Chapter 3
“Bastian, you are no good to anyone if you don’t get your rest.” Clint held his phone against his ear while he opened his components cabinet.
Midnight had passed, and he was still wide-awake.
Mundane sleeping solutions weren’t working.
He might as well cook up a potion that would actually knock him out.
“I wish I were the fount of wisdom you believe I am, but I don’t have any further advice on what to do for your apprentice.
The only thing I can say is this: magic rarely manifests so late.
Either something kept Vincent’s powers at bay, or he manifested earlier than he’s told you.
The only way you’ll figure it out is if you talk to him. And you need a clear head to do that.”
“I’ve been sleeping,” Bastian said on the other side of the line.
“You were my apprentice for a decade. You think because a few years have gone by that I’ve forgotten what you sound like when you’re exhausted?
” Clint asked. “I’m not suggesting you don’t have good reason for running yourself ragged.
A new apprentice with chaotic control of their magic would be enough, but you’re on the run with the brand-new sireling of the master of a very large coven.
Have you considered breaking off from him? ”
“I can’t,” Bastian said, tension in his voice.
Because the mortal father of said vampire is likely sitting in the seat next to him, and Bastian still has a crush.
Hunters had long been allies to mages of the Greater Circle of the Unyielding.
While no overarching structures existed for hunters like they did for mages, Thomas Wright belonged to a family legacy that had fought against malevolent supernaturals for generations.
And Bastian had had a crush on the man since the two were teenagers.
Clint was responsible for introducing them.
Every time Bastian went to Thomas’s aid, he wondered if he’d made the right decision.
I’ve certainly made worse judgment calls.
At least Thomas fights for what’s right.
He isn’t a snake like Sloane turned out to be.
“You can’t have the conversation you need to have with Vincent if you can’t string your thoughts together.
The situation is too delicate, and you can’t afford to put it off any longer.
You need to find a place and take a break. ”
“A place that isn’t yours, I’m guessing,” Bastian said.
With a grimace, Clint closed the pantry door. No amount of magic would clear his mind of the weight Bastian had just laid upon him. “You know I have to keep the tower secure. Your apprentice is the last thing that should be around my artifacts.”
“Yeah,” Bastian said with a heavy sigh. “Yeah. And … fuck, I’ve been talking about what I need, but what about you? How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re no more ‘fine’ than I am.”
“Is that so?” Clint asked.
“Hey, I’m just as in tune to your different inflections as you are to mine.” Bastian paused, and a seriousness filled his voice. “When was the last time you went outside?”
“It’s the middle of winter.”
“Uh-huh. Look, it’s been years since whatever happened with Sloane happened, and you’re still locking yourself away. You’re the one that taught me to seek out magical dangers and do everything I could to stop them.”
“I’m an old man,” Clint replied.
“You’re like, what, forty-eight?”
Clint leaned against the wall and stared upward. He was far older than that. But how he’d won that long life was a secret he couldn’t yet share with Bastian, especially since his former pupil continued to hang around a vampire.
“Sometimes, I feel much older,” Clint whispered.
“I didn’t mean anything negative,” Bastian said. “But I don’t think my apprentice is the only one with repressed trauma. You never told me what happened with Sloane, so I know you haven’t talked about him with anyone else.”
A metallic ringing sound filled Clint’s ears.
For a split second, he thought he was hallucinating the sound in his mounting desire to escape his conversation with Bastian.
But the note was too genuine, too consistent, and a flicker of heat rose in his heart.
My magic. A ward is going off. Clint straightened, his tone sharpening.
“Bastian, I have to go. I have an intruder.”
Bastian made some noise—likely asking if he should divert his trip to Clint’s sanctuary—but Clint hung up on him.
Immediately, Clint’s phone rang again. He abandoned it on a nearby counter, grabbed his staff from the hallway, and headed for the spiral stairwell at the center of his tower.
The alarm ringing in his mind went off six times, paused, then began again.
