Craved

By Jaye A. Jones

Dani was a culinary student living a normal life until three famous Magi pulled her name out of their magic hat, forcing her toward what they said was her destiny. A month later, bloody and broken, she regains consciousness in the hospital with wounds modern medicine can’t mend, nursing a profound hatred for all things magic.

But when two handsome brothers break into her room and heal her, Dani has to face what she hates and fears most, and confront the terrible hallucinations
of the witches who tried to kill her. As if that weren’t enough to handle, now there are shape-shifters? Oh yeah, and an almost supernaturally strong, unexplainable attraction to both brothers that isn’t making anything easier.

All Dani wants to do is cook amazing food and leave all this magic stuff behind her. Her true destiny has a different plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye A. Jones
• Release date: Jun 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301884056

Jaye A. Jones

Jaye A. Jones lives in a beautiful suburb of St. Louis. Jaye is obsessed with musicals, Marvel comics, and sci/fi and fantasy stories whether they be movies, television shows, or novels. Joss Whedon is her story-telling idol. She's addicted to the Cooking Channel, to good food, and to attempting new recipes. A lifetime of absorbing pop culture, of reading when she should have been working, and of having eclectic interests that span contradictory subjects was her writing school. Her degree in Psychology from St. Louis University comes in handy every now and again too. Visit http://www.jayeajones.com for more.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Pain yanked me violently from my nightmare. All the air whooshed from my lungs as I jerked against the straps trapping me to the hospital gurney. Keeping my mouth shut tight, teeth clamped down on the insides of my cheeks, I struggled to swallow my screams.

I wouldn’t cry out. Would. Not.

Breathing deeply through the worst of it, I imagined ingredients laid out, waiting to be made into a delicious meal. Pain-relief through visualizing recipes was something I trained my body to respond to these past two weeks spent alone in the Magic Intensive Care Unit in some Chicago hospital I didn’t know the name of. Of all things, tuna noodle casserole was on the menu tonight. This exercise had my memorized recipe book tapped out. And I knew a lot of recipes.

When my heart raced, my wounds howled. Nothing calmed me like cooking.

My pulse began to slow as I pictured draining the pasta and mixing the gloppy, cheesy mess together. Slowly—never fast enough—the blinding pain retreated. I let out a shaky sigh, leaving the imagined meal unfinished.

The blood and fangs, the claws and paws and knives and the sickening weight of magic was only in my head. Yet, whenever fangs sunk into me in my dreams, I felt them like it was happening all over again, and I jerked awake.

Thankfully. I’d rather be sleep-deprived.

Beep, drip, tick. Beep, drip, tock.

The hospital room was pitch black and silent but for the machines surrounding my gurney buzzing and the clock on the wall tick-tocking. When the squeaking of rubber-soled shoes broke up the rhythm, I braced myself, but not in time.

One of the strained night nurses burst through the door, unceremoniously flipping on the lights and blinding me. Oh, how I resented the nurses here. I’d just gotten myself under control, and now she was going to aggravate everything again.

I glared at the nurse for taking the brief moments of not hurting away. She didn’t notice my glower, and wouldn’t have cared if she had.

Even if the nurse had known I was awake, she wouldn’t have given me a warning to save my eyesight. She wasn’t exactly pleasant. Even though I couldn’t see them right now thanks to her abrupt entrance, I knew she had deep frown lines permanently plastered around her thin-lipped mouth that told me smiling was never her expression of choice.

Good evening, Miss Walker, the nurse emphasized the Miss, like it was disgraceful.

Old-fashioned hag, I thought, blinking away the sting in my eyes. I’m only twenty-two years old.

How are you feeling tonight? she said, without sympathy.

If she had pitied me though, like the other nurses did, I would have been meaner.

As miserable as the last time you asked, what— I tried to look at the clock on the wall but my blurry, slowly adjusting eyes wouldn’t allow it, so I guessed. Two hours ago?

The nurse didn’t even look at me, let alone crack an expression. I was only injuries and a chart to her.

Her face was scrunched so tightly, I knew the remarks she wished to make. That smartass mouth of yours is why you’re still single. Or, No wonder no one’s come to see you since you got here.

