Blood Magic

By Mary Martel

Blood Magic is book 3 in the Ariel Kimber Series.
Ariel Kimber isn’t your average seventeen-year-old girl. She’s recently discovered she’s a witch with magic and is looking to find her place in a brand-new world. Her place in this new world is in a coven with seven guys.
After all of the horrible things she’s been forced to endure, Ariel was looking forward to building her new life with the family she’s found herself a part of and focusing on healing with Dash after what Chucky did to the both of them. After the blood that had been spilled, they all struggle to put those memories and the incident behind them. It’s easier said than done, though.
Quinton is plagued with guilt and the rest of them struggle with the fact that they almost lost one of their brothers and Ariel is left with a permanent reminder of the incident.
New bonds are forged, and just as things are starting to settle down again for Ariel and her coven, the Council of Elders makes it’s first appearance in Ariel’s life. And they don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Martel
• Release date: Apr 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370575794

Mary Martel

Mary Martel was born in West Michigan and spent most of her life there. She currently resides in North Dakota with her two daughters and husband. She loves reading, zombies, mermaids and all forms of art.Follow on Instagram: @mary.martelEmail address: [e-mail]

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Blood Magic

An Ariel Kimber Novel

By Mary Martel

Copyright © Mary Martel 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Mary Martel, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

1st Edition Published: April 2018

Cover Design by: Mary Martel

Stock Photo From: Shutterstock.com

All Rights Reserved: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission by Mary Martel.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published by Mary Martel at Smashwords.com

For my dad.

Thanks for always believing in me and encouraging me to do whatever made me the happiest.

Not a day will go by where I won’t miss you and I will love you until my last breath.

Thanks, old man. For everything.

This one is for you.

Chapter One

I stared at the fogged-up mirror feeling stupid for being grateful that it was there. Not the mirror, but the condensation covering it. It hid my face from view.

A face I had no desire to get a good look at.

I was a coward.

And I really didn’t enjoy feeling like one, or knowing that I was one.

Looking around the small bathroom, I drew in a deep breath and forced myself to remain calm. Easier said than done given my current circumstance.

Avoiding the mirror, I clutched the towel I had wrapped tightly around my body to my chest as I bent over and picked up a black backpack off of the floor. Tyson had given it to me right before shoving me into the bathroom and closing the door right in my face.

I had assumed the bag had clothes in it for me and I had not been wrong. After placing the bag on the counter next to the basin, I unzipped the bag and dug around inside. Frowning, I pulled out something black that was too big to belong to me. It was a plain, black V-neck t-shirt. The material was incredibly soft. I put the thing to my nose and inhaled in hopes of catching the scent of the owner. I caught nothing but Tide. At least it smelled good.

Annndddd I was stalling for time.

I dropped the towel to the cold floor and pulled the black t-shirt over my head. It fell down past my hips and didn’t stop until it hit mid-thigh. The thing was huge on me. It probably belonged to one of my Salt and Pepper twins.

I shook my head. Why did I care who it belonged to? In reality, I did not care. I glanced at the pile of clothes on the floor. My clothes. They were ruined, covered in both my blood and Dash’s. The majority of it being Dash’s. He was quite the bleeder.

I raised a hand towards my face, but stopped it before making contact. It seemed I was quite the bleeder as well.

My vision blurred as tears began to pool. Not now, please not right now. If I let the tears fall I would end up a sobbing, hysterical mess. I could fall apart later, when there weren’t several people standing on the other side of the door. People who were upset and worried, waiting on me to come out so they could see for themselves that I was okay.

My eyes shot to the mirror before quickly skirting away.

I ran my shaking hand through my wet hair.

A loud knock sounded on the door, making me jump and my heart beat speed up.

I had locked the door, at least I had that going for me. Modesty wasn’t the issue. What did that matter when they had already seen the goods? It didn’t, at least not to me. My face, however fucked up it was, wasn’t the issue either.

So, what was the problem, you ask? If not those things, then what?

It was the tears threatening to come pouring out of my eyes at any second. The goddamn tears I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to keep at bay for much longer. It was the slight tremble in my hands. Yeah, it had come down from full-on body shaking and feeling like my body might rattle apart, but it had taken a while to come down to simply having hands that held a slight tremble to them. How long would it last, before my hands stilled? Hours? Days? I had no idea; time held no meaning to me at the moment. The last problem? The psychotic look I imagined going on in my eyes. If they were reflecting anything I had going on on the inside? I wouldn’t want to look myself in the peepers at the moment.

No, thank you. To all of it.

What’s wrong? Tyson called through the door.

Ah. So it must have been him pounding on the door. I wondered if he had been sitting right outside of it the whole time I had been in here. Not a surprise, actually. Or, it shouldn’t have been.