With a few gestures and a quick word, he cast a spell that gifted him flight.
He kicked off from the wall and shot up the hollow space in the middle of the stairwell.
Nothing should have gotten in. I checked the outer wards two weeks ago.
They should have held. The warning ward was connected to half a dozen others.
It should have knocked out whoever had managed to penetrate this far into his tower.
He had a safeguard in case a rodent or bird somehow tripped one, which had cost him another rune but was better than finding a sizzled corpse.
If he was lucky, it was some unfortunate pest that he’d be able to relocate.
His sixth floor was dedicated to east and west galleries. The ringing was louder when he faced the west side. He snapped his fingers and dismissed the alarm in his mind. Drinking in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. Magic thrummed through him.
Wonders abound, he hadn’t felt this alive and alert in months.
Possibly years. Sloane and I were in dangerous situations all the time.
But before the wallowing thoughts swelled, a new thought bubbled.
I waded into danger long before I met that traitor.
I am Clint Ravenwing. I am a Magus of the Greater Circle of the Unyielding and a Keeper in the Order of Cosmic Wonder.
I am a guardian of light, a protector of life, and a stalwart against the insanity of the Realms Beyond. And no one steals from me.
He strode into the gallery. With a flick of his wrist, he extended a bit of magic to hit the light switch. “Who dares—”
A person clad entirely in black was caught in the golden thread of Clint’s Reverse Ariadne.
They were slight, narrow in a way that turned internal dials that Clint had thought were rusted into their off positions.
The thread crisscrossed over the individual and accentuated their lean lines and taut abdomen.
They wore a ski mask that only exposed a hint of pale cream skin along with their emerald eyes.
A spark brightened their expression. They weren’t terrified of being stuck.
They were pissed. Clint had had bratty lovers throw him that look when they weren’t happy with a game. Sometimes that meant an end.
Sometimes that look was the beginning of something amazing.
But the thief wasn’t breathing. The Reverse Ariadne was set to cinch until its victim stopped struggling. The thief must have fought too long. If Clint did nothing, the thief would die. I can’t have another death on my hands.
Clint stretched his free hand toward the golden ball that had produced the long thread. “Elef!”
Instantly, the thread expanded outward and released the thief. Clint surged forward, preparing a spell to catch them.
Without missing a beat, the thief landed on their feet and ran for the window.
Clint gripped his staff and spun it while shifting the purpose of his held spell. He unleashed it to catch the thief around the ankles and yank backward. The thief landed with a solid crack but quickly pushed back up to their feet.
Too quickly. Clint swept his staff downward and slammed an invisible force onto the thief until they landed on their stomach. Pulling with another kinetic spell, he dragged the thief back toward him.
“Shit!” the thief snapped. Their voice was silky, only lightly wrinkled by their frustration. They scrambled for any sort of purchase against the smooth floor and found nothing to hold on to, especially since they had on black leather gloves.
Clint brought them to his feet and kept them pinned with his spell. Once again, the little fucker wasn’t breathing. He growled, “I’m not falling for the same trick twice.”
“What trick?” the thief demanded.
“My magic isn’t cutting off your air, so you might as well breathe.
” Clint applied a little more kinetic pressure before leaning down to take the bag off the thief’s back.
Luckily, it had a buckle. He undid it and set the bag to the side.
The thief’s belt pouches were next. “Nice to know that only a professional could make their way past my wards.”
“Nice of you to assume I’m a professional,” the thief said with a frustrated grunt.
“Deduction, not assumption. Stretch out your arms and legs, or I’ll do it for you.”
“You could at least pretend to get to know me first,” the thief replied with bratty glee, but they obeyed.
“I’m learning plenty.” Clint shifted the focus of his spell to blanket the thief.
Holding concentration didn’t require his staff in his hand, so he put it down in order to continue his search.
But when he put his hands on either side of the thief’s torso, he realized they still weren’t breathing, and they were cool to the touch.