Evidently my brush with magic made me even more cynical than ever. Probably wasn’t going to lead to what this woman thought of as a successful life, a happy marriage and bouncy babies.

The world could keep that sugarcoated version of itself. Going a few months without getting stabbed, strangled, scratched, bitten, beaten, or flayed was good enough for me.

If I never encountered magic or any Magi again, I’d consider the rest of my life a success.

Magi, people innately able to draw on supernatural forces to use at will, stepped into the limelight five years ago. Revealing their existence after a display of their abilities got caught on about twenty cell phone cameras, the world treated them like celebrities now. And they didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.

Magi was the politically correct, media-given term. Witch. Wizard. Sorcerer. Enchantress. Those words became offensive overnight.

Prophets, Swayers, Menders, Tracers. Within a month everyone who wanted to know them knew the distinctions. The media gave them titles, gave them easily understandable definitions so every magicless nobody could wrap their magicless brains around the idea of something not meant to be understood.

Putting things in order, giving things names. It all made the discovery of real magic…digestible. Like white rice. People understood white rice. White rice was recognizable, acceptable, agreeable.

The Sisters were not white rice witches. They were creatures of evil. I had no problem not being PC. The Sisters, the ones who locked me in their basement and tortured me for weeks, would always be witches to me.

Instead of saying any of the cruel things she probably wanted to, the night nurse mechanically checked the tubes and machines littered around me as I ranted to myself.

When she was through with the part that didn’t hurt, she ordered, Lean forward.

The contraption they had me hooked up to kept the mangled left side of my back elevated so my infected cuts wouldn’t ooze onto their never-been-used-before white sheets. It also kept me from pretty much any other kind of useful movement. Did she think I could lean forward? Really? But I tried, and she pushed me the rest of the way.

It hurt so much my vision blurred and my ears rang, but I clenched my teeth and took it without a noise.

When she finally leaned me against the pillows again, she didn’t look at my face, but I could see the moment of emotion on hers. It made me feel a little better.

The lacerations will have to be bandaged again in the morning, but will hold until then. You should be healing better by now.

She wasn’t talking to me, not really, so I said nothing. Maybe if the doctors had all the information, they’d actually be able to help. But I doubted it.

Would knowing a witches pet made my body its scratching post for a few weeks help them heal me? Would knowing dark magic, evil magic that involved pain and blood and sacrifice was the reason for my broken bones, and was the reason for my complete lack of recovery make any difference? I didn’t think so.

No one knew that kind of magic was out there. I hadn’t known until Myra and Lorna’s power was on top of me, ripping me apart from the inside out. Might take as much to convince the rest of the world.

I’d been here for two weeks. None of my injuries had improved at all except for some serious exhaustion and malnutrition. I knew this now, even though the doctors didn’t seem to get it yet. Modern medicine wasn’t going to heal me. Only magic could.

My body trembled as my lip curled. I’d rather die from this.

Looking down at the blood suddenly dripping onto my stiff, white sheets, the strange sensation of pain felt like I’d just been kicked in the face. It was mocking me. I knew not to think their names, unless I wanted my nose to freaking bleed like a faucet.

Nurse Grumpy gasped quietly when she saw the fresh blood and applied merciless pressure to my nose with white towels from my own, personal, never-been-used-before stash. The feeling of being kicked in the face didn’t hurt as much as her pressing against it did, but I silently took the pain again.

I could feel it, but I wouldn’t let it control me.

She tsked like bleeding was my fault and didn’t offer any of the soothing words real live humans would. At least she was quiet. Some of them chirped away every second they were in my bleak corner of the hospital.

It was obvious none of them were comfortable here. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Nurse Grumpy. They all had their ways of coping with a patient they couldn’t heal, couldn’t help. Most talked nervously. This one sneered.

As Nurse Grumpy scribbled on my chart and tried to examine the rest of my bandages and wounds while still pressing against my drippy, tender nose, I focused on the wall clock I could still barely see and tried to ignore all of my excruciating spots of pain.

I’d oddly gotten used to my injuries. There wasn’t a logical explanation for why I wasn’t passed out since every inch of me was bruised or broken and in agony. Which meant it was probably a spell.

