by Zoe Ashwood
It takes me a minute to get my thoughts together, and I rush to the door, jerking it open, hoping to find him on the other side. But he’s gone, and the narrow staircase is silent.
It’s good that we didn’t do anything stupid tonight. No matter how much it hurts, I stand by my decision. But as I watch the waning moon rise over Paris, as I sit in silence, getting more sober by the hour, I realize we’ve done just what we were both trying to avoid.
We fucked up a beautiful friendship.
And Levi doesn’t return, not even when the first pale-pink streaks light up the sky.
Nine
Nora
I wake up with a start. It takes me a moment to realize where I am—in the last twenty-four hours, we’ve traveled so much, my body is still confused and jet-lagged. Fumbling for my phone, I try to figure out what woke me, and then it hits me.
The shower is running. Levi must be home.
It’s just after eight in the morning, which means I got a grand total of three hours of sleep, and I feel just shitty enough to prove it. My head hurts, but whether that’s from the whisky I drank or from lack of sleep is up for debate.
My first thought is that I should just barge into the bathroom, corner Levi while he can’t escape, and continue last night’s conversation until we reach a different conclusion.
Which would be a horrible mistake. If my rational mind malfunctions in the presence of a clothed Levi, seeing him naked would likely overheat my brain.
I flop back on the bed, covering my face with my hands. “Fuuuck,” I whisper.
I’m a mess.
Maybe the invisibility spell I performed last night took out some of my higher brain functions. Or maybe it’s the fact that the man I’ve been crushing on forever sort of made a move on me last night, and we messed everything up like pros.
I sit up again, outrage washing through me. How freaking dare he? How dare he ruin our working relationship? Rushing into the bathroom sounds like a great idea right now, though I still don’t know if I want to slap Levi or kiss him.
Kiss him, probably. That’s always been the case.
In the light of day, having a mutually beneficial, friendly relationship doesn’t sound too terrible. Maybe I should have accepted his offer. In time, he might grow to love me like I love him—he values me as a friend and a business partner, so that’s a great foundation to support our future.
But I have morning breath. And I haven’t showered yet. And I probably look like a raccoon with my mascara running after all that crying last night.
I may be vain, but I don’t want my first kiss with Levi—if it happens—to be anything less than spectacular. I’ve waited for so long already. I can hold out a little longer.
Gathering up my clothes and toothbrush, I tiptoe into the living room. The water has shut off, but the door is still closed, so I wait anxiously by the couch for Levi to appear. When he does, he stops in the doorway, fully dressed and looking perfectly put together.
Of course.
He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but I can’t talk to him just yet.
“Excuse me,” I squeak, and I think I startle him into moving, because he shuffles to the side and lets me pass without a question.
It’s only after I step under the hot spray that everything else rushes back in. The competition. The reason we’re here. Raphaël.
Today, I need to remove the two spells I hit him with and hope he won’t bite my head off for it. Literally.
I wash as fast as I can, quickly braid my still-wet hair, and slap on some concealer to hide the worst of the under-eye circles, then add a swipe of eyeliner just to make myself feel better. My faux leather pants and black top might be a bit much for a morning stroll in Paris, but I need all the oomph I can get. Today, I’m heading into battle.
I blast out of the bathroom like a woman on a mission—and find that Levi has bought us breakfast and arranged it on the coffee table. Some of my fierce energy dissipates, and I tentatively take my place on the couch next to him.
“When did you get all this?” I ask, looking over the spread of croissants, grapes, and takeout tea to avoid meeting his gaze.
“Found a baker who didn’t care how I butchered my order in French, then wandered around that street market we found yesterday.”
Levi’s words are quiet and controlled, and he doesn’t move any closer. I’m thankful for it. In the bright light of day, our conversation seems almost dream-like. Maybe nothing happened last night, and I just cooked it all up in my head.
Then I force my gaze up, and there’s so much reflected in his eyes. Worry, yes, but also hope. He’s being careful with me, giving me my space, and I can’t look away from him.
“Nora…” he begins, his voice barely more than a breath.
I don’t move, and he lifts one hand to cup my cheek and gently traces the shape of my jaw with his fingers. My breath leaves me on a gasp, but still, our gazes are locked, tension sparking in the air between us.
Levi leans closer, and his warm lips touch my cheek. A shiver rolls through my body. He smells like tea and chocolate, and his caress is butterfly-soft.
Levi moves back, his eyes searching mine. “Okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
For a moment, I’m not sure what to do, but he brushes his thumb over my cheek once more, then releases me. He takes a bite of his croissant and reaches for his cup as though this is just a normal breakfast.
I exhale. Disappointment and relief battle inside me, and I settle somewhere between the two, with a dash of frustration thrown in. But this isn’t the right time. We’ll talk—on the way to Raphaël’s gallery. Or on the plane. So I pop a grape in my mouth and take a sip of warm tea.
“Thanks for this,” I mumble, embarrassed by my own indecision.
Levi gives me a brief smile, then drops his gaze to his lap. “I went to check on him. The vampire.”
That has me sitting up straight. “What?”
