by Brook Rogers
Megan, Samual, and I locked up the bar on our way out. Once outside, I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket and casually observed the block in both directions. The city hummed her incessant tune, but this little corner had started to bed down for the night. Clouds still clogged the sky, but the rain was over.
Megan grabbed my arm and pulled me close, asking in a low voice, “Do you want to come back to the house and talk?”
I desperately wanted to do just that. She’d know how to find information on the strange chest marking, and she had connections inside Fae that might help too. Plus, I was sure both she and Samual wanted to know what had happened while they were locked in the motion spell.
Unfortunately, I still had a cantankerous old witch to visit, and time had gotten away from me.
With a promise to call her tomorrow instead, I hugged Megan tightly. She lingered at her car door and flashed me a knowing look. She knew I needed to talk, and when I was ready, she’d be there.
Feeling pretty damn lucky to have such a great best friend, I winked and waved, watching them pull away from the curb.
As I slid behind the wheel of my own vehicle, a dull knot of worry lodged itself firmly in my gut. So far, tonight had been one clusterfuck after another. My liquid courage had worn off long ago, and I really had no idea what might lie in store for me at the hands of one very unpredictable spell-slinger.
Chapter 5
Verlina’s shop took up the whole corner lot. With its tan native-stone exterior and cheery white shutters, it certainly didn’t give the impression that it housed a practitioner of witchcraft. In the front half, she stocked items like artisanal soaps and herbal supplements, maybe the occasional tarot deck. Normals believed they were patronizing a health food store. In actuality, the health store front allowed her to operate her spell business out of the back with none of them the wiser.
As I reached the door, my pants tugged uncomfortably at my skin where drying blood had glued the material to my leg. The light shining from the windows turned the stains black. I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. She might be in a really good mood. She could have totally forgotten it was you who turned her sweet Hector into a meowing shish kebob. Yeah, and the Hell Plane might have finally frozen over.
A tinkling of bells announced my arrival, and the smell of burning incense immediately filled my nose. As my eyes roved over the jars of dried flora and fauna crowding the shelves, the pink beaded curtain over the entrance to the back click-clacked, and Verlina swept into the room. Her apple-shaped body and steel-gray hair could have made her the poster child for grandmothers everywhere—except she wasn’t going to offer me warm chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk. She held her now hairless cat—thanks to yours truly—in her arms.
Verlina slammed to a stop when she saw me, her long multicolored skirts swishing chaotically around her. I held my breath and braced for the worst.
“YOU!” she growled. Then, with a disdainful sniff, she about-faced and headed back the way she’d come. Given the many ways she’d likely plotted my demise, this was definitely a best-case scenario. The silent treatment I could work with. Fireballs and skin-melting potions not so much.
“Verlina, please wait!” I begged, stepping farther into the room. “I want to apologize again for the mishap last time.”
Her skirts flashed like a prism as she whirled back around. “That was far more than a mishap, you twit! My poor, lovely Hector will never get his hair back . . . EVER!” She punctuated her words with several angry steps toward me.
I held my palms up to convey that I came in peace. “You’re a magnificent witch, Verlina—truly the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with—and I’m sorry I wronged you. It was completely unintentional.” Hopefully the groveling and ego stroking would prove a hard combination to resist. The “best witch I’d ever worked with” part was true, mostly because she was the only witch I had worked with. It really would be best if I could find a way to make peace with her.
Verlina stroked Hector’s pale, fleshy back, her eyes trained on the ceiling in a display of what had to be immense patience, and waited for me to continue. The sight of the hairless cat was bad enough, but when he swiveled his head and pinned me with two green laser beams of hate, I shivered.
Wearily, I dropped my hands to my sides, knowing exactly what she wanted and unable to see any way around it. “Please, tell me . . . what can I do to make amends?”
She dropped her chin to look at me fully, and a grin lit her face. I shivered again. This was so not going to be good. “As it turns out, my demon fire is running low.”
My heartbeat kicked up several notches, and I swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. “Oh gods,” I whispered under my breath, “please don’t say it.”
But she carried on, oblivious to my discomfort. “If you would be so kind as to replenish my supply, I’ll consider you forgiven.” She arched a brow in challenge.
This wasn’t like asking someone to run to the grocery store and pick up some apples. Getting my hands on demon fire would require a trip to the Hell Plane. Assuming I didn’t die once I got there, I would then have to find a fire demon and convince them to gift me the fire. And that was no small thing. It would leave the demon practically defenseless until their magical reserves rebuilt, and nobody wanted to be defenseless in the Hell Plane.
Hence the scarcity of demon fire.
She had me over a barrel. Either I went to Hell to make things right, or I would wish I was in Hell after refusing. Despite my earlier claims to the Sweeper, the thought of what Verlina might do if she was really angry terrified me.
With my insides churning in apprehension, I nodded my head slowly.
“Say the words, child,” she said, making a “go on” motion with her hand.
Choking on their sour taste, I squeaked out, “Verlina, I agree to provide you with demon fire in exchange for absolution of the debt I owe.”