Their smell. They smelled like musty earth and pine trees. He should have caught it sooner, but he’d been too caught up in discovering an intruder that he’d ignored his sense of smell. He growled, “You’re a vampire.”
“Don’t like to play with the dead, mage?” the vamp teased. “I’d be happy to go.”
“How the hells did you get past the threshold?” Clint demanded. He wanted to rush his way through the search, but he couldn’t afford to stumble upon some trap on the vampire’s body. He was already finding small blades, other tools, and a wood chess piece tucked into discreet pockets.
“I’ve never had trouble with them,” the vamp replied.
Certain that he’d tossed aside any equipment accessible to him, Clint flipped them. He peeled off their ski mask.
The thief’s slenderness made their high cheekbones sharp as a winter wind.
Their jawline was angular, not squared off but bordering on petite, and they were clean-shaven.
The mask had quashed any attempt to style their fluffy, light brown hair.
They were a handsome that circled beautiful and went back to stunning.
Clint hadn’t been face-to-face with anyone for weeks, but that wasn’t what caught his breath.
Years had passed since anyone had lit his inner fires.
Ever since Sloane’s betrayal, Clint’s heart—and other aspects—had been buried under an avalanche.
Hell, he’d rarely had an erection bother him long enough to masturbate.
But with a smirk and a twinkle in their green eyes, the thief effortlessly found dry kindling and set a bonfire. “Maybe you like to play with dead things after all, hm?”
“I would have remembered inviting you into my home,” Clint said. No one else could have. No one else called this place home. Bastian knows better, and Sloane … Sloane’s gone. “How did you get in?”
“Through the window,” the thief replied.
Clint grabbed the thief by the collar and put his knee in their gut. “Smart answers aren’t cute.”
The vampire’s smirk turned sly. “Your mental shield’s almost as impressive as your arcane wards, but I am sensing a wee bit of lust aimed in my direction. I think you like when boys sass you.”
“So you’re a man, then?” Clint asked.
The vamp raised an eyebrow. “Thought that was obvious.”
“I’ve learned not to assume anyone’s gender.”
“That’s actually incredibly thoughtful of you. I’m a man, and I use he/him,” the vamp said with the first real sincerity in his voice. He tilted his head to the side. “What are your pronouns?”
“He/him,” Clint replied through gritted teeth. “You broke into my home without knowing anything about me?”
“A job is a job.”
“Someone hired you? Who?”
“Criminal-client privilege,” the vamp replied.
“I know seven different fire spells that would incinerate you in less than ten seconds,” Clint growled.
“And I counter that with the fact that you lost concentration on your kinetic spell as soon as you beheld my charming face,” the vampire said. “I’m being an exceptionally good boy and that deserves a reward.”
Shit, he’s right. Clint did his best to school his surprise into a glare. He checked his mind for any pressure of the vampire’s abilities to control lust or fear, but the little thief wasn’t pushing his luck. Clint’s mind was free of outside influence.
“Why?” Clint demanded.
“Isn’t the whole point of being good to reap the benefits?”
Clint struggled to find fault in that slick answer’s charm. “Why are you being good?”
The vampire gestured at the room with a quick lift of his chin.
“All these wards were set by one mage. You. And you were fast enough to catch me with magic. You are extremely powerful, and I don’t need to trip one of your instincts and get incinerated in less than ten seconds by one of those seven fire spells. ”
Clint started to ease his grip on the vampire’s collar. He couldn’t ignore that he’d caught him mid-theft, but Clint wasn’t innocent. Some of the treasures in his tower were technically stolen. Taken from the hands of those who’d misuse them, but taken nonetheless.
Just as he was about to move his knee, he felt a rumble in the stone floor. Red lights in the corners of the room flashed.
Every ounce of goodwill went right back under the icy avalanche in Clint’s heart. He poured the gravel of broken trust into his voice as he said, “And maybe you’re only the distraction.”