What had he asked me?

Shit.

Ariel?

I cleared my throat. Twice. I’m fine.

Two little words. One ginormous lie. I hated lying to any of my boys. Absolutely despised it. But I was too raw for the truth, to frightened by my own emotions to go the truthful route. If I let one thing out I feared my whole world would come splintering apart.

How would I put myself back together again?

The door handle rattled as Tyson tried to open the bathroom door and barge in on me. None of these guys knew the meaning of the word privacy, something that I found annoying on a normal day.

Ariel, he barked through the door in a rougher voice than he’d had seconds ago.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I lied.

I could feel him hesitating outside the door before moving away. My breath left me in a relieved rush.

With a new sense of urgency, no longer stalling for time in the slightest, I pawed through the backpack. Thick white socks that I immediately unrolled and bent over so I could stuff my feet into them. I was grateful to whoever had packed the socks for me. I didn’t like walking around barefoot in places that weren’t home. Next, I pulled out a pair of pajama pants. They were gray, had an elastic waist and a drawstring. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to belong to the owner of the t-shirt. I pulled the pants up my legs and tied them tight. They stayed in place at my hips, and I knew they did not belong to the twins. Maybe they were Ty’s?

The bag didn’t have a bra or panties in it, so I went without. No way was I digging through the pile of bloody clothes to get the matching set I had put on earlier in the day. Those clothes were going into the garbage can, never to be worn again.

I dug around through the rest of the bag’s contents. A black pull-over hoodie with a silver pentagram on the front. It was so big I knew it had to belong to one of the twins. A red beanie that I wanted to steal and keep for myself. Another pair of socks. Why were there two?

I didn’t put the extra pair of socks on. Nor did I put the hoodie or beanie on.

There was nothing else in the bag.

I wished there was more in the bag.

Coward, I whispered to myself inside my head.

My eyes shot back to the mirror, and my body froze solid. The fog had disappeared, and the mirror showed the room behind me.

And it showed… me.

The very thing I did not want to see.

There was a raw, jagged cut on my cheek, and it was oozing blood.

Where had the stitches gone?

There was so much blood leaking out of my face. It kept coming, pouring out of my cheek at an alarming rate.

Too much blood.

As my head grew light, my face began to melt in the mirror, distorting my image.

The picture that was left was so grossly distorted, my face so deformed that I opened my mouth and screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

And sat up in my bed, wide awake.

My breath left me in a rush as I flopped back down onto the mattress.

Tears traveled across my cheeks, running into my hair. I held my body completely still and hoped to all that was holy that I had only screamed in the dream and not in the real world.

Footsteps in the hallway told me I wasn’t going to be lucky tonight.

The soft tapping on the door was to be expected because we had done this very same dance for the last three nights, ever since Dash had been released from the hospital.

If I had had my dreamcatcher hanging above me while I slept, I didn’t think I would be having these dreams or having to deal with this nonsense. But, Quinton had gotten his way, like I imagined he always would. And it hadn’t just been me who had been unable to tell him no. None of the guys had put up a fight or argued in the slightest.

Ariel. Quinton’s rough voice came at me through the door.

I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped me, or the fact it was loud and sounded annoyed.

I know you’re awake, he informed me like he’d done the past three nights as well. I heard you screaming.

Fuck him.

They all heard me screaming, all seven of them. Quinton was the only one cool enough to point it out to me.

Ariel.

Always persistent, was Uncle Quinton.

One thing he was good for? He made my tears stop leaking out of me.

I’m fine, I grumbled quietly. I was worried he wouldn’t have heard me, but I shouldn’t have been.

He didn’t respond, but I knew he was still out there. Five minutes later, I heard his body slide down the wall, and I knew when the sound stopped it was because his ass had landed on the carpet.

I sighed again. This time it wasn’t loud or annoyed. More like sad and frustrated.

I closed my eyes even though I knew there would be no more sleep for me tonight. Just like I knew Quinton would be sitting guard outside this room for the rest of the night. I didn’t imagine there would be more beauty sleep for him either.

Then again, I had no clue how I had managed to fall asleep in the first place. Exhaustion, perhaps?

I thought about my mother being buried in the basement and sat up quickly. I flicked my fingers out into the darkness and willed the lights to come on. The ceiling lights flickered to life. I couldn’t be alone in the dark after thinking about her.

I thought about Quinton sitting out in the hallway all by his tortured self and shook my head.

I think I hated this house. Dash needed to hurry up and heal so we could go home to his house and get out of this one.

I threw off the covers and climbed out of the bed made for a freaking giant that this room housed. On bare feet, I walked silently across the room, stopping when I made it to the door. I turned so my back was against the wall and silently slid down until my butt hit the carpet. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs.

