by Alisa Woods
“Very well,” Guinevere said in a tone that seemed a little bit relieved. “No sex magic. Got it. But I think we’re onto something with this commitment idea.” She flipped through the pages of the spellbook some more. She was scanning the spell details, apparently reading the ancient script as easily as Rosalyn would take in the morning news online. Finally, Guinevere stopped at another spell, this one illustrated with a bloody, anatomically correct heart wrapped in chains. The blood looked like it had been dripped onto the page and used for actual paint, smearing along the side and into the words.
“That looks, er, promising.” Rosalyn swallowed down her revulsion.
“This is a deep commitment spell,” Guinevere said, her expression grave. “This is more than just a commitment of bodies during sex and an opening of hearts, which is still a lot like love. This is… more like slavery. Total bonding. Absolute and irreversible. This is the kind of bond you die for. Your power, Rosalyn, and the first witch’s would have to be equal, but I think you can do it. Your lineage is strong—the Thorne coven has always been resplendent with magical energy. That was why my brother went there to woo a mate in the first place. And now you have Damon blood, as well. My brother is an asshole, but he’s a powerful witch. I may be the strongest witch in our coven, but not by much. I think if he were female, his power would’ve easily eclipsed mine.”
“He’s held back by his gender?” Cinaed asked. That idea seemed unsettling to him.
Guinevere shrugged. “There’s an inherent feminine energy to witchcraft. It’s why so many of us are born female to begin with. When my brother was born, it was heralded with great excitement because it’s an opportunity to pass down the bloodline even stronger. But being male, make no mistake, is a handicap for a witch. And that… that kind of handicap does something to a person. Knowing that you could never have the full expression of your potential… knowing that you’ll always achieve slightly less than you could, if you weren’t born that way. It’s a tragedy, really, and as much as my brother is unforgivably irritating, I’ve always felt like he was robbed of something that was essential. We should always be allowed to grow into the full expression of our capabilities.” Guinevere gave her a meaningful look, and Rosalyn felt it straight in her heart.
She’d lived a lifetime of anger directed at her own father, for what he did to her mother and her. Because of it, she’d also lived a life without magic, and that had always eaten away at her. But at least she had the possibility of reclaiming her powers. Indeed, that was what drove her through all of this horrific mess. She’d never realized that, perhaps, her father had been held back all along by the simple accident of being born male.
Guinevere was right—that wasn’t fair.
Rosalyn frowned. Any sympathy she had for him had to battle against a lifetime of experience based on what he had done. “Whatever this deep commitment spell is,” she said, trying to get them back on track, “as long as it doesn’t involve me having sex with Leonidas in his wyvern form, I’m down with it.”
Guinevere arched an eyebrow. “This one won’t be a walk in the park, either, my dear.”
Rosalyn braced herself internally. “What does it require?”
Guinevere went back to consulting the spell, running her fingers along the inky black script and scanning the words quickly. “Well, this might be a problem.”
“What now?” Cinaed asked, the frustration leaking out in his voice.
“It requires blood. And since we’re not only creating a deep commitment between Rosalyn and Leonidas, we’re breaking one with this other witch, we’ll need it from all three of you. It has to be literally smeared together—Rosalyn, the unfortunate prince, and the witch who cursed him. Which would seem to be a problem, since one of you is apparently dead.”
Rosalyn let out a sigh.
However, Cinaed seemed still intent on making it work. He peered at the spell as if he could read it. “What precisely is required?”
“This one word…” Guinevere frowned. “It can be translated many different ways, but here it implies the essence of the body. The essential fluid, hence, blood. But I see no reason why it couldn’t be some other essential body part. Or some piece of flesh. Even a bone could be ground up and turned into dust and mixed with your blood. But it does have to come from the actual bodies of the people involved.”
“But not explicitly living bodies.”
“No.”
Cinaed fished his phone out of his pocket. What was he doing?
