Page 21 of Casting Butterflies

Just the words I wanted to hear.

Not!

The man had no interest in helping or protecting me. He wanted the ghost that chose to inhabit my body. A ghost I didn’t feel but that didn’t mean shit. Cedric claimed my aura glowed with power. Did that mean I now had magic I could wield? Could I wiggle my fingers or twitch my noise and throw balls of fire? Would a shimmy of my hips cause the earth to move? They had been known to bring grown men to their knees begging for a chance—and not getting it because, hello, I preferred men who knew how to take.

We exited the house, and while I sauntered for the Corolla, the males—one big and burly, the other sleek and feline—paused on the front step.

“I thought you were in a rush,” I stated, my hand on the driver-side door.

“It’s coming.” An ominous statement form Misha.

I might have said something dumb like “what’s coming,” only it suddenly dropped out of the sky, and I got a good look—to my chagrin. The streetlights illuminated the monster that reminded me of the demon imp but bigger, much bigger, with emerald glowing eyes, leathery-looking skin of pale gray, and crazy-long claws extended and ready to rip. Oh, and let’s not forget the jaw that dropped open to show great big fangs!

And guess who it aimed for?

The girl who dropped her duffel and took off running down the street.

Brilliant, I know. Nothing screams prey like panicking and bolting. Did I really believe I could outrun it? No, but tell that to my pumping legs.

“Get down!” Misha yelled.

Having seen enough movies where the idiot who didn’t drop got mauled from behind, I hit the pavement, harder than I would have liked, but I’d heal from scrapes and bruises.

The bang of a gun going off had me jolting, but I didn’t feel any pain—likely because the bullet hit the creature chasing me, or so I assumed given the high-pitched squeal and the fact it hit the pavement right beside me. We stared at each other, me in shock, it with malevolence. It began twitching and inching in my direction before my sense of self-preservation kicked in—aided by Misha yelling, “Don’t just lie there. Move!”

I popped to my feet and pivoted back in the direction I’d just bolted from because that way had a man with a gun.

A grim-faced fighter stalking for the creature while firing into its body. Probably the sexiest thing I’d ever seen and not just because he’d saved my life.

I slowed my run and pivoted to watch as Misha stood over the monster emptying his clip. The monster twitched and lay still before turning into smoke that evaporated on the evening breeze.

“You killed it!” I clapped my hands.

“Hardly. It is a magical construct. I’ve simply disrupted its corporeal form for a moment. It will soon regenerate. We should depart before that happens.”

“You mean it can’t die?” That couldn’t be good for me, its target.

“It can be destroyed but only with magic.”

I glanced at Cedric sitting on the hood of my car. “You have magic. Why didn’t you lob a fireball and drop it out of the sky?”

“Because dryads can’t cause harm.” Cedric didn’t sound happy about this limitation.

“Well, that sucks.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered even if he could have,” Misha stated. “It takes a special kind of magic to dismantle a construct.”

I glanced at my hand with the tattoo. “Let me guess, the magic inside me. Does that mean I could zap it?”

“I wouldn’t try. You’re more likely to blow yourself up,” Misha stated as he returned.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I were. You could level a city with the power you hold,” Misha’s serious reply.

I held my hand away from me, wondering if I should put it in a lead-lined glove. What if I accidentally zinged myself wiping after I peed?

Misha glanced at my car. “This is your vehicle?”