Magic, New Mexico: Made for Her (Kindle Worlds Novella)

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by S.E. Smith. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Magic, New Mexico remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of S.E. Smith, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  For Neal

  My everything

  Chapter One

  Regrets came in all shapes and sizes. This was an undisputable truth that Donalda McAllister had never been more aware of than she was at this moment. Life had been great up until three months ago. Working as Ash Merrick’s personal assistant—the biggest name in international antiquities—had been her dream job. And the corporate offices for Objet D’art in Chicago were only a three-hour drive from her mom’s house in Wisconsin.

  Now she was hiding from the man and working as a night-shift barista for a wanna-be gourmet coffee shop in a barely middle-class section of New York City. Cash under the table, minus rent for her hole-in-the-wall room above the shop.

  She brushed her fingertips over the small stone pendant under her shirt. The highly polished teardrop emerald her mother had given her for her eighteenth birthday lay cool against her skin. It was supposed to be an amulet of protection passed down from parent to oldest child in her family for generations. But, it hadn’t done squat to keep her safe from what she’d discovered about Mr. Merrick.

  “Move, Donnie.” Her co-worker, Rhonda, bent, bumping her shoulder against Donnie’s leg as she reached under the register.

  Donnie took a step to the side and Rhonda straightened, the spray bottle of cleanser in her hand. “Better set up for the next wave.”

  Good idea. It was late, but people still came in for their coffee. Donnie pressed the “No sale” button on the register.

  Ching.

  The drawer shot open. The quarter slot was low, but everything else seemed fine. She picked up a thick roll of plastic-wrapped quarters and cracked it against the edge of the register drawer. The coins clattered into their assigned slot with all the excitement of a low-paying slot-machine.

  There was always the chance that Mr. Merrick had given up.

  And maybe it’d rain little pink marshmallows.

  If only she could call her mom for a little maternal advice. But, the less her mother knew, the safer she’d be. Besides, mom would be mortified to find out her only daughter was a thief. All because of a “magical” dagger.

  A normal person might not have believed, but her childhood had been full of enchanting stories of a distant ancestor who had been deemed “favored” by a fairy. In hind sight, it wasn’t surprising that the dagger chosen her in the first place. She believed in magic—one hundred percent—and the dagger was pumped full of supernatural hocus-pocus.

  The first inkling she’d had that the dagger was more than a beautiful artifact sitting on Mr. Merrick’s credenza came three days into her employment at Objet D’art. Her boss was gone for the day, which had provided her the perfect opportunity to examine it through the glass case. Her fingers had itched to touch the smooth alabaster hilt and the yellowing leather scabbard. She had no clue how long she’d been staring when, out of nowhere, an image of a field of daisies had seeped into her mind. That was how the dagger communicated: through visual images and feelings. For the next six months, it’d been like having a secret friend. And Mr. Merrick had had no idea what a treasure he had.

  Or so she’d thought.

  A shudder ran down her spine. She pressed her lips together and inhaled the rich aroma of coffee mingled with artificial pine-scented cleanser. Rhonda always took advantage of the evening lulls between customers to ensure that not a single microbe had a chance to flourish on the counters. The younger woman might be wound a little tight, but as long as she was around, Beans ’n Things would never be ground zero for a botulism outbreak.

  Too bad the owner’s nephew, Jake, couldn’t be wiped away so easily.

  Don’t turn your head. Don’t look behind you.

  The twenty-year-old was there, no doubt, leaning against the back counter with his arms folded across his chest, staring at her butt again. Why had he set his sights on her, a woman nine years older than him? Rhonda was his age and cute, but he only spoke to her when necessary. Donnie pushed the register drawer shut with a slam, and set the plastic coin wrapper next to the machine. As long as Jake was behind her, bending over to toss it in the trash was out of the question.

  Ding. Ding.

  Donnie jerked her head up as an invisible claw wrapped around her heart. Every time the shop door opened there was a chance she’d find herself staring into Mr. Merrick’s cold, gray eyes.

  But the man stepping into the shop now could never be mistaken for Ash Merrick. He was at least six feet, coffee-brown eyes, dark hair, and dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. Yum.

  The noise of the shop receded, as if her savior had walked in, which was ridiculous. Heroes didn’t just walk in to save the day, and she was an independent woman who had everything under control. Mostly. Okay. Things might be a little better if the magical knife could abracadabra up some cash to pay for this trip to nowhere.

  She wiped her palms against her navy-blue apron. “W-welcome to Beans ’n Things. What can I get you?” Oh, geez, did she really stutter? She was twenty-nine years old, for goodness sake.

  But Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy is hotter than a GQ model.

  Gah. No. He was a customer. Just another customer.

  A customer whose gaze brought a strange, fuzzy warmth to her chest. Damn, what she’d give to run her fingers through that deep chestnut hair. What was it about him that gave him the dangerous appeal of a predator? His high cheekbones, or the straight-blade nose? Or maybe it was the refined sweep of his hawk-like eyebrows. Whatever it was, her heart had missed a few beats.