“It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Do we know what happened to Meridi?” He listened for a moment. “No, where she is now.” He nodded impatiently. “Yes, right now.” One more pause, then he said, “All right, that’s what we need. We’ll meet you there.” He swiped off the phone. “We have to go to London.”
Rosalyn’s eyebrows hiked up. “Are you saying she’s there?”
Cinaed nodded. “I think we may have just what you need,” he said to Guinevere.
She tilted her head in acknowledgment, then closed the spellbook and hoisted it into her arms. “I’ll see to getting us some transportation.” Then she turned and left them in her office, apparently heading out to make arrangements.
“London?” Rosalyn asked Cinaed, quietly.
“Are you sure about this, my lady?” he asked, his expression kind. “I don’t want to give the prince false hope.”
And somehow that was exactly what she needed to hear. Who knew what the spell would actually do or if it would even work. A deep commitment bond like slavery? That wasn’t love—that wasn’t even close to love. But if that’s what it took, and she could use her power as a witch to free him… well, nothing would keep her away.
She gave Cinaed a resolute nod. “I’m sure.”
The flight back from Seattle was agitating as hell.
London?
That was the last place Leonidas wanted to go. But he would do it anyway.
Rosalyn would have to fly the old-fashioned way, and Leonidas could go no other way but by wing, but he would still beat her there—even an overnight flight wouldn’t get her there until the next day. So he and Leksander were headed back to the keep first.
Besides, Lucian was waiting for them.
They arrived via the main conference room portal. Leonidas could fit through the normal doorways of the keep—they tended to be wider than standard human—but after feeling the wind under his wings for half an hour, he was anxious not to be cooped up again. The conference room with the giant meeting table emblazoned with the crest of their House sat empty. The rest of the open meeting area was vacant as well.
Where is he? Leonidas pushed the thought to his brother, Leksander.
“Lucian was supposed to meet us here.” Leksander’s frown spurred Leonidas to reach out with his fae senses, which he assumed Leksander was doing. Leonidas roamed the keep with his magical feelers and just about gave up when—
Fucking hell! Leonidas pushed to his brother. What is Zephan doing here?
Leksander must’ve sensed them as well because he was already charging out of the conference room and headed toward the throne room at the opposite side of the keep, where Leonidas had sensed both his brother, Lucian, and the Fae Prince of the Winter Court, Zephan.
Leonidas lumbered after Leksander. His brother shot ahead. Leonidas could’ve gone faster, but he was working on not leaving score marks all along the granite hallway or taking big chunks out of the walls with his bony-ridged wings as he trundled along.
When he reached the throne room, Leksander was already yelling at the fae prince. “Fuck you, Zephan! How dare you show your face here?”
Lucian was holding him back, which was ridiculous—the fae had more power than all three of them put together. Leksander must be over the edge if he was even thinking about attacking a dark fae who could bash him with a flick of his fingers. Then again, dragons of the House of Smoke were still protected under the treaty… and as long as Leonidas was still alive, there was still hope he cou
ld produce a dragonling, and the treaty still held.
Leonidas tromped down the length of the emptied-out throne room, finally catching Zephan’s eye.
“Your beast is loose,” he sneered at Lucian. “Hard to believe you let it run around your keep where he might decide to have his way with your mate. Or is that how things work in the House of Smoke now?” Zephan’s cruel, ice-blue eyes were almost clear, and they held a cold fury that blazed at Lucian, with a side dose for Leksander, who was frothing at the mouth next to them. Zephan pushed back his long black hair in a gesture that somehow symbolized the imperial disdain of his court perfectly. “I tire of your stupidity. The beast is as good as dead. End it now.”
“He’s not fully wyvern, you asshole,” Leksander spat.
Leonidas couldn’t mentally project his thoughts into the arrogant fae’s mind—that particular dragon trait only worked with mortal creatures—so Zephan couldn’t know for certain that Leonidas was still rational. However, he could bolster Leksander’s claim by calming his tail from swishing noisily back and forth across the throne room floor. He did that, then settled on his haunches to wait for them to resolve this crisis.
