CHAPTER TWO
Lukendevener
Magic unlike any I’ve felt before rushes over me.
My hands flex on Skye’s deliciously plump waist, and my gaze meets her startled eyes.
She’s short and soft and curvy, with a sweet little rosebud of a mouth and a mouthwatering scent, like spiced sugar.
Her fair skin provides the canvas for a bouquet of color, from her daffodil hair to her forget-me-not eyes.
She even dresses like an alluring flower, the rich rose-pink fabric clinging to her bewitching curves.
The pretty little witch shouldn’t be this beguiling—she’s not a dragon—and yet every time I look at her, I feel covetous.
Carrying her while I flew here proved illuminating—I’d never held anyone so closely while in my weredragon form.
My skin is so much more sensitive than my dragon scales.
Despite wearing clothes, I’d felt every one of her sweet curves pressed against me.
It must be an aberration of my dual form. If I weren’t forced to be a weredragon on Earth, if I could take my true form…
But I can’t. As a dragon, I’m so large I’d destroy this library, and if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s the loss of knowledge.
It’s why I’ve finally admitted I need help setting my collection to rights, which led me to Skye.
It seems humans, with their complex numerical systems and technology, have their uses.
Perhaps it’s her youth I find attractive. All humans are younger than me, but there’s something especially appealing about Skye, an innocence of character. She looks at the world with such hope, saying yes to my offer with little information, trusting my word.
Or perhaps the true allure is her magic, which I’ve felt since the first time I met her. Even my library reacts to her, the magical wisteria turning the same deep pink as her dress.
Her magic floods from her to swallow us in a powerful grip as books lift into the air, a flock of leather and paper birds.
One of the books flutters open over the witch’s head, its unfamiliar cover decorated with a drawing of a couple dancing the waltz.
Heart symbols spread across the open pages.
A scowl curls my lips. I’m a serious researcher, an expert in magical theory.
How could a book such as this get into my library?
Another burst of magic pours from Skye, surrounding her and the book. Golden sparkles shimmer in the air, and she lifts from the ground.
“By the Goddess!” I grip her more tightly, pulled along with her as we spin in a dizzying rush, the new color of the wisteria trees smearing into solid pink all around.
We grow smaller—or the book grows larger—as the stylized hearts covering its pages fill my entire view.
Like a bubble bursting, a new reality snaps into being around us.
I stand in the middle of a large, unfurnished room with a hardwood floor.
Windows make up the front wall, looking out onto a human street, and the entire rear wall is one huge mirror.
Classical music flows from speakers mounted in the corners, and human couples surround us, all moving in time with the melody.
An odd feeling of lightness suffuses my body, my balance shifted forward, my muscles more relaxed than normal.
It takes the space of a breath to realize I don’t have my wings or tail.
I’m in my fully fae form. Icy shock shivers down my spine.
Impossible! All of our best magical researchers have studied me and determined I’ll never be able to shift into this form ever again.
Skye and I stand, still locked together by my hands on her waist. Her rosebud mouth opens in a little O of surprise. “Where are your wings? Your horns?”
Before she can say anything else, a loud voice calls out, “What in the world are you two doing?” A plump middle-aged woman in a leopard-print dress glides over to us, her steps light and graceful.
Beaded braids of dark hair chime softly with her movements, audible over the sound of the swelling violins.
I frown down at her. “Do I know you?”
“Such a kidder, this one.” Her brown face breaks into a knowing smile as she glances at Skye before turning back to me.
“Now, Luke, I thought we’d moved past this.
You’re supposed to be doing a waltz, not the awkward foot shuffle of your first high school dance.
” She moves my right hand from Skye’s waist to her upper back and places Skye’s left hand on my shoulder.
Then she wraps my left hand around Skye’s right, extending our arms out.
“There, that’s better. Now you take the lead and let Skye mirror you. ”
The instructor steps away from us and raises her voice to address the room. “Okay, everyone, let’s keep with the beat. One, two, three. One, two, three.”
The other couples follow her voice, their movements coming back into sync.
Skye hums along, her fingers tapping at my shoulder, mimicking the one, two, three beat. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.
“What is this?” I growl down at her. “Where are we?”
“A… dance lesson, I think?”
“That doesn’t answer my question. In case you hadn’t noticed, this clearly isn’t my library.” And I am clearly not myself.
Skye nibbles on her lower lip, her eyes darting around the room.
“Miss Michelle, over here!” one of the dancers calls out. “We’re having trouble with our box step.”
As the instructor hurries away, Skye gives a soft gasp and pulls from my arms to trot over to the corkboard hanging beside the door.
I stalk after her, fingers drifting over my forehead to confirm that I indeed no longer have horns. I’ve spent the past few months bemoaning my ability to shift fully, yet I now feel oddly naked without them.
“Oh, no, no, no,” the little witch moans. “This can’t be happening.”
“What is it? What has your magic done?”
She raises a trembling hand to point to the header tacked to the top of the board:
Miss Michelle’s Dance Studio
Youth Ballet, Tap, & Modern Classes
Adult Ballroom Classes
“That’s the name of the dance studio in my book,” Skye whispers, her voice even more hesitant than usual.
“Skye! Luke!” Miss Michelle waves for us to return to the center of the room. “We’ve got another thirty minutes of class to go.”