He shrugs. “I thought it couldn’t hurt. You couldn’t get close enough to even talk to him, and I wanted to see if he was doing anything… I don’t know. Freaky.”
I snort. “Did you expect him to attack innocent victims, drag them off to some lair, and drink all their blood?”
He throws his hands up. “How the hell am I supposed to know what vampires do these days? Going in blind would have been reckless.”
“Yeah.” I squirm in my seat for a second, then blurt, “And? Did you find anything weird?”
Levi shakes his head. “I found him back at the gallery last night. He worked there for a while, then walked home.” Then he grins, lifting one eyebrow. “His apartment has a view of the Montmartre Cemetery. Fitting, right?”
I nudge his knee with my own. “Don’t be rude.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says, sprawling back. “I must have missed out on Vampire Etiquette One-Oh-One.”
I blow out a long breath. “So no freaky activity?”
“Nope.” He pauses, then adds, “Unless he has a dungeon in his basement where he keeps his coffin and the virgins for—ow!”
He laughs as I pinch his leg, and it’s just like the last twenty-four hours never happened. We’re back to being Nora and Levi, best friends and colleagues. Something releases inside me, a stifling fear that we’ve done irreparable damage to what we had.
We finish our breakfast and clear a space for a magical ritual in the small living room. I draw a chalk circle on the old parquet floor, then sit in the middle to invoke the elements and charge up my magic enough to remove the repelling spell from Raphaël.
Just before I sink into the well of my power, Levi makes a sound that has me looking up to where he’s sitting on the couch, observing me.
“I could do it, if you want.” He jerks his chin at the circle. “I can break your spell. It doesn’t have to be you.”
For a moment, I consider his offer. He’s right. Breaking curses is what he does best, and it would take him less energy and time to do it, t
oo.
Then I grimace. “No, it has to be me.”
It’s my responsibility, and though it’s tempting to let Levi take care of my mess for me, I wouldn’t feel right about it. Levi nods, and I know he understands. He’d do the same in my place.
My magic welcomes me, like always, with a warm wash of twinkling light. This time, I need more than a pinch, more than a scoop. First of all, there’s the physical distance between Raphaël and me—he’s in the same city quarter, sure, but he’d been trapped in a magical circle three feet away from me when I put the curse on him. Then there’s the fact that two years have passed since then. I’ve forgotten some of the details of the spell, so I must now feel my way around it to dismantle in correctly. I don’t want to leave even a trace of it on him.
Lastly, the spell had sapped so much of my power when I performed it. I’m stronger now, both physically and magically, but breaking a curse that complex might require me to deplete all my power.
It’s a good thing Levi thought of breakfast.
I sink into the spell, tracing the lines and knots of my magic, and start undoing them one by one. It’s tedious, meticulous work that requires patience and precision. But I do it with an eagerness that I didn’t expect before. With every thread I snip, I work to release Raphaël. I’m setting him free, even though he doesn’t know it yet.
I don’t want to think about what he’ll do once he has all his memories back.
There will be time later to face the consequences of my actions from two years ago.
At last, only one shining tether binds the two of us together. Sucking in a deep breath, I remove that last shackle, destroying it completely.
It’s done.
Tears threaten, but I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve cried enough. Tentatively, I reach inside me to check how much of my power the spell sucked away. It’s still there, shining and eager, but I won’t be at my best for a full day at least. And I’ll need a meal more substantial than croissants and coffee to replenish the store of magic.
I blink in the light that suddenly seems too harsh. The cramped apartment comes into focus, and I twist around to find Levi still sitting on the couch, only now there’s a plate of sandwiches beside him, slices of ham and cheese poking out from another fresh baguette.
I hurry to dismantle the magic circle, then scramble up to attack the food. “Oh, gods, this is so good,” I mumble and bite off another mouthful of the crusty bread. “I love you so much.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I freeze, then look up at Levi, who’s watching me with a wry grin.
‘I love you’ can be such innocent words when said between friends. But right now, I wish I could take them back. Not because I don’t love Levi. I do—I’m just not sure he wants to hear this yet.
I put the food down and clear my throat. “Um, thank you for the sandwich.”
Levi nods. At first, I think he’s going to let me off the hook, but his eyes light up with a new determination.
“Nora,” he says, his voice low. “I want to try something.”
“What?” I yelp.
Levi moves slowly, drawing near. He leans in. His palms come up to cup my face, and I can’t move away—I don’t want to move away, because this is exactly…
His lips touch mine, warm and firm, and the world tilts sideways. He withdraws an inch, his gaze questioning. At the same time, he slips one hand to cup my neck, exerting gentle pressure, as if he can’t bring himself to let me go.
His breath is hot on my skin, his lips parted, but it’s the bravery it took for him to kiss me that does it for me. He took that plunge, and I must follow.
I move at the same time he does, and we clash against each other, lips, tongues, teeth, and I won’t survive another second without him touching me. I grab his t-shirt with one hand and bring my other to the back of his head, running my fingers over his short hair. He groans, and I drink in the sound like a woman dying of thirst.
Without thinking, I climb into his lap, anything to get closer to him, and why the fuck have we waited so long to do this? His kisses are everything, and I never want him to stop.