Quinton was on the other side of the wall, if not for it we’d be back to back.

It was his fault I was here, in this house, his house.

Mr. Cole was gone, having left as soon as I had told him I would be moving in with Dash. He’d texted me, telling me the moving company he’d hired would pack me all up and leave my belongings at the Alexander’s house. He assured me he would keep in touch, and that he’d be back to see me soon enough. I had sent him two text messages since then but had yet to hear one word back from him. I tried not to think on it, but I would find my mind wandering to him and I couldn’t help but worry about him. He’d been way off, and I couldn’t help but feel like he was hiding something from me.

I had every intention of figuring out what he could possibly be hiding from me, but then Quinton went and did what I learned Quinton did best. He got bossy and had told us all what we were going to do when we left the hospital. All my plans about going home to Dash’s so we could bond while I played nursemaid to Dash and momma to Binx went right down the shitter when Quinton told us we were all going home, with him, until Dash made a full recovery. Even Damien and Julian, who had their own separate house, had to stay at Quinton’s house. Quinton had insisted we all stay together, and no one had the good sense to argue with him. Not even me, even though I had balked at the idea of going back to this house. But Quinton had had this look in his eyes that had made me uneasy, so I had gone along with his demands. That look hadn’t gone away since, and it hadn’t gotten any better. In fact, it had deteriorated to extremes in the three days we’d been here. He looked like, at any given moment, if the wrong thing got said or the tinniest little misstep got made, he was going to become unhinged and turn into a freaking mad man and explode.

This lack of sleep wasn’t helping matters either. For him or for me.

I laid my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. I imagined him doing the same on the other side.

Yes, if Dash didn’t heal fast so we could get out of this house soon, I was going to go insane. I feared I would be dragging Quinton along with me for the ride.

Chapter Two

Something gently brushed my hair off of my shoulder, and I jerked awake with a start.

What the hell? I had actually fallen asleep sitting on the floor beside the door. That was a new development.

Quinton was squatted down beside me. For one brief moment his dark eyes met mine before quickly skirting away. Just what in the hell was his problem? I did not know, but ever since we left the hospital, he had a hard time meeting my eyes. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember if he had looked me in the eyes when we’d been in the hospital. Weird.

Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, he said as he stood up. I expect you to be down there with everyone else.

Bossy, bossy. I rolled my eyes up at him as I got ready to launch a verbal attack, but I choked on my words as I got a good look at him.

You look like crap, I blurted.

He winced, and I immediately wished I could shove the words right back inside my mouth. Alas, I could not. However, I had not lied; he looked like crap.

On any normal day, Quinton Alexander was a looker. You couldn’t walk past him on the street without turning back around and giving him a second glance, even if it was just to check out his ass. Well, unless you were a lesbian and boys just flat out didn’t do it for you, then you might walk past him without giving him a second look.

Quinton was built like a swimmer. Tall, broad shoulders with slim hips. He had a presence about him that had nothing to do with his size. But there was something about him that filled whatever space he occupied. He could be in a large, open space, and he’d fill the entire room up without moving or even speaking.

Today, not so much. He seemed shrunken into himself. Only a shadow of his former glorious self.

The skin on his face looked like it had been pulled tight and his lips were puckered as if he’d sucked on something sour and hadn’t liked the taste all that much.

His dark brown hair was buzzed close to his scalp, and I had a feeling if it were longer it would be all mused up from dragging his fingers through it.

When I’d first met him, he’d had silver hoops in both of his ear lobes. Then he’d switched them out for black hoops. Now he had none, since leaving the hospital he had removed them. He looked oddly naked without them in his ears.

I reached up and ran my fingertip down the crest of my right ear, lightly brushing over all the studs on the way down. I had a lot of holes in both of my ears. I imagined I would look oddly naked without all my colorful studs in my ears.

He had on a short sleeved black t-shirt that left his forearms exposed, showing off the red and orange flames that started at his wrists and slithered up both of his arms. They stood out bright against the dark clothing he always wore. His blue jeans were dark and worn at the knees. His feet were covered in black socks.

His clothes were the same, and he was the same person inside his clothing as he always was. But he seemed smaller somehow, hollow maybe.

Aside from wincing, he made no comment about the fact that I had said he looked like crap, and he moved to leave the room without responding. And without bothering to look me in the eyes.

Who was this person?

And, what exactly was his problem?

I stood to my feet in a rush and moved to the side, blocking his path and making it so he had to go through me to exit the bedroom. Either that or bodily move me.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I got a close up of his face. The circles under his eyes were so dark he looked like someone had given him two black eyes.

He did, indeed, look like crap.

When was the last time you’ve slept? I asked in a soft, quiet voice. He looked like he’d slept maybe three weeks ago.