The fae were virtually immortal. Shifters and witches were not much different than humans—just kissed with a little magical facility in their blood. Vampires were cursed more than anyone else, with magic that forced them to drink blood. Dragons were somewhere between, partially immortal, partially human with scores of matings through the millennia, mixing dragon and human blood. But the House of Smoke had a touch of fae in their ancestry… and that made all the difference. Their magic was stronger, their abilities more extensive. But the fae had more in common with angels, their archrivals, than anything else.
Which meant they had no possibility of throwing Zephan out. That complete imbalance of power was exactly why the treaty was made in the first place—to protect dragons and humans alike from tempestuous fae tantrums. Leonidas didn’t know why Lucian had allowed the fae into the keep in the first place. He would have had to drop the protective wards.
Leksander had turned away from Zephan, and Leonidas could see him trying to pull his shit together. Attacking a fae was one of the least intelligent things he’d ever seen his brother consider doing.
“I already told you, Zephan,” Lucian said, calmly. “Leonidas is still in his right mind. Now that he’s here, you can see for yourself. He’s not wild. He’s not thrashing about. He’s exhibiting none of the signs. But you already knew that, didn’t you? You can feel the treaty magic as well as I—you know it hasn’t been broken. Now get the fuck out of my House.”
Zephan lifted his chin. “Maybe I’ll kill him myself then, if you lack the bravery or perhaps mercy to do it yourself.”
Leksander whipped around and looked like he might have another go at the fae. Lucian glared at him and stopped him in his tracks. Then Lucian stalked up to Zephan. His brother towered over the thin-limbed fae, but that was no indication of strength—not even close. Lucian was putting himself in harm’s way to protect Leonidas, and that wasn’t right. He was the king of the House of Smoke and had a son and a mate to look after.
“Maybe we should talk about vampires infecting humans with demon essence in Seattle,” Lucian said with a voice as cold as ice. “Or better yet, maybe I should take that to the Summer Court.”
Holy shit.
Zephan’s eyes flashed, but he did a remarkable job of not rising to Lucian’s bait. “You have no evidence tying that to me, if it’s even true.”
“Yeah?” Lucian said, not backing down. “You want to test that?” His brother was totally bluffing. He’d been working on tracking down more demons, once they rounded up all the women who had been targeted by someone—probably fucking Zephan—but Leonidas knew they had no solid evidence connecting the attacks to the fae. Nothing they could take to the Summer Court Queen to get a ruling on whether the treaty had been broken.
Zephan stared coolly at him but didn’t answer right away.
Leonidas would take that as a blink.
Leksander’s anger was getting the best of him, and he saw an opening, apparently—he stalked over to join Lucian in menacing the dark fae, as if that would work. “The curse laid down by the Queen of the Summer Court ten millennium ago may protect the people of Seattle and the House of Smoke, but the treaty, Zephan—the treaty that keeps the Summer Court from coming after your ass and going to war with you? That’s entirely voluntary. You want war with the Summer Court? Because maybe that would keep you occupied for a while and keep you from fucking with my family and the humans we protect. Like all those defenseless women you’ve been targeting, asshole.”
At the mention of the women, Zephan definitely did a small double take. Aha. There had to be a connection. Maybe Lucian could track down the vampires who had infected the one woman and killed the other and connect that somehow to Zephan. Leksander had his hands full keeping Leonidas from being a danger to anyone, but surely Lucian could follow up on that thread.
Zephan hesitated a long moment, then said, “It would appear you have more than enough problems to keep you busy.” He stepped back. His cold smirk was aimed at Leonidas. “My dear little prince of a dragon, your time is running out. Even in wyvern form, you know it’s only a matter of days. Maybe hours. A last-ditch effort to mate. But even if you rape your way into a dragonling, you know that dooms the treaty.” He turned back to Leksander and Lucian. “And you know this beast will never win the love of anyone now. Your time is ticking House of Smoke. And I cannot wait for it to end.” He turned away, slipping into that multidimensional portal that the fae open up to travel between the mortal realm and their own realm between the dimensions.