The witch spins to point at the instructor. “And she’s a character in the book.” Skye looks up at me, a million questions clouding the blue of her eyes.
“A book you’re writing?” I ask. What an intriguing idea: an author able to pull people into their stories, literally. I haven’t heard of any such magic, but human witches have different powers from fae.
“No, it’s the book I just started reading.”
“So we’re inside of said book.” Equally impressive, because it might mean she can send anyone into any book. Imagine the research possibilities! “What interesting magic you have. We must study it fully once we’re back in my library.”
“What do you mean, my magic?” Her nose scrunches. “Isn’t this your magic?”
“Dragons are supremely powerful. We have flying and fire magic as well as the ability to imbue crystals with a range of spells. But even we have limits. No dragon in recorded history has ever done such as this.” I wave a hand to take in the dance studio.
And no dragon has been able to shift me into a man.
“My magic took us into a book,” Skye breathes, a look of awe brightening her face until she looks lovely.
I give her a few moments to digest the information, then stare at her expectantly, eyebrow lifted. When that doesn’t elicit a response, I say, “Go on. End the spell.”
The pretty little witch squirms under the force of my gaze, her cheeks pinkening until they match the color of her dress. “I don’t know how.”
I grunt. Perhaps one of my enspelled crystals will help determine the root nature of her magic so that I can more easily break her spell.
I reach for the magical invisible “pocket” where I store everything I want to carry.
The familiar seam doesn’t tickle across my fingertips.
My hand paws at the air in front of my stomach…
which remains nothing but empty, featureless air. The pocket is gone.
Next, I call upon my magic, expecting the familiar swell of fire to leap within my chest.
Nothing.
Fuck.
A growl rumbles deep in my throat, and a chill washes through me.
I’ve been alive for over three hundred years, yet I’ve never gone a single day without my magic.
Even when the doors of Faerie slammed closed and the Moon Goddess flung me and other fae into a secret realm hidden from the Dark God, I always had my powers.
Now one small human witch has wrenched it all away.
“You will try,” I growl.
“Okay. Yes. Of course you’re right.” She nods nervously, and then her cornflower eyes look at me, full of questions. “Umm, how?”
“Reach into the heart of your power”—my hand reaches outward and curls into a fist—“and take control.”
Skye closes her eyes and strains, her nose scrunching and lips pursing with effort. Her hands grasp at the air. After several tense moments, she lets out a sigh, her body deflating. “I can’t feel anything.”
“May I?” I stretch my hand toward her. At her hesitant nod, I press my palm to the top of her chest, the swell of her breasts teasing the heel of my hand, my fingertips tracing over the petal softness of her neck where her pulse beats rapidly.
“Luke! Skye!” Miss Michelle calls out. “I really must insist!”
Her words jerk me back to my purpose. Even if I can’t access my own magic, I’m still fae, still a magical creature at my core. I close my eyes and extend my senses, reaching for my awareness of the magic waiting inside the little witch. I’ve felt it for months, pulled to it, fascinated by it.
I feel none of it now.
“You don’t have magic here.” I scowl. I’d hoped that even if her spell affected my powers, hers would be intact, and I despise being wrong.
“Is it because we’re inside a book?”
“Perhaps. What type of book is it?” I stare down at her. “Are there any magical beings? If so, perhaps one of them can break the spell for us.”
“Umm.” She bites her lower lip, making its plump softness even pinker. “It’s not that kind of book. Everyone’s human.”
I grunt. “Can you tell me anything about the situation we’re in? What are its parameters?” At her puzzled look, I add, “How long is this scene? How many locations does it encompass?”
“Oh.” Her eyes brighten. “I read this one last night. It’s a single dance lesson, and everything takes place here in the studio.”
With a sharp nod, I grip Skye’s upper arm and march us toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“Outside the bounds of this scene,” I growl. “We’ll force the spell to break.”
The instructor gives one final yell of protest as I swing open the door to show a swirling mix of color and light.
Skye edges forward, her expression fascinated. “What is that?”
I tap a finger against the barrier, and power prickles my skin. “Magic. Pure raw potential.” It feels exactly like the power I’ve always felt in Skye.
“Is it safe?”
“It’s your magic. It should be.” Her magic feels creative, not destructive.
Yet to be safe, I pick her up and wrap my arms around her as tightly as I can.
Even without my powers, I am a dragon. As a superior being, I’m much more indestructible than any human.
The little witch nestles against me, soft and warm and delicious, her sweet spicy smell scenting each of my breaths.
I step through the door, and a whirling dizziness grips me, spinning and spinning. When my eyesight clears, I stand once again in the middle of the studio, Skye my dance partner, the familiar strains of the waltz filling the air.
Picking her up again, I charge for the back door, plowing through it at speed. We dive into the churning rainbow of magic, and another dizzying rush deposits us right back onto the dance floor.
There’s one last exit, and the researcher in me refuses to quit until I try it.
The instructor yells as I dart forward to pick up the room’s lone stool and fling it at the front window.
Glass shatters, and the idyllic scene of a small town street falls away with the glass to expose the chaotic swirl of raw magic.
Scooping Skye into my arms, I leap forward…
Only to land right back in the middle of the room, everything exactly how it was when we first appeared.
Well, fuck.