"When was the last time you’ve slept?" He shot back at me. I might have answered him if he hadn’t been staring at some point over my shoulder while speaking to me.

That was it, I had had enough of his crap.

Why won’t you look me in the eyes, Quinton? I snapped at him. What’s your problem?

He sighed heavily and rubbed his hand across the top of his head. Back and forth. Back and forth. See, I knew that if he had longer hair it would be mused from his hands being dragged through it.

We’re not doing this right now, he informed me.

I threw up my hands in frustration and shouted at him. What aren’t we doing right now?

I’ll admit, even to myself, I sounded semi-hysterical. Why did he always have to make me crazy and yell at him?

Quinton’s eyes met mine briefly before moving to my stitched-up cheek. He cleared his throat and quickly looked away.

Have you got a problem with my face? I asked in a quiet voice that shook with anger. When he looked at my face he’d looked to be in pain. I didn’t get it.

What’s going on? Julian asked from behind me. Ariel? Why are you yelling at Quinton? Not that I mind, he needs people to yell at him more often. If you could just pick a different time to do it, though, that would be great. Perhaps when Dash isn’t recovering from multiple stab wounds. Your yelling is going to freak him out, and right now he’s so into you he’s going to come running, stab wounds be damned.

I ignored Julian completely and focused solely on Quinton. I did, however, have a mind to the volume of my voice when I spoke next to Quinton.

I enunciated each word slowly, carefully, so he understood what I was saying, so there would be no mistaking my words. Do. You. Have. A. Problem. With. My. Face?

Ariel, I think- Julian tried to butt in but one look at my face as I glared at him from over my shoulder shut him up.

Yeah, Quinton gritted out between clenched teeth. I do. I’ve got a big fucking problem with your face. Are you happy now?

My mouth dropped open in shock, and I instantly deflated. My anger left me so suddenly, I was left standing there slack-jawed and feeling empty on the inside.

He could not be serious right now.

Quinton, Julian growled angrily. "Jesus Christ. Take a minute and think about what you’re saying to her. It should be worded better than that. You’re going to hurt her feelings and make her think there’s something wrong with her when there is not."

That is not what I meant, Quinton snapped at Julian. And you damn well know it.

What? I asked in confusion.

Quinton looked me in the eye and growled, There’s nothing wrong with you, baby. Why would you think there’s something wrong with you? When have I ever made you feel like there was something wrong with you?

He shook his head and started to pace the room.

Umm… Say what? He just told me he thought there was something wrong with my face. And now he changes his tune? Why, because Julian was here to witness whatever this was? Quinton wasn’t making any sense. Maybe he should go lay down for a bit, then we could talk about it. Maybe after a nap he would start to make some sense. Doubtful.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him as he continued to pace. I thought about asking Julian what was going on but thought better of it. I didn’t need to drag Julian down with Quinton and me; he didn’t deserve that.

Quinton stopped pacing abruptly and angrily jerked his hand in my direction, towards my face.

That, he pointed at my cheek and snarled, is going to leave a scar on you, and it’s my fault. He made a fist with one of his hands and thumped it against his chest twice. All my fault. And it is driving me fucking insane.

I shook my head. What are you talking about, Quinton? You didn’t cut open my face. And, who cares if it leaves a scar? I don’t. I shrugged casually. What’s one more?

And I meant that.

My body already had quite a few scars, one more didn’t make much of a difference. They told a story, about me and about the life I’d been forced to live so far. They didn’t mark me as a warrior, because I wasn’t that. No, they marked me as a survivor. Warriors ran into battle with a mighty roar before they cut down every person who came at them. I wasn’t anything like that. Fighting back wasn’t a luxury I had been afforded. Fighting back would have made things worse for me. I held strong and endured through every horror thrown my way. And I did not break. I might have wilted a little around the edges and skirted on the brink of depression, but I wasn’t anywhere near the level of being broken. And I likely never would be.

In the grand scheme of things, what was one more scar, even if it was on my face? It simply added to my story, the story of my survival. Who knew, maybe it would make me look like a badass, and after getting a good look at my face people would think twice before messing with me. There was always a bright side to everything, not that I could always see it.

What are you talking about? Quinton gaped at me. Of course it matters. Because of me, you’re going to be scarred for life. Every single person in this entire household is going to think about it every time they look at your pretty face. They are going to look at you and think about how big of an asshole I am, and they are going to blame me and a small part of them is going to hate me. And it’s not like I can blame them, because they’ll be right to hate me for it.

You’re crazy, I said. No one is going to hate you and none of this is your fault. I slammed my hands down on my hips and shook my head in disbelief. "Is this why you have been sleeping… well, not sleeping, but sitting up outside of my bedroom here? Because you feel guilty? What happened with Chucky is not your fault. You didn’t show up