Power Mage 3 Read online

  “Skinny little thing like you?” Nina said. “Brawley would split you in half, girlfriend.”

  Callie brightened deep scarlet.

  Brawley said. “How old are you, darlin?”

  Callie lifted her tiny chin, going from embarrassed to defensive with speed only a teenage girl could manage. “Eighteen.”

  Brawley raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” Callie said, her defensiveness shifting toward anger. “I just turned.”

  “When was your birthday?” Sage asked, curious as always.

  Callie lifted her chin again and gave a little sniff. “Two weeks ago. Almost two weeks.”

  “Still wet behind the ears,” Brawley said.

  “That’s not the only place she’s wet,” Remi said with a devilish smile, and started rubbing herself between the legs. “Schlick, schlick, schlick.”

  “Shut up!” Callie said, popping to her feet, and a wave of milk spilled from her bowl. She stomped her bare foot, strode off to the back room, and slammed the door behind her.

  Nina gave Brawley a playful shove. “I think she likes you.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s just a girl.”

  “And what are we,” Remi said, gesturing at Brawley’s females, “senior citizens?”

  “You three are savages,” Brawley said. “Gorgeous, glorious savages. Callie doesn’t even know what she wants yet. She’s still half kid.”

  “Half kid my ass,” Remi said. “Callie’s nowhere near as innocent as you think. She killed Dutchman’s people like you might kill a fly then chained me to a bed and jilled off across the room. It was a small room.”

  “That sounds like a remarkably arousing scenario,” Sage said, going pink.

  “Pipe down, perv,” Nina said, and poked Brawley in the chest. “You mean to tell me you’re okay with polygamy, blowing away bad guys, and crossing state lines with a drop-dead gorgeous fugitive with purple hair, but you’re worried that little Miss Crack-My-Strand is barely legal?”

  “It ain’t about legality,” Brawley said. “It’s about decency. People start doing things based solely on law and punishment, the whole world will go to hell. Besides, her and me just met.”

  “Shit,” Nina said. “You’ve known her longer than any of us. This all started because you pulled her furry ass out of the water.”

  Brawley laughed. “Fair enough.”

  Callie came back out, bopping into the room as if nothing had happened, the spoon rattling around in her empty bowl. She smiled hopefully. “Would it be okay if I have more cereal, Brawley?”

  “Sure, darlin,” Brawley told the skinny little waif. “Go ahead and eat as much as you want.”

  “Thanks!”

  Brawley went back outside to finish unpacking the RV.

  He was hungry, but he wanted to get settled before eating. Food tastes better without unfinished business hanging over your head.

  On the grander scale, of course, he had heaps of unfinished business. But he would tackle those problems one at a time. It wouldn’t do any good to sit around dwelling on the rest.

  Women could juggle three or four things at a time, all while talking on the phone and trying to sort out how they really felt about something that happened last Friday.

  But men do best handling one job at a time.

  Life comes at you pretty fast. Wherever you find yourself, men of the world, you’d best know whether you’re there to fuck or fight.

  When it’s time to work, work. When it’s time to rest, rest. Same goes for riding bulls or making love or unpacking a damn Winnebago. Whatever you’re doing, slow the fuck down, do it right, and save yourself a world of trouble.

  And yet when he heard the splash of a jumping fish, he couldn’t help but pause. The fog had lifted, and the lake was dappled with rings. So many fish were striking the surface, it looked like it was raining.

  By the time he could finish unpacking, eat breakfast, and drop off the RV, the fish would be laying low. But this evening, he’d grab his pole and the trusty old blue bucket his buddy Joe had given him and just sit a while, staring at a bobber. Slow things down a little. Clear his head.

  Now that was a plan.

  A pang of unease struck him as he walked around the side of the RV. He barely had time to even register it or the blur of movement before the stock of a firearm smashed into his face.

  2

  The pain was exquisite.

  Brawley reeled backward.

  The mystery attacker drove forward, slamming the butt of the weapon into Brawley’s face with all the speed and power of a jackhammer.