  The corners of the man’s mouth twitched upward, a satisfied smirk as if he knew exactly how he affected her and fully accepted it as his due. That sort of arrogance should be a turn off, a full stop, but her body had other ideas, and the common-sense department of her brain was on vacation.

  “A large coffee, please.” GQ’s gaze sidled downward to her chest and her nipples hardened. “Donnie.”

  His low, cultured voice hummed through her body filling all those dark corners of doubt with warmth and light. His accent was faint, and definitely not American. Or even native English. Maybe…Russian? Did it matter? Would any of the other customers notice if she jumped over the counter and did the guy? They all had their noses in their cell phones or laptops.

  The man’s sexy-as-sin smile deepened. He lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows. Maybe he did know what she was thinking.

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. Unlike another part of her, which was ready to throw a pool party. “Su-sure.” Oh, god, more stuttering.

  She reached for a paper cup, her hand bumping the stack. The neatly stacked tower of cups wobbled, tilted, and hit the floor with a hollow, papery thunk.

  “Don-nie!” Rhonda’s sharp voice broke the spell.

  A cry of dismay clogged in Donnie’s throat. An entire stack of cups wasted. That would be coming out of her meager paycheck, for sure.

  “I got ’em,” Jake said. He brushed his shoulder down her skirt-clad leg as he kneeled next to her. Most of the time his unsolicited touches set off alarms in her mind. This time, nothing.

  “Thanks, Jake.” She forced herself to stare at the tiny cleft in GQ’s ch
in. There was no telling what she’d destroy next if she got lost in those dangerous eyes again. “Um.”

  “Mikhail.” The soft almost breathless pronunciation—Meek-haa-IL—wrapped around her.

  It was no use. Her eyes had developed a mind of their own, and they wouldn’t settle for anything less than staring into his.

  His eyes, that is.

  Oh, god, I’m so pathetic.

  Jake brushed his warm hand over her bare calf. Good lord. Even wearing her longest gray skirt today wasn’t enough to discourage his inappropriate behavior. She gave her hips a sharp swivel and bumped into him.

  “Whoa.” The pest teetered and fell onto his butt.

  She reached for the other stack of cups, pulled one off the top, and managed to hold onto it this time without causing a minor avalanche.

  “M-i-k-h-a-i-l.” GQ spelled out his name, his deep voice blending the harsh-spoken consonants with the softer vowels.

  All she could do was nod, wide-eyed like an enthralled child at Disneyland for the first time. By some miracle, the permanent marker was in her hand, but Mikhail still held her gaze. Good thing he was the only customer in the shop because there was no way Rhonda would be able to read the letters she was scratching across the cup’s surface. choice but to scratch the letters across the cup’s surface and hope Rhonda could read them.

  What was the next step down from pathetic?

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jake’s low words next to her ear were accompanied by the ominous creak of foam cups being squeezed a little too hard.

  She gave her head a shake and managed to paste a half-smile on her face for Mikhail. At least, she hoped it was a smile. With the way things were going she was probably drooling out of one side of her mouth. “Would you like anything else to go with that?”

  Mikhail’s tongue wet his lips. If he kept this up, she’d fall to her knees right here in front of everyone and beg him to take her upstairs. “Not right now, thank you, Donnie.”

  No man had ever made her nick name sound so sexy. It was the accent, no doubt about it. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Numb, that’s what she was. Numb all over. Her legs, hands, lips…entire face.

  He pressed a fifty in her hand. “Keep the change.”

  She moved her mouth, but no sound came out. A tip this big would more than cover the cups lost, and then some. He winked and stepped down toward the end of the counter. She gripped the sides of the register and inhaled a deep breath.

  What had just happened?

  ~*~

  Mikhail Cherneski gave the beautiful barista a final lingering look before breaking eye contact. Her shoulders sagged a little once he had released her from his hypnotic influence. Unusual, and intriguing how well she had resisted his call before succumbing. She was a little more mature in years than his normal fare, which might explain her fortitude.

  He gave himself a mental shake. Once again, he had staved off his need for blood too long, as if feeding the beast inside once a week was too much. Foolish. The price of such carelessness was loss of control. It did not help that from the moment he had entered the little coffee shop, Donnie’s blood had sang to his vampire’s thirst, almost literally. Like a siren song, it was next to impossible to resist. Even as he moved down the counter, the melody remained strong and steady. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

  Ding. Ding.

  Donnie’s body stiffened at the sound of the bell above the door. The movement was not blatant, just enough for him to detect. The spicy scent of her fear tinged the air again. Fear of what, though? Certainly not the middle-aged couple who had entered. Nor a jealous husband or lover, otherwise the man-child at her side would not be so eager to stalk her in his own lecherous way.

  Regardless, fear made humans more susceptible to entrancement by his kind. Yet another reason Donnie made such a desirable target. Her body would recognize him as its master when he enthralled her later.

  He glanced at his watch. All he had to do was await the end of her shift, then he would “accidently” meet her on the street, find a quiet place—maybe in Central Park, because she deserved more than the usual dark alley—and take a taste. It was all the beast required these days. Then he would leave her on her doorstep, a little tired and inexplicably euphoric.