One only magic could break.

A violent shudder trickled down my mutilated body, making the pain spike and my eyes tear up. I had to stop having those kinds of thoughts. All I needed from Magi was for them to stay the hell away from me.

People only knew about the good stuff, the way Magi revolutionized the Witness Protection Program, private investigation, bounty hunting, prisons, court rooms, and made the nightly news filled with more positive than negative for once in a million years.

Regular, blissfully oblivious people loved them. The great Magi.

Realizing the grumpy night nurse hadn’t moved for a while, I looked up and knew instantly something wasn’t right. Her face was in her favorite, disapproving scowl, but she didn’t seem like she was awake. All pressure she had been placing on my nose was gone. Her hand was still on my face, and when I turned away from her, she didn’t move.

Then I felt the surge of energy, the density of the air shift, the heavy sense of something that shouldn’t be there igniting a familiar twinge of panic in my stomach.

A man walked in, way too tall and way too muscled to be a normal guy. Regular people didn’t look like him. Defined muscles bulging everywhere. Looks only found in airbrushed magazine photos. He was attractive kind of like predators in the wild were. Beastly. Alpha. Utterly masculine.

But big men didn’t scare me. Nothing to be panicked about so far.

Behind the beast was a shorter man, less muscular and dominant than the first, but way more breathtaking. Perfectly put together. Not a hair out of place. I couldn’t breathe as I scanned him up and down, even through my bruises and the nosebleed and the bullseye of pain on my face. His honey-colored eyes met mine for a few moments and my rational brain melted.

I think I actually felt my eyes dilate.

But gorgeous men didn’t scare me either. Still no reason for my panic.

Are you the witch who killed one of the Sinclair sisters? the huge man said.

I looked away from the too gorgeous for his own good one back to the beastly one, and it took me a few heartbeats before I processed any part of what he’d said.

Did he ask if I was a witch? My stomach churned.

I thought about Myra, her cold eyes and bony, black tipped fingers. I thought about Lorna, her long, raven hair and cat-like sneer. My nose leaked blood, and it ached.

I’m not a witch, I said, and hated the tremble in my voice. My mouth and chin were all sticky now, covered with blood, dripping freely onto the white sheets of my brand new, state of the art gurney.

My chest clenched as realization struck me. Why the air felt different. Why my body was brutally shaking, my heart galloping, my injuries shrieking.

Magic.

The big guy was casting a spell on the nurse. My panic belonged here. It was a Sway spell. The Sisters used it often. I knew the feel of it on my skin, knew the churning deep inside.

Screw control. Fuck dignity. I screamed.

I was trapped on this hospital bed, rigged up to this bizarre metal contraption unable to run, unable to fight back. I wanted to get away from the magic, and I could feel it surrounding me, sliding down my throat, creeping into my pores, suffocating every inch of me.

Hush, the beautiful man said, and my scream was cut off. Another spell I knew well. Only air flowed from my throat. But I didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

My panic went supernova.

I had to get away. I couldn’t be trapped like this. Couldn’t let myself be taken. Again. Imprisoned. Again. Squirming sent jets of agony through me and didn’t do any good whatsoever, but I didn’t have control.

I wanted to go home, though I had no real home anymore. I wanted to be eight again curled up under my blankets, hiding from the monsters in the shadows that weren’t there. I wanted to be safe in my old life where magic never touched me.

I’m going to heal you, Daniella Walker, the way too handsome man whispered, smooth like custard. Soothing like hot chocolate. Or he meant it to be. It should have been. I couldn’t detect any Sway behind his words, but it didn’t matter. They were all out to get me.

Then, a little late again, I realized what he said.

Please don’t, I thought. Even though no words came out, the gorgeous one hesitated.

Take stock of yourself, little girl, the rational part of my brain said. Deep, infected gashes down the left side of your back. Destroyed left arm, leg, pelvis. Torn rotator cuff, six broken ribs on the left side, and one on the right. Swelling, scrapes, and bruising everywhere. Spontaneously bleeding nose faucet. All magically induced. All magically sustained.

