Demon's Kiss by Eve Silver Page A

twitched through her body. The faint lights dancing across her fingertips snapped and popped, and suddenly, she was on alert, sensing some unseen threat. She had a suspicion that Ciarran knew exactly what it was.
    “We must leave, Clea. Now.” He held out one hand toward her, and even at a distance, she could feel the raw energy sparking from his fingertips. “This apartment is at the center of a hybrid warren.”
    She didn’t understand any of this, and something inside her balked. “ Hybrid warren?” She stared at his hand warily, uncertain if she should take it or not.
    “I had not thought they would dare come for you with me here. Perhaps I overvalued the deterrent presented by the presence of a sorcerer.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a self-mocking smile.
    Slowly, she got to her feet, her gaze darting to the door of the kitchen, and somehow, despite the sunlight that streamed through the window, she felt the darkness, the threat. Suddenly she wasn’t just wary. She was afraid.
    “I set wards this morning before I went in search of your coffee, but it is better if we leave. The strength of the spells fade with time, and they have been in place many hours.”
    “Wards? What—”
    “Too late,” he muttered. Closing his hand about her wrist, he yanked her behind him.
    Clea pressed up against Ciarran’s back, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. His muscled body was taut, vibrating with energy even though he stood perfectly still. Heart slamming against her ribs, she made a quick decision. Whatever they were about to face, she’d let him take the lead. He definitely had more experience at this than she did.
    Because how many third-year med students who worked night shift at a motel knew anything about demons and hybrids and magic?
    Ciarran’s power swirled around her, warm, strong, and she felt her insides coil and twist, as though moving in synchronicity with the glowing strands. She closed her eyes, focused on the steady thud of his heart. While hers was pounding wildly, his was not. Maybe sorcerers didn’t get scared.
    Without thought, she pressed tighter against his back, drawing comfort from his warm solidity.
    A dark pain snaked through her, gliding, twirling, and she gasped at the intensity, so much stronger than she’d ever felt before. Razor-sharp agony bit through her skin from the inside out, and her power burst from her, doubling her over, spewing in every direction in a haphazard pulsing wave of light and strength.
    She heard a crash as a chair flew back and hit the wall; then the three untouched cups of coffee followed suit, splattering corretto and chai latte wildly across the pale wall.
    “Christe.” Jerking away from her, Ciarran dropped her wrist as though she’d burned him. “Pull it back, Clea.”
    Pull it back? Was he talking about the pulse of light that was hacking through her like a butcher’s cleaver?
    “I don’t know how,” she cried.
    With a low moan, she pressed her forearm against her belly, struggling to stand upright, and the light just kept pulsing out of her in haphazard spurts. She was breathing in a pattern, two short gasps in, one long slow push out, concentrating, focusing on that instead of on the pain.
    Her body felt clammy, cold, despite the hot wave that poured out of her. She wanted it to stop. It had never done this before. Never. The light usually pulsed out once, only once, knocking back whatever it was that threatened her, and then it would slide away, back to wherever it had come from. But this was different. Stronger. More chaotic. This constant throb, the feeling of unbelievable intensity, was new. With concentrated effort she stuck with her breathing pattern, swaying, but managing to stay on her feet.
    With a glance at her over his shoulder, Ciarran reached out, as though to touch her again. And then he made a sound of frustration and dropped his hand back to his side.
    There was no movement, no sound, but suddenly Clea knew they weren’t alone