With a huff of breath, Levi pulls back, his green eyes wide. Then a beautiful grin stretches his lips. “Mm. I’ve been thinking about doing this for a very long time.”
Embarrassment creeps in, and I scoot back to put some distance between us. But if he’s being honest, so should I. “Me, too,” I reply, my voice a strange croak.
His smile turns even wider, and he leans in, lightning fast, and presses another quick kiss on my lips. Then he picks up his sandwich and takes a huge bite. “So, is it done?”
“Hm?” I stare at him, bemused, then it hits me. “Oh! You mean the spell? Yeah, it’s done.”
How he can go from kissing me stupid one moment to talking about spellwork the next, I have no idea. A niggling voice inside my head wants to know what this means for us, and are we boyfriend and girlfriend now—which makes me sound like I’m about twelve—but I push it down and smother it until I can’t hear it anymore. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out as we go.
So I return to my sandwich and fuel up for what’s to come, because I have no idea what will happen with Raphaël.
When we were together, I never thought he could be dangerous to me, but he’s not in love with me anymore. We’re prey to his predator, and we’re about to confront him on his own turf.
We both knew this competition was going to be dangerous. This is only the first step to take, whether we’re ready for it or not.
Ten
Raphaël
It’s almost lunchtime when a couple enters the gallery. I watch them from my desk through the glass wall of my office, and I’m half tempted to tell Camille to just send them away, telling them we’re closed until the afternoon. My many-times-great-niece is too polite to turn anyone away, however, so she hurries over to the pair with a clatter of high heels on the oak parquet floor.
The mellow jazz playing from my speakers drowns out their conversation, which is what I usually do with walk-in customers. Camille is more than capable of running this business without me, and I really only come here for the high-profile art transactions such as the one I’m working on. Brokering a deal for a Degas painting between a private collector and le Musée d’Orsay is interesting enough to tempt even me.
But my gaze keeps returning to the two tourists in the main gallery space. For they are definitely tourists—Camille’s hands flutter nervously at her sides, which tells me she’s being forced to speak English.
The man is tall, probably taller than me, and has very short hair, Aviator sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, and a nose ring. He’s checking out the paintings hanging on the walls, but not with the usual bored expression I see on the faces of husbands who get dragged into the gallery by their wives. No, he’s genuinely interested in the modern piece that the artist called “Inner Peace.”
But it’s the woman who draws my eye. She’s dressed head to toe in black, and her hair is pulled back in a simple braid. It’s strange, yet I know somehow that if let out of its binding, it would be glorious and soft, an artist’s dream. I only see her profile, but I can tell she’s beautiful: those high cheekbones and sharp chin wouldn’t be out of place in a Botticelli masterpiece.
Then she looks up and turns to me, as though drawn by the force of my stare. A shudder passes through me at the sight of her face. She’s familiar, so damn familiar, but I would never forget her if I’d met her before. Her cheeks flush pink. She dips her head and says something to Camille, urgently, motioning with her hands.
A strange force pulls me toward her, and I have to willfully keep myself seated so I don’t rush over there and demand what’s going on. Regular customers have no claim on my time, and I fully expect Camille to handle this without involving me. Pinning my gaze back on the acquisition papers, I shut out all outside distractions and focus on my work.
Until an outraged shout has me shooting straight out of my chair.
<
br /> The glass door to my office swings open, and the woman barges in, her brown eyes wild. Behind her, her partner is restraining Camille—not hurting her, but not letting her pass, either.
“Please, we need to talk to you,” the woman says, her tone urgent. “This is really important.”
At the sound of her voice, a memory stirs, an image of a picnic in the shade of a large maple tree. Strawberries, cookies, and lips that tasted just as sweet. I blink, and the image is gone. Rattled, I clutch the edge of my desk to control my impulse to grab this woman, bite her, and find out exactly what’s going on.
“If this is an attempt to rob the gallery,” I growl through gritted teeth, “I can assure you, it’s a very bad idea.”
She throws her hands up. “No! We just want to—oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Without warning, she rushes forward and grabs my hand. Her scent hits me full-force, and it’s so fucking delicious, my already tenuous control snaps. In a second, I have her pinned against the glass wall, her neck exposed and ready.
“No!” the man shouts.
I’m only dimly aware that I’ll have to defend my prize, that he’ll try to take her away from me. My fangs snap down, and I roar at him, uncaring that he sees me in my fully turned form, black eyes and all. After I’m done with the woman, I’ll hunt him down and finish him, too.
“Raphaël, non!” Camille screams. “Arrête-toi!”
The sound of my name pierces through the bloodlust, just barely, but enough for me to pull back. The woman’s eyes are wide with horror, and as I glimpse the image of myself reflected in them, I understand why.
I’m a monster, and she’s terrified.
Then, against all expectations, she puts her warm palm to my cheek and closes her eyes. It’s a gesture so startling, I can’t look away, and I don’t react to Camille’s frantic words or whatever the man is doing to keep her away from us.
The woman in my grip presses her full lips into a thin line, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown. What is going on?
