Magic Steals Read Online Free
Author: Ilona Andrews
fastest it will go is forty-five.â
Jim braced himself with his legs. If he were in his jaguarform, his fur would be standing up and all of his claws would be out, sunk into the upholstery.
We passed a crumbling wreck of an office building, jutting to the sky, its insides looted long ago by enterprising neighbors. Magic hated the by-products of technology, including pavement, computers, and tall buildings. Anything taller than three or four stories, unless it was built by hand and protected with spells, crumbled into dust. Atlantaâs entire downtown lay in ruins, and buildings still crashed without warning here and there. Most Atlantans didnât care. Repeated exposure to fear-inducing stimuli creates familiarity, which in turn greatly reduces anxiety. We had acclimated to the chaos and technology. Falling buildings and monsters no longer terrified us. I wasnât that afraid of monsters in the first place. I was one.
âWhen are you going to tell your mother about us?â Jim asked.
Never.
âYou do realize that she met me, right?â
I made a hurrumph noise. That was all I could manage.
âIâm too old to be hiding in closets,â he said.
âYou wouldnât have to hide in a closet if you didnât keep knocking things over.â
âWhatâs the deal?â he asked me.
Girls like me didnât get guys like Jim. And if they did, they couldnât keep them. Jim was everything an alpha of a Clan should be: powerful, ferocious, and ruthless. Clan Cat wasnât the easiest clan to deal with. We all liked our independence and we chafed at authority, but we listened to Jim. Heâd earned it. He ruled like an alpha, he fought like an alpha, and he was built like an alpha, too, broad shoulders, strong arms, great chest, a six-pack. You looked at him and thought, âWow.â You looked at me . . . I was everything an alpha of a Clan wasnât: physically weak, with an aversion to blood, and bad eyesight that even Lyc-V couldnât fix, because it was tied to my magic. If I had transformed into some deadly combat beast, I might have gotten a pass. But my ferocious tiger image was only fur-deep. I would fight if my life was threatened, but to be an alpha, you had to live for combat.
Not that Jim was some sort of murder junkie. He went physical only as a last resort and when he fought, he wentabout it with a methodical precision, brutal and lightning fast. I loved that about him. He was so competent, it was scary sometimes, and I admired that he was so good at something he had to do. But I had also seen him in combat long enough to recognize the excitement in his eyes when he struck and the quiet moment of satisfaction when his opponent fell dead to the ground. Jim didnât look for a fight, but when one found him, he enjoyed winning.
The shapeshifters were all about physicality and appearances. It was so unfair, I used to cry about it when I was a teenager. To top it all off, I did magic. Not only the tiger purifying magic, but actual, spell-based magic. I wrote curses in calligraphy. They didnât always work. The shapeshifters mistrusted magic. They were magic and they had very little need for it. It just added to my overall uncoolness.
In shapeshifter society, an alpha couple acted as a unit. They upheld the laws together, they made decisions together and when they were challenged, they answered challenges together. In a challenge, I wouldnât be an asset to Jim. I would be a vulnerability. So all of this magical fairy-tale thing that was happening, his scent in my car, his big body in my bed, and our stolen secret dates, was temporary. Soon Jim would wake up and smell the reality. He would leave me and that would rip my heart out. When that happened, and it was a when not an if, I wanted to nurse my wounds in peace. I didnât want pity from my mother, my family, or the Pack. I got pitied enough as it was.
I didnât even want to
Jim braced himself with his legs. If he were in his jaguarform, his fur would be standing up and all of his claws would be out, sunk into the upholstery.
We passed a crumbling wreck of an office building, jutting to the sky, its insides looted long ago by enterprising neighbors. Magic hated the by-products of technology, including pavement, computers, and tall buildings. Anything taller than three or four stories, unless it was built by hand and protected with spells, crumbled into dust. Atlantaâs entire downtown lay in ruins, and buildings still crashed without warning here and there. Most Atlantans didnât care. Repeated exposure to fear-inducing stimuli creates familiarity, which in turn greatly reduces anxiety. We had acclimated to the chaos and technology. Falling buildings and monsters no longer terrified us. I wasnât that afraid of monsters in the first place. I was one.
âWhen are you going to tell your mother about us?â Jim asked.
Never.
âYou do realize that she met me, right?â
I made a hurrumph noise. That was all I could manage.
âIâm too old to be hiding in closets,â he said.
âYou wouldnât have to hide in a closet if you didnât keep knocking things over.â
âWhatâs the deal?â he asked me.
Girls like me didnât get guys like Jim. And if they did, they couldnât keep them. Jim was everything an alpha of a Clan should be: powerful, ferocious, and ruthless. Clan Cat wasnât the easiest clan to deal with. We all liked our independence and we chafed at authority, but we listened to Jim. Heâd earned it. He ruled like an alpha, he fought like an alpha, and he was built like an alpha, too, broad shoulders, strong arms, great chest, a six-pack. You looked at him and thought, âWow.â You looked at me . . . I was everything an alpha of a Clan wasnât: physically weak, with an aversion to blood, and bad eyesight that even Lyc-V couldnât fix, because it was tied to my magic. If I had transformed into some deadly combat beast, I might have gotten a pass. But my ferocious tiger image was only fur-deep. I would fight if my life was threatened, but to be an alpha, you had to live for combat.
Not that Jim was some sort of murder junkie. He went physical only as a last resort and when he fought, he wentabout it with a methodical precision, brutal and lightning fast. I loved that about him. He was so competent, it was scary sometimes, and I admired that he was so good at something he had to do. But I had also seen him in combat long enough to recognize the excitement in his eyes when he struck and the quiet moment of satisfaction when his opponent fell dead to the ground. Jim didnât look for a fight, but when one found him, he enjoyed winning.
The shapeshifters were all about physicality and appearances. It was so unfair, I used to cry about it when I was a teenager. To top it all off, I did magic. Not only the tiger purifying magic, but actual, spell-based magic. I wrote curses in calligraphy. They didnât always work. The shapeshifters mistrusted magic. They were magic and they had very little need for it. It just added to my overall uncoolness.
In shapeshifter society, an alpha couple acted as a unit. They upheld the laws together, they made decisions together and when they were challenged, they answered challenges together. In a challenge, I wouldnât be an asset to Jim. I would be a vulnerability. So all of this magical fairy-tale thing that was happening, his scent in my car, his big body in my bed, and our stolen secret dates, was temporary. Soon Jim would wake up and smell the reality. He would leave me and that would rip my heart out. When that happened, and it was a when not an if, I wanted to nurse my wounds in peace. I didnât want pity from my mother, my family, or the Pack. I got pitied enough as it was.
I didnât even want to
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