You won’t walk out of here without this, the handsome man’s hot chocolate voice was calm, even, collected and unaffected. How dare he be so relaxed? Anger made my eyes slit at him for a second.

He was right though. I knew he was. I should be reasonable. A man of otherworldly good looks wanted to put his hands on me, take the pain away, make me feel all better.

But the crawling, the terror, was everywhere. My rational brain understood the necessity of his hands, of this spell, but the rest of me couldn’t stand the thought of more magic.

You have to let me—

No, I cried, surprised the gorgeous one’s Hush spell hadn’t stopped my words this time. "No more magic. N-n-never. Never any more magic."

But he didn’t listen. He rubbed his bronze hands together. The gorgeous man’s wrists were bruised, like he’d been wearing handcuffs too tight. I focused on the strangest things when I was terrified—something I recently learned about myself.

He came closer. Big hands out toward me. Inches from me.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Don’t touch. Don’t touch. Don’t touch.

Those big, bronze hands disappeared.

Myra’s long fingers, her pointy, black nails cut the girl’s fevered skin like knives. The witch smiled wickedly, then placed her hand on the girl’s face, caressed her cheek with care like a mother would. The cuts she’d given were gone in seconds, healed so the witch could torture her again, hear her screams of misery and desperate cries again.

I never escaped their basement. I was still there, right now, strapped down by invisible binds and held in place by invisible chains to be tortured, beaten, used up until there was nothing left of me. Until they took everything from me.

Death should be quick. Please. Please kill me quickly.

Where the witch had caressed, she slapped without mercy with impossible strength, and the girl spit blood as her bottom lip split open. The witch’s nails came at the girl again, knives on fevered skin, and the witch laughed as the girl screamed.

I wanted to scream again, and I did, but the sound was only inside my mind. I felt my last grasp of reality leave as I inhaled, and screamed silently again. And again. I screamed at Myra, spitting blood at her porcelain face, the blood never reaching her because she had powers that had no right existing in this world.

What are you waiting for, Cam? Do it already.

A man’s voice. I heard the words. There were no men in the basement. No men ever around Myra or her sister.

I shuddered, my teeth chattered, lost all control of my body that continued to thrash and flail, but my mind was back where I really was. Not in the basement. I tasted blood. In the MICU, in Chicago.

Lucas, shut up. She’s freaking out.

The big man’s eyes were fixed on me. He was Swaying me to relax, and my body was responding now, no longer futilely squirming. He brought me back to this place. But now I was trapped with his mind.

Couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t keep the magic away. But there was nothing I could do about it, for a ridiculous amount of reasons.

Do it. Now. I don’t know how long I can hold them both.

The grumpy night nurse was gone. When did she leave? The big one must have Swayed her to go get a cup of coffee or move onto the next patient. I knew it was possible. I didn’t know how it worked. Or its limits. Or how long it lasted.

The handsome one caught my eye, and I was able to watch him as he surveyed my wounds. When he saw my eyes on him, he hesitated again. I think he may have even taken a step back, but I couldn’t be sure considering the awkward angle I was laying in. The Sway was only keeping my body from struggling, keeping my mind here, in this room. I was still able to think what I wanted, look where I wanted. I was still me.

At least this was one of the better Sways I’d been under.

The handsome one shook his head a few times, shot the big one a look that went unnoticed, then put his hands on my stomach in a rush and held them there.

I was trapped. I was helpless. I was bleeding and broken and a basket case. And when the handsome one’s Mend spell started to swirl around me, under my skin, inside my guts, I gagged, wanting to puke to get the magic out of me.

She doesn’t have to be awake for this, I heard, but didn’t understand.

Magic felt like something, something tangible I couldn’t describe. It felt like something wasn’t right, a feeling deep down that screamed it didn’t belong. Usually, the screaming was on the outside, in the air, on my skin, and I could keep it there.

I’m not sure I can, I heard, but didn’t understand.

Mend got inside, to the deep place that should be my own. I felt violated. I felt helpless, trapped, breathless and worthless. I was ashamed for my weakness. But it came anyway. Tears joined the pool of blood at my chin on the stiff white sheets that were used once, and now used up and had to be thrown away.