Placing Hector gently on the floor, the gray-haired witch straightened and clapped her hands. Green sparks erupted from her fingertips as she bound my promise with her magic. Once the process was complete, she dusted off her hands on the front of her skirts and gave me a wink. “I always thought you were a good sort, Raywen. No matter what the others say.”
Her mood swings almost gave me whiplash. Wait . . . who’s saying what about me?
Brushing that off for now, I decided to push my luck and ask her the more pressing questions about the failed werewolf tranquilizer. After my quick summary, concern tugged her eyebrows down into dark slashes. She disappeared through the beaded curtain, mumbling to herself, then returned a few moments later with a ledger book in her arms. It took only a moment of thumbing through the pages before she found what she was searching for. “That batch was made to the same specifications it always is. It went to several other clients also, and I’ve had no complaints,” she said defensively.
Getting her riled up again wasn’t the direction I wanted to go at all. I already had one impossible task to complete for her; I didn’t want to sign up for any more. “You know, it was probably a one-off. I’m not doubting your skill.”
“It’s best that you do not.” She snapped the book closed. “Your answer lies not with any incompetence on my part but with that werewolf.”
She had a valid point. A vague unease settled over me. I depended on spells like that one every day. If something could prevent this from happening again, I wanted to cover my ass. “Is there a charm you can create that will show me if someone has countermeasures in place?”
Her eyes lit up, and she nodded. We spent a while discussing the options, and I put in an order for some revelation charms. Even the naked Hector seemed satisfied with the transaction, weaving amicably between my legs as we said our goodbyes.
I paused with my hand poised over the doorknob, then decided to roll the dice. Turning back to Verlina, I pulled the collar of my shirt down and pointed at the strange ugly mark. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
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I half thought she would laugh at me and say it was hers. On the drive over, I couldn’t come up with a single person who would want to hurt me—except Verlina.
She moved closer to get a better look, then raised a finger as if to trace the incomplete pattern. I nearly gasped in shock when a thin white tendril of smoke lifted out of the wound and wrapped around her finger. Her hand jerked back as if stung, and the wispy thread dissipated.
The witch sighed loudly. “Dear girl, I have my suspicions about what that is, but I could be wrong. There’s no sense borrowing trouble over it right now. If it changes or fills in more, come back and see me. Good night and good luck, Raywen of the valkyries.” She turned and walked away, dismissing me.
That answer gave me exactly nothing, except confirmation the mark wasn’t something Verlina had done. Fatigue began to pull heavily on me, and my stomach gave a loud rumble, reminding me I’d missed dinner. Healing required a lot of calories, and if answers were in short supply, I’d just have to make up the difference in food.
Chapter 6
I piled the takeout on the counter in my apartment and headed straight for the shower, stripping off my bloody clothes as I went. At this rate, I’d have to pay an upcharge for the cleaning service Supe Enforcement contracted with. They had a ridiculous policy on blood stains, considering what our jobs were like.
The shower’s heat helped loosen muscles I didn’t even realize were tense. When the spray hit the still weeping wound on my chest, I let out a hiss. The mark wasn’t healing as it should. Maybe I just needed to eat?
Stepping out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around myself and searched the bathroom cabinet for a bandage. Immortal healing meant I usually didn’t have any need for first-aid supplies, but when I moved in here, Grand-mère had insisted I keep some on hand. After finally finding a suitable size, I pasted the bandage on and went to collect my food, then collapsed into bed and ate and ate until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer.
Moisture hung heavy in the musty air, and a steady drip, drip, drip of water echoed in my ears. Gray stone walls hemmed me in on two sides, with darkness obscuring whatever lay beyond my immediate area. Out of the gloom, voices rose and fell—close and then moving away—but I could only make out bits and pieces.
“. . . recovering the stone ourselves is less risk . . .” a man said, but a shuffling nearby drowned him out. I tried to split my attention, overcome by the strange sensation that hearing this was important—something I needed to remember.
A woman was speaking now. “. . . will use him. He won’t ever know.” Broken pieces of cackling laughter, then silence.
More movement from behind made me freeze. Suddenly I caught a noseful of chocolate tinged with smoke—the same smell from the bar. I hadn’t noticed that smell since the Irishman disappeared. Not once.
My heartbeat quickened.
I took a few cautious steps in the direction of the movement, and a deep masculine groan of pain rumbled through the thick air. As I got closer, a large body took shape within the darkness.
Laid out on the floor facing me was Dubhlain.
If the bloody, pulpy mess of his face was any indication, his night had really gone to shit. I had a tiny bit of remorse for punching him now, but whatever trouble he’d encountered after our parting was far worse than anything I’d done. The amount of congealing blood pooled beneath him didn’t match the damage to his face. Someone must have done some carving on him too.
Beyond his large form, a sturdy iron door darkened the face of the rock wall. We were in some kind of prison.
Dropping to one knee beside him, I debated whether I should touch him or not; flashbacks to that ugly magical bitchslap from earlier made me hesitate. Slowly, tentatively, I reached out, and my hand hovered over his shoulder while I went to war with myself.
Touch him or don’t?
Well, I always was a glutton for punishment, and there was no point in changing now.
