’s private gym. His Majesty was in residence, doing dips on the high parallel bars. I stopped and watched him through the glass.
He’d taken his ripped up sweatshirt off, presenting me with a view of a broad back in a white T-shirt. He wore a pale leather belt eight inches wide with two sets of clips, one set in the back and one in the front. Curran had threaded chains through the weights and hooked them up to the clips. He gripped the bars, lowering and raising himself, his movements smooth and unlabored. Four weights, forty five each, a hundred and eighty pounds, plus the chains, plus his own weight. It’s good to be the Beast Lord.
Up and down, up and down, working the triceps, smooth muscles bulging and relaxing. The bars creaked a little. Sweat slicked his short blond hair. His skin glowed with a slightly damp sheen. A slow insistent heat spread through me. I could picture him in bed above me and the thought sent a pleasant thrill all the way down to my toes.
I missed him so much, it almost hurt. It started the moment I left the Keep and nagged at me all day. Every day I had to fight with myself to keep from making up bullshit reasons to call to the Keep so I could hear his voice. I was like some sort of lovesick puppy. My only saving grace was that Curran wasn’t handling this whole mating thing any better. Yesterday he’d called me at the office claiming that he couldn’t find his socks. We talked for two hours.
He was all mine. I could walk in there right now, slide my hands along that shimmering skin, feeling the steel-hard muscle underneath, and make him drop off the bars. He would land on his feet and then he’d turn around and kiss me. When Curran kissed me, everything else disappeared. I wanted that right now, I wanted to feel his hands touching me, I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to know that I was home and safe, and that he still loved me.
I’d been standing by the glass for a while now, but Curran gave no indication of knowing I was there. He had to have heard me come down the hall – the gym door stood wide open and the shapeshifter hearing was legendary. His Majesty was in an ill humor, indeed. Just as well – having him turn around and seeing me drool like some sort of idiot would’ve completely cramped my style. A woman had to have some dignity left.
I headed to the open door of the gym. Usually we sparred after work. I’d been looking forward to it. I needed to blow off some steam.
I stopped by the door and shrugged off my cloak. I unbuckled the back sheath with my saber in it, placed it down on the floor, took off my shoes, and stepped into the gym.
I was on my fourth step when I realized that the parallel bars stood empty. The weight belt, complete with chains and weights still attached to it lay on the floor.
I wheeled around. Curran leaned against the door, blocking the exit. His arms were crossed on his chest. Carved muscle bulged on his biceps. Grey eyes met my gaze. “You have something to tell me, Lucy?”
Oh-oh. “Nope.”
He peeled himself from the door. “You sure?”
Let’s see, a dead vamp, a dismembered journeyman, a nice GBI officer who came to see me, a fifteen year old bouda having group sex in public… “Positive.”
“So your day was uneventful?”
“My day was fine.” I waved the box at him. “Chocolate?”
Curran moved across the floor with fluid predator grace. I moved with him, circling toward the mat. He made no sound as he walked, stalking me like a ghost. A gold sheen drenched his irises and vanished. Ill humor, my ass. He was pissed as hell. He couldn’t possibly know about the whole People-Gray affair this morning. And what he didn’t know, couldn’t hurt-
Curran lunged. Stopping him in mid-lunge was like trying to halt a battering ram. I dropped the chocolate, grabbed his T-shirt, planted my foot on his waist, and fell backward, using all of his momentum to throw him over me. He had a lot of momentum. I threw him clear over my head and about ten feet out.
He landed on his back, sprung up, and leaped back at me. I rolled into crouch, shot up, and caught his chin with the heel of my hand as he landed. His head snapped back. I rolled clear and backed away.
Curran shook his head. Ha-ha. Felt that, Your Majesty?
He started toward me. At heart Curran was a grappler. I’d learned the hard way that if he got a hold of me, the show was over. I snapped a light front kick to his side and backed up. Tap.
He kept coming.
Tap to the thigh.
Nothing.
Tap to the thigh. Tap to the side, tap.
Curran moved forward and right. My kick missed by a hair. He grabbed my shin with his left hand, clamping it between his arm and his side, and swept my other leg from under me. Nice! A kung-fu takedown. The mat slapped my back. I tried to roll back up, but he landed on top of me, catching my wrists. That’s it, game over. Once he clamped me down, I didn’t have a prayer of breaking free.
“Pretty,” I breathed. “When did you learn it?”
Curran put my hands together, holding my wrists with one hand, and peered into my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
Curran moved my hands to the other side, looked into my eyes again, and touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “Pupils don’t seem to be dilated. You aren’t high, you aren’t drunk. What the hell possessed you to run out of a nice safe office into a gun fight?”
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