You’re going to have to try, I heard, but didn’t understand.

Kind of like me. Used once and used up. Tossed aside. I was nothing. I couldn’t stop any of it. Never stood a chance.

I’ll never be free again.

I couldn’t open my eyes anymore through the pain, through the shame, through my tears as memories I’d kept at bay tormented me, threatening to finally complete their task and break me.

Sleep, was the last thing I heard before everything disappeared.

CHAPTER 2

Cam knew it was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling he hurt the girl more than he helped her. Daniella Walker was clearly terrified. It wasn’t like they knew what happened to her, how she ended up wrecked and bloody in the MICU. They should have assumed she wouldn’t be thrilled being ambushed by a couple of strangers.

But it was the right thing to do, to Mend her, to get her somewhere she would be safe. She would understand what he did, against her will, was necessary. She’d be grateful later.

Her frightened, gunmetal grey eyes popped into Cam’s thoughts.

Of all the looks of fright Cam had witnessed in his life, he’d only seen that kind of fear once before, in his father’s eyes as he died. He hadn’t been a good man. Quite the opposite. No amount of repentance could erase the things he had done. Death held no promise of relief, not for him. So as the cancer took him, there was no doubt in his mind where he would end up.

Cam thought of his father’s brown eyes, and then the girl’s grey eyes again.

At least Cam hoped she’d at least understand. Someday.

As Lucas called back the nurse and Swayed her to free Daniella from the tubes and machines she no longer needed, Cam turned away, giving the unconscious girl privacy.

There were no windows, no charts or pamphlets on the walls to occupy his thoughts, so they returned to those expressive eyes.

The desire to help her, to save her and protect her made Cam’s skin hum and his blood surge. Daniella was fragile. Vulnerable. She needed him.

Checking over his shoulder, the night nurse was pulling the IV needle from the girl’s right arm. The look of confusion was almost funny on the nurse’s sour-puss face. Sway could make her do what Lucas wanted, could make her forget what she had done afterward, but her brain could still realize something was wrong.

The nurse surveyed the girl she probably checked on countless times, who was suddenly almost completely healed. Only dark blue bruises on her face, neck and shoulders remained, and they would fade soon. If not for the drying blood under her nose and chin, and the fact that she was out cold, the girl was the picture of health.

As the nurse began to strip the girl of the hospital gown, Cam turned away and pointed to his brother, then to the door. Lucas followed Cam into the hall immediately.

You’ve got them both from here? Cam asked, leaning against the wall outside the door and stuffing his aching hands into his pockets.

His brother’s expression was strained, but tight. No one’s Sway was better than Lucas’s. But it took a great deal of focus to hold someone unconscious while demanding multiple tasks from another.

If Lucas were worried, he would have asked for help. At least Cam hoped that was true. His brother hadn’t been the same since he got back to town. Cam didn’t know what happened while he was away, but it changed him. His older brother, for all his bravado, was skilled at hiding what was on his mind.

It was a family trait.

Lucas had a right to his secrets, if he wanted them. Though he wanted to know what his brother had on his mind more than a year after he’d returned, Cam put his concerns for his brother’s cryptic past to the back of his thoughts, worried Lucas would pick up on his brain waves.

Which was stupid. Neither of them were Readers.

But they were brothers. And sometimes family just knew.

I don’t have anything to dress her in, the nurse said inside the room. Cam and Lucas gave each other a nervous look. They hadn’t thought of that.

Sticking his head into the room, Cam kept his eyes on the ground as he untucked and unbuttoned his dress shirt, stripping it from his shoulders. He was left in a thin undershirt, but didn’t care. Cam hoped the girl was short, because they didn’t have any pants for her.

Here, Luc growled, his stare glued to the linoleum floor.

Surprised at Luc’s uncharacteristic thoughtfulness toward a stranger, Cam raised his eyebrows as his brother took off his jacket and belt and handed it over to the nurse.

After a few minutes of rustling fabric, Cam felt comfortable looking up again. The nurse put his shirt on her, buttoned up, and Lucas’s jacket around her waist with the belt holding the makeshift skirt in place.