  Brawley wanted to duck or counter, but the steady rain of strikes rocked his head and kept him off-balance. Every smashing blow filled his head with sparks. He felt his nose snap; felt his teeth go crooked; felt cuts open over both eyes and across his cheeks and down the middle of his forehead.

  The attacker was fast and strong and oddly silent, pounding Brawley’s face to a pulp without so much as a whispered curse.

  Brawley couldn’t get ass under his shoulders, and his staggering boot heels raced after the rest of him, trying and failing to get under his ass.

  Realizing balance was a lost cause, he cut his losses and sat down as hard and fast as he could.

  His attacker vaulted overtop him.

  Brawley quickly rolled to one side, got to all fours, and jerked his head as a black engineer boot whooshed past, slashing the air where his head had been only a fraction of a second earlier.

  A Carnal, Brawley thought.

  He popped into a crouch and twisted around.

  His attacker, a stocky guy in a filthy t-shirt, raised a shotgun to his shoulder.

  Brawley released a wallop of sizzling red force from his left arm.

  An invisible linebacker slammed into the guy’s midsection, folded him in half, and threw him several feet.

  The shotgun discharged into the air.

  The guy hit the ground and was back on his feet half a second later, racking the pump and bringing the shotgun back around.

  But Brawley had his balance again. And not just physically. That was good news for this trigger-happy asshole, because otherwise the man would be deader than hell.

  Luckily for him, however, Brawley had put two and two together. This guy was a Scar and didn’t know Brawley from Adam.

  So rather than smashing the guy’s skull and pulping his brains, Brawley just walloped him again, broadening the blast and bowling him over.

  The shotgun tumbled away.

  “Leave it,” Brawley said, drawing his XDS.

  But the stupid son of a bitch jumped for the pump.

  Tired of people trying to kill him, Brawley released the rest of the energy in his arm. This time, he bundled the force, swung it overhead, and blasted the guy with a hammer blow.

  The Carnal’s lower back flattened with a loud cracking sound. His side popped like a boil, pitching a gory tangle of viscera into the gravel.

  The guy shouted once then growled curses and lurched awkwardly toward the shotgun several feet away. With his broken back and burst gut, he looked like a road-flattened bullfrog with a bad attitude.

  “You’re game,” Brawley said, wiping his eyes. His own wounds had already healed, but blood still drained from where the cuts had been. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Fuck you, Unbound scum,” the guy said. “Should’ve blown your head off.”

  You didn’t, though, Brawley thought, so I’ll give you one more chance.

  He pointed toward where the Carnal’s intestines were slithering across the driveway, retreating into his broken body.

  “Your guts are covered with gravel,” Brawley said. “Stop fucking around, and we’ll get you cleaned up before you pull all that shit inside you.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” the guy snarled, still dragging his shattered body doggedly across the driveway. He was the smallest Carnal Brawley had ever seen, a wiry hundred-and-fifty-pounder with stringy hair, beady eyes, and a goate
e fringing a mouth full of crooked teeth. The little bastard was fast and strong, but he hadn’t made himself pretty or beefed himself up like a bodybuilder, and his tattoos were mostly crude blue jailhouse jobs.

  “Weasel!” Remi said, approaching with one of the AKs. The other girls followed. Sage had her Glock. Callie had the Desert Eagle. Nina’s outstretched arm might as well have been a bazooka.

  The stubborn Carnal turned toward the girls. “Remi?”

  “In the flesh,” Remi laughed. “I see you’ve met my husband.”

  “Husband?” Weasel said. “You married a fucking force mage?”

  “That’s… complicated,” Remi said. “Let’s get you cleaned up or you’ll be shitting gravel for a week.”

  While Remi crouched down and started picking rocks from Weasel’s viscera, Brawley holstered his pistol and drew his arm full of fresh energy.

  As Remi worked, Weasel winced and cursed. “Why the hell didn’t you let me know you were here?” Glaring at Brawley, he said, “You fucked me up, asshole.”

  “I don’t like people trying to kill me,” Brawley said.