  He halted at the pick-up counter. The other female barista, Rhonda according to her name plate, had stopped glaring daggers at Donnie and was now giving him coy looks over the espresso machine. The boy was muttering low, angry words at Donnie. Foolish child should be thankful his blood had not called to Mikhail the way Donnie’s did. If it had, there would be no Central Park under the sliver of moonlight for him. Behind a dumpster would suffice.

  What was it about Donnie that compelled him to change his venue on her behalf? Even as he had pulled her under his spell, he had sensed something more. A connection of some sort. And a certain grace, evident even now in the way she ignored her co-worker and served the older couple at the counter. Her strawberry-blonde hair was swept up into a tight bun at the base of her long, elegant neck. His fangs lengthened. Not far enough to be noticeable by others, yet still a nuisance.

  “Mikhail!” Rhonda’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. “Large coffee, black.”

  He gave her a frown and narrowed his eyes. The effect of his displeasure was instantaneous. A flush ran up the young girl’s neck and to her checks.

  “Um, here you go,” she murmured, gaze down, sliding his cup toward him. “Thanks for choosing Beans ’n Things.”

  “Thank you.” He loaded the two simple words with icy distain, and she slinked sideways until the espresso machine was once again between them.

  That was one way to end her come hither glances. He took his cup and a corner table from where he could watch Donnie without her feeling stalked. The thrill of the hunt surged through him. As much as he despised his vampire instincts, there was undeniable exhilaration in stalking his prey.

  He frowned as he lowered himself into a seat next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He could walk away from her, if need be. He glanced over his shoulder at the human woman who had captured his attention. The fluidity of her movements as she moved from the register to the toaster oven resonated with his pleasure centers and stirred his sexual desire. He swallowed the sudden excess of saliva and turned to stare out the window at the flow of New Yorkers streaming by.

  There was no way he could walk away from Donnie. He had to taste her.

  Chapter Two

  Donnie grabbed her card and slid it into the time-punch machine.

  Clack, thunk

  Another evening over, and Mr. Merrick had not found her. New York’s massive population continued to provide cover for her and the dagger, as she’d hoped. To be extra sure, she’d stashed the magical dagger in a paid locker near Penn Station when she’d arrived in the city. If Mr. Merrick did find her, he wouldn’t find the dagger. Not immediately, at least. It’d give the dagger time to find someone else to take it to the veil between realms it had shown her, whatever that was. The visual looked like a shimmery distortion, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out where it was located.

  Not in New York City, obviously. Not that she’d seen. But the dagger should have known that, so why had it guided her here?

  She balled up her apron, threw it into her locker, and slammed the door. The metal clang echoed in the tiny employee break room. He was still out there. Mr.GQ. Mikhail. A little shiver pebbled her skin at the memory of his smooth voice and sculpted features. What she should do was go out and strike up a conversation with him. Maybe a one-night stand would ease some of her ever-present tension.

  “Donnie?”

  Well, great. The boy-wonder was back. “I’m off the clock, Jake.”

  She turned to face him, and startled. He was right up in her face. What the hell?

  “I know. I get off in thirty minutes. Why don’t you go up and make yourself all pretty. You’re going to dinner with me.”

  Was that
really how he asked women on dates? Even at twenty, he should have a little more finesse. Donnie gave him her most severe frown. “No, I’m not. I already have plans.” She indicated to the exit door with one hand. “Excuse me.”

  He smirked and backed up until he pushed his back against the door’s release bar. As the door opened, the heavy humidity of the summer night wafted into the tiny room. Jake stood against the door so it wouldn’t close. The chances that he’d suddenly developed manners were nil. She stepped sideways through the doorway and onto the sidewalk.

  “I know where my uncle keeps the extra keys,” he told her. “Including yours.”

  Now he threatened her? Honest to god, he was the biggest idiot if he thought she’d capitulate. She opened her mouth, but before a word came out, a tall man dressed in an ecru linen business suit stepped around the door. He grasped the front of Jake’s apron, and jerked him forward until the kid was pressed chest-to-chest with none other than Ash Merrick.

  Holy crap! He’d found her. He’d finally found her. And he looked at least five years older than he had three months ago. Not quite as old as he had the night she’d discovered how much he knew about the dagger and its powers, but still at least forty.

  Mr. Merrick bent his pale blond head close to Jake’s. “The lady has other plans, indefinitely,” he growled. “Get lost, little boy.”

  A shudder slithered down her spine. The way he always put a subtle emphasis on the letter “s” was creepy. It seemed too intentional to be a lisp.

  The sharp odor of fresh urine filled the area. Mr. Merrick looked down, disgust written all over his features. Jake trembled as dark, wet streaks appeared down the insides of his gray pants. A weird, whimpering noise came from his mouth, like he was trying to say something but couldn’t.

  Mr. Merrick tossed—tossed!—the terrified kid back into the employee break room.

  Boom!

  The door slammed with enough force to shake the building, and her ex-boss turned his pale, narrow-eyed gaze toward her. “Donalda McAllister. Fancy meeting you here.”