With her face clean of blood and her dark blue bruises fading rapidly, Cam could just make out the features her injuries had hidden. She wasn’t traditionally pretty. Her looks weren’t the kind you see in the movies. But she was attractive in a real way. The way Cam appreciated.

Like Blaise’s Ellie. She wasn’t a traditional beauty either, but she was beautiful.

Nice job, nurse lady. She looks hot, Lucas said, laughing as he put the last Sway command into the nurses head, sending her out the door and scooping the girl up into his arms. The relief of Swaying only one mind was clear on his face, and his expression was back to the cocky grin Cam was still not entirely used to.

As they exited the abandoned hospital room, Cam immediately tossed up a Barrier around them, not that he thought anyone would be coming down the hall to see them making off with their critical patient. Blaise would have taken care of the rest of the staff by now, Erasing Daniella’s records, and their memories of her. But Cam was always cautious.

Let’s get her to the Loft, Cam said.

Lucas smirked down at the girl in his arms, and Cam could have sworn he saw compassion in his brother’s eyes. Lucas Case was a good person, a good brother, but he rarely took interest in the people they helped. Not anymore.

He didn’t have time to question his brother about it. Cam was feeling the affects of the Mend on the girl already. He wouldn’t be able to make it home if they didn’t hurry, and Lucas, as strong as he was, couldn’t carry them both. The ache was starting slowly this time, inching into his stomach like anxiety threatening to explode into pain at any second.

He had a couple hours before the price hit him full swing. And once it hit, he’d be horizontal whether he liked it or not.

**

Damn, gorgeous, strong fucking women.

Lucas glared at the girl in his arms. He knew he shouldn’t see her strength as a personal attack against him. He knew he shouldn’t let her beautiful face affect him. He knew he should stop looking at her, stop thinking about those sea storm eyes.

Luc snarled.

Cam glanced their way, but Luc’s scowl was already wiped, replaced with—he didn’t know what. By the suspicious look on Cam’s face, the mask must have been sexual in some way.

She barely weighed anything at all. That, above everything tonight, pissed Luc off. It took him most of the walk to the Loft to figure out why.

So much force, reduced to sallow skin and busted bones.

Shit, this girl was tough. Her spirit blazed like a bonfire. Luc always tried not to, but whenever he made someone sleep using Sway, he saw inside them, touched their minds. And hers had been—

Awe-fucking-inspiring.

Not exactly the kind of spirit that should be attached to so little weight.

Maybe the body doesn’t matter, Lucas considered as they crossed through a dirty alley. She was something, no doubt about it. Looking down at his thick arms wrapped around the thin, unconscious girl, he couldn’t help but ease down the necessary shields to glimpse her mind again. As long as he kept her unconscious, he could see her dreams.

Blood.

Pain.

Cackling, taunting laughter and cold eyes of blackness.

Fangs and claws. Mangled flesh.

Her unconscious screams rattled in Luc’s head, and he hastily raised his shields, his pulse pounding.

What the fuck happened to her?

The way she fought them. The way the girl resisted their magic.

Luc closed his eyes as he fought to breathe, shame slithering around his defenses. Luc could make anyone do pretty much anything, when the magic inside him was cooperating. He’d met other Swayers—one in particular whose Sway was as strong as his own—who didn’t give a shit about the one thing Luc thought was priceless. Freewill. It was all Lucas held important in the world, and freewill was what they took from her. She would have chosen to stay trapped in that hospital bed, alone in the dark if it meant never being touched by magic again.

Strong fucking women. Lucas both loved and hated them.

Swallowing down the worry he didn’t want to feel, and the compassion he wished would go away, Lucas dared a glance at his little brother. More guilt he didn’t want twisted inside Luc’s stomach. The Mend bands around Cam’s wrists were growing with every second. Each step must have hurt like hell as the bruises around his ankles sunk deeper and deeper, until they crippled him.

Though his jaw ticked, no pain showed on Cam’s face.

Proud of you, brother.

Luc realized his grip had gotten tighter around the girl. He could feel her shallow, strained breaths through his long-sleeved t-shirt. He felt her heart jack-hammering against his chest. Unease pounded him, and he released his hold as much as