Bound by Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 1) by WB McKay

long I spent pilfering his books. I nudged him experimentally with a toe. Upon touching him, the faintest hint of magic hit my nose. I recognized that smell. Squinting, I made out the fuzzy edges of the portal in the wall. It was easier to see now that going through the portal had given me a feel for the magic. It disappeared when I pulled my foot back. Ugh! It was some damn pricey magic to key a portal to a single person. It was also horribly inconvenient since Owen was about thirty feet away from the portal and quickly pushing toward consciousness.
    I was strong, but I wasn't going to drag someone twice my weight across that much carpet while carrying an armload of books. I carefully placed the books on a table and looked around the room for something to help me out of my predicament. If only I had my swords. He hadn't done anything to warrant cutting off a hunk of his flesh, but I had no doubt he would when he woke up. Preemptive justice, or something. There was rationale in there somewhere, I was sure, I just didn't have time to think on it.
    A desk was tucked in the corner, partially hidden behind the bulky shelves. Several books in disrepair graced its surface. Someone had been working on restoring the bindings, and they'd left a pair of scissors behind. That would have to do. I snagged the scissors and grabbed a handful of his thick brown hair . I took plenty in case there was a certain amount of contact needed. He wouldn't be happy when he woke, but at least I hadn't snipped off an ear. At least, not yet. I'd have to see if the hair worked before I made any promises.
    The door to his bedroom still hadn't opened. Maybe no one else was around. Or I was having a huge run of luck. Best not to test that.
    My hand full of his hair, I was able to see the portal. Not ready to call it good until I'd tested it, I stuck my hand through. It still looked like my hand was in a wall, albeit, a somewhat fuzzy one. Amazing.
    I scooped up my plunder and headed out, a satisfied smile spreading across my face. My arms were already aching from the weight, but I couldn't stop myself from casting a wistful glance at all the lovely books I was leaving behind. That's when I noticed Owen was no longer in a heap on the floor.
    "No you don't!" he shouted, moving between me and the portal. One strong hand hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer, knocking me on my rear and sending my precious tomes tumbling across the room.
    The books.
    I let out another of my magical wails, prepared to watch him kneel to the agony I unfurled. He threw back his head, body shaking, but when he dropped his gaze back to mine what I saw made no sense. He... he was laughing at me . He tapped the large things covering his ears. "BEATS HEADPHONES." He shook his head. "NOT FALLING PREY TO THAT TRICK AGAIN." I cringed away from his yelling. Headphones? Seriously? I gave up wailing. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, TRYING TO STEAL FROM ME?"
    I scrambled to my feet and rubbed my aching chest. There had to be a way to get around the angry dragon bearing down on me. "Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked, scooting to one side when he lunged at me. He was obviously still intoxicated if that was the best he could do. I bolted for the portal, but was brought up short by the iron grip of a hand on the back of my neck. Or maybe he wasn't so intoxicated after all.
    He spun me around to face him. "What did you think you were going to do, anyway?" Assuming my hearing still worked after his earlier shouts, he'd dropped his volume enough to avoid alerting the whole city. "You can't leave here without me." His handsome face contorted in rage; spit splashed my face.
    By way of an answer, I held up the large hunk of his hair and waggled it in his face.
    Anger and confusion warred on his features, confusion finally winning. He released one of my arms to pat the top of his head. That was all the opportunity I needed. I slid one leg behind his and shoved with all of my strength, sending him