I lowered my hand, expecting pain. It took a moment to register there was none. With some effort, I unclenched my jaw.
A gentle warmth started to build where my palm rested on his skin. It traveled up my arm and into my shoulder, then continued on until it had engulfed my whole body. An emotion I struggled to identify accompanied the soft heat. Elusive little sucker. It deftly evaded me, as if my pinning it down would somehow destroy its fragile existence.
I told myself I was only touching him to see how bad his injuries were—definitely not because gripping that thickly muscled bicep gave me a whole slew of mental images that made my belly quiver. Still, it wasn’t exactly a hardship touching him this time. The hazy, dreamlike quality to the whole experience—coupled with the cozy balm infusing me—made it almost . . . enjoyable.
The man began to stir. Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away, but his giant arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me flush against his hard body. Those hypnotizing blue eyes opened just a crack, and they bored into me, searching, pushing aside the layers that guarded the most private parts of me.
My lungs contracted. This close he was so much larger than before. I had the ridiculous urge to wrap myself around him and purr like a cat. Trying to squash down the ideas Miss Kitty was throwing out, I tried to shift away.
His arm tensed, locking me in place. “Don’t,” he wheezed brokenly, then swallowed several times. His voice came out stronger when he spoke again. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”
He actually was starting to look better. The cuts on his face were mending, and the swelling around his eyes had decreased. When that white flame flickered to life in his irises, the soothing echo from earlier morphed into a real burning heat. Like, “take my clothes off and rub all over a man I just met” kind of heat. Fire licked over my body, igniting a hunger that threatened to consume me. My nipples tightened, and a throbbing set up camp between my legs. It was taking a lot more concentration than it should have to remember why this was a bad thing.
Dubhlain rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him. I braced my forearms against that broad, unyielding chest, preparing to put some space between us, and my hip brushed against his arousal. Relief burst through me at the realization I wasn’t the only one struggling to focus.
Pinning my hips between his thighs, he threaded his fingers into my hair and brought his mouth to mine. His soft lips felt cool against my fevered ones, and when he traced his tongue along the seam, I opened to him. His tongue plunged inside—a breath of air after being underwater too long. Something long bound inside me released.
That glorious sensation was blotted out of existence when a searing pain ripped at my chest. I shoved away from Dubhlain at the same time he pushed me, and I landed hard on the cold rock floor several feet away.
He sat up and tried to scoot even farther away from me while I dragged myself into a sitting position, clutching my chest. Great Odin’s beard, I didn’t even have my shirt on anymore! When did that happen? Dubhlain refused to make eye contact.
“What in the actual fuck was that?!” I yelled.
Whipping his head toward me, he whisper-yelled back, “Keep your godsdamned voice down!” He climbed to his feet with a grunt, listing to the side, and cocked his head to listen. I sat where I was, quietly fuming.
Apparently satisfied no one was coming, he turned to glare at me. I got up, collected my shirt, and jammed my arms through the sleeves, all while shooting him hateful side-eye. When the stretching silence made it clear he wasn’t going to answer me, I stalked toward him.
“You sorry puddle of troll piss,” I hissed, my voice low and full of menace, “explain. Now.”
He at least had the decency to look remorseful. Running his hands over his head several times, he blew out an exasperated breath. His mussed hair, sticking up in random spikes, made him seem younger and a little lost. “You being here is dangerous.” His eyes dropped to the mark now covered by my shirt. “The connection that links us pulled your soul to me. Must’ve been when I lost consci
ousness.” When he looked back up, his gaze was serious. “Anything that happens to you here affects your physical body too.”
I grew cold as the gravity of the situation sank in. Righteous anger from a moment ago melted away, leaving me empty. My soul wasn’t attached to my body anymore? I had to pull my shit together and figure out how to fix this.
My thoughts kept circling around themselves like dogs chasing their tails, but no matter how hard I tried to come up with a solution, it was as if my brain had decided to move out with no forwarding address. Numbly, I watched Dubhlain begin to pace. He clenched and unclenched his fists, mumbling to himself as those long legs ate up the space from wall to wall in smooth strides.
“How’d you heal so fast?” I blurted.
Immediately my face heated. Of all the things I should have been focusing on, why’d my poor short-circuited mind latch on to that?
He never slowed, and for a second, I didn’t think he heard me. But then he finally answered, “It’s a side effect of the bonding” and resumed his bizarre conversation with himself. Was I supposed to know this? And was he grinning?
If the bond was the reason my libido lit up like a firecracker when I healed him, I should dial back my jealousy of healers everywhere. Turned out they didn’t have the perks I thought they did.
Hold up. Did he say . . . bond?
Anger churned inside me. You couldn’t just bond someone without their consent, and I definitely hadn’t agreed. This couldn’t be happening. I absolutely did not want to be tied in any way to the pretty Irishman currently locked in someone’s dungeon cell.
Dubhlain stopped pacing and propped himself against the bars with one hand. As I stared at his impossibly broad back, I wanted to punch his face right back into the shape I’d found it. Regardless of what he said, he had a bigger part in this bonding fiasco than he’d admitted. I just knew it.