  “Trying to kill you?” Weasel laughed. “Never pictured Remi marrying a drama queen. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve blown your damn head off.”

  “Brawley’s hard to kill,” Remi said. “And you’re lucky he didn’t smash your brains. He’s not exactly known for mercy.”

  Brawley went back to unpacking the RV. The threat was neutralized.

  As Brawley carried the final armload into the cabin, Remi wiped her bloody hands in the grass, and Weasel pulled himself back together.

  “Quit your bitching, Weasel,” Remi said. “Now you men shake hands and put all this behind you.”

  Weasel narrowed his beady eyes and made no move to comply.

  Brawley stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Weasel hesitated.

  Remi smacked him in the back of the head, making strands of stringy hair hop. “Don’t be an asshole.”

  Grumbling, Weasel shook Brawley’s hand.

  A second later, just as Brawley expected, the little bastard grinned and started squeezing like a vice, trying to crush his hand.

  Using Carnal energy was easy, almost unconscious.

  “The fuck?” Weasel said, tugging like an animal with its leg in a trap.

  Brawley snapped a few bones and ground Weasel’s knuckles for a second, letting him know. Then he tossed the damaged hand away.

  Weasel drew his broken hand to his chest, eyeing Brawley not with anger but suspicion. “What the hell? You’re too strong for a force mage.”

  “Never challenge a cowboy to a grip contest,” Brawley said.

  Weasel shook his head and turned to Remi. “Leave it to Remi Fucking Dupree to go marrying some crazy asshole that makes no damn sense at all.”

  Remi filled the air with her fearless, beautiful laughter and drew the Scar into a hug. “We’ll explain everything, Weasel. Now, this shit is in the past. Agreed?”

  Weasel shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Dust in the wind,” Brawley said.

  Gesturing toward the other women, Remi introduced each in turn.

  Weasel gave each woman a nod.

  “They’re Brawley’s other wives,” Remi said, and laughed at the Scar’s confused expression. “Well, not crazy hair. She’s a psycho-kitty. Buckle in. I’m about to blow your mind.”

  Brawley headed inside, leaving Remi to deal with her old friend.

  The other girls followed.

  Brawley peeled off his shirt, stared at the torn and bloodstained rag for a second, and dropped it in the trash. His jeans were covered in blood and other matter, but they were salvageable. He started to unbutton them, remembered Callie, and looked up to see her standing there, beet red again, her huge amber eyes staring at his body, her tiny nipples straining hard against the white t-shirt.

  The dominant primordial beast within Brawley, roused by the fight, now eyed the anxious little cat girl. His Carnal urges roared, and his jeans grew uncomfortably tight as an erection swelled inside the bloody denim.

  Callie’s huge eyes bulged further, the dark pupils swelling. She fidgeted and swallowed with seeming difficulty.

  That’s my white t-shirt she’s wearing, Brawley thought. Ought to take it back. Rip it off her. Tear it in half and take her over my knee and spank her skinny ass for borrowing it without asking.

  Then he drew back from these dark thoughts. The dominant primordial beast had been clamoring within him since he’d cracked his first strand. Now, with Carnal energy rushing through his body, he was going to have to watch out if he wanted to keep on being the man he had always tried to be.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Callie asked. She was still having trouble meeting his eyes. This time, however, instead of dropping her gaze to the floor, she kept bobbing up and down from his face to the massive bulge in his jeans. “You look so angry.”

  “No, darlin. You didn’t do anything. I’m just…”

  “He’s just horny,” Nina laughed.

  Brawley nodded. “And hungry. The story of my new life. Hungry and horny. How are we set for bacon and eggs?”

  “Six pounds of bacon, six dozen eggs,” Sage said.

  “That’ll get us started,” Brawley said. “Let’s fry it all up. Be a doll and reach me those Fruit Loops, would you, Callie?”

  “What? Um… oh… sure.” The little cat girl turned and bent to retrieve the cereal from the couch. The t-shirt lifted to the top of her thighs, and Brawley’s Seeker curiosity joined his Carnal urges, dying to know what the skinny girl looked like under that shirt.

  Just go over and lift it the rest of the way, he thought.

  But he crushed the impulsive notion. This was going to take some getting used to.

  Even the best of men hunger for beautiful women. Having urges, even frequent and powerful urges, doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s how you respond to those urges that determines what kind of man you are.

  Brawley wasn’t going to let these new Carnal urges turn him into a leg-humping dog.

  Then, as Callie swung back around with the cereal, the baggy shirt hung open. Without even meaning to, Brawley spied the small, shadowy breast inside, and the savage lust within him roared once more to life.

  Callie must have noticed his eyes, because as she handed him the cereal, she brightened yet again and flatted the shirt to her chest with her free hand.

  Nina laughed, pointing at the massive bulge in his jeans. “I know you’re a Carnal and all, but that’s just fucking ridiculous.”

  Brawley shrugged. “Let’s eat. Later, you can come in the shower with me and have a closer look.”

  He turned to give Callie a grin, but the little cat girl turned without a word and B-lined it for the back room. She closed the door behind her.

  Nina grinned. “Is it just me, or was girlfriend walking a little funny?”

  “I believe that Callie is sexually aroused,” Sage said. “I suspect she is going to masturbate.”

  Nina laughed. “You know, for being such an egghead, you don’t really pick up on subtlety all that well, do you?”

  Sage cast a glance down the hall and squinched her glasses up. “I, too, am feeling sexually aroused. I would enjoy watching Callie touch herself.”

  Brawley threw his arms around the two women. “Leave the poor girl alone. I teased her enough. Help me cook up this grub. After I drop off the RV, we’ll take a shower and do something about your sexual arousal.”

  But then Nina was pushing his chest and straight-arming him out of the kitchen. “Oh no you don’t, mister. Have a seat. You’ve been going nonstop since forever. We cook. You just sit there and look all hot and shirtless. Want a beer?”

  “Sounds great, darlin.” Brawley dropped his ass in a chair and let them do something nice for him. He would return the favor once he got them in the shower, which he then realized was right next door to Callie’s room.

  A soft whimper came from that direction.r />
  Was the little cat girl really rubbing one out?

  As he considered the notion, his dick did the impossible then, growing even bigger and harder.

  Nina handed him a cold Bud.

  “Thanks, darlin.”

  “No problem, babe,” she said, started to lean in for a kiss, then pulled back. “You’re all covered in yuck.”

  “It’s my blood… mostly.”

  She took a big step backward and shook her head. “And that’s a big nope from this wife. Meet me in the shower if you want to kiss.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language,” Brawley said, and drained half the beer in a single pull.

  Nina turned to help Sage, and Brawley took a second to appreciate her juicy ass and Sage’s long, toned, runway-model legs.

  Working together, the women laughed and chattered, both of them horny and happy. A few minutes later, Brawley was on his third beer of the morning, skillets covered all four burners, and the air was full of the good smells and the crackling sizzle of frying bacon.

  Watching his gorgeous, awesome wives pull together a breakfast fit for a grizzly, Brawley smiled.

  He finished his beer, and before he had even set the empty down, Sage was sauntering toward him with a sexy smile and new beer.

  Yes, people would persist in trying to kill them.

  But right now in this moment?

  Right now, life was good. Damn good.

  3

  Brawley drove deeper into the pine forest, bumping over the rutted dirt road.

  Remi, riding shotgun, said, “I still can’t believe you three didn’t call me inside.”

  “It was just a quickie in the shower.”

  “Bullshit,” Remi said. “From here on out, if you’re fucking, I want in.” She slipped a hand between her legs and growled with frustration. “Ever since we bonded, I’ve been soaking wet. You drive any faster over this bumpy road, I’ll squirt.”

  Brawley pushed the gas. The RV jarred over the rough road.

  “Stop,” Remi laughed, clutching herself. “I want you, handsome, not the road.”

  He laughed and let off the gas. “Sounds good, darlin.”

  Remi had smoothed things over with her Weasel, who had dropped into the property as a Scar scout. From what she said, he was a good dude.