Leksander and Lucian both seemed to deflate once the fae disappeared.
“I still think we should go to the Summer Court,” Leksander said, bitterly.
Lucian just shook his head. “Let me handle it.” He looked to Leonidas. “How are you holding up?”
Leonidas tried not to hear the worry between the lines—that he might go wyvern at any moment, true wyvern, and rampage through the keep, raping and pillaging.
As well as to be expected for a man trapped inside the body of a beast, Leonidas pushed the thought to both of them. I have an itch in the middle of my back that’s killing me.
Lucian huffed a laugh, but it was hollow. “So, you’re off to London, then?” He looked to Leksander. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
Leksander just shook his head, still angry. “Can’t be any more fucked up than the rest of this.” He sucked in a breath of air and seemed to return to a semblance of calm. “This is really all we’ve got, Lucian.”
His brother nodded and placed a hand on Leksander’s shoulder. “You could do with some time away from the city as well,” he said gently. “And Erelah.”
Leksander nodded, but it was a sad thing to see. Like the life had been drained from him. Leonidas lumbered over to the two of them, stretching his wings and flexing them the full width of the throne room.
Once we’re done sorting out my pathetic love life, we can worry about Leksander’s pathetic love life. He sent the thought to both of them. Focus, my brothers!
It drew bitter smiles from both.
“I’ll stay here and chase down the rest of the vampire covens,” Lucian said. “If Zephan becomes impatient for you to die, my brother, I want a little more solid evidence in my back pocket and not just a bluff to take to the Summer Court.”
Leonidas bobbed his head. It’s a long flight, and Rosalyn won’t arrive until tomorrow. We should get some rest beforehand. He directed that thought to both, but Leksander needed sleep the most, right after Leonidas.
“Agreed,” Leksander said with a heavy sigh. “If I’m going to deal with witches and curses, I need something that has a semblance of rest.”
Leonidas swung his bony-ridged head to Lucian. If you’re not comfortable with me staying in the keep, my brother, I can always fly back to the tomb. I won’t be offended.
/>
“I’m not concerned,” Lucian said, but those small lines around his eyes told the lie.
“Come on,” Leksander said to Leonidas. “You can bed down in my lair. I’ll keep an eye on you, just in case.” He faced Lucian. “I’ll lock us in with wards, just so you and your mate can rest easy.”
Lucian nodded, and Leonidas could see the tension drain from him.
Leksander strode up ahead, out of the throne room, and Leonidas trailed after him, trying to keep his tail under control. That Zephan was so eager to see him die and the treaty fail just redoubled Leonidas’s determination to not have that happen. The key to that lay in breaking his curse. He allowed his heart a moment of hope that perhaps Rosalyn and her aunt the witch would actually have the right magic to undo the curse that held him in this form.
That hope would let him sleep tonight.
Rosalyn had never seen a private jet, much less flown in one.
She and Aunt Gwen—Guinevere insisted she called her that—were side-by-side on an expansive white leather couch, practicing magic. They’d been conjuring for hours with only a few breaks, but Rosalyn felt like she’d been transported to a heavenly alternate reality. One where their personal flight attendant brought them drinks and snacks, where Rosalyn was making up for a dozen years of lost magical instruction, and where she was traveling halfway around the world to break a magical cage and free the world’s sexiest man.
Her best dreams were never this good.
She wasn’t sure what would happen after she broke Leonidas’s curse—she’d face that when she got there—but some celebratory sex would put this dream over the top. She might have to consider whether she had actually died and gone to heaven.
If she could pull it off.
This deep commitment spell she was warming up to wasn’t any minor magic. Even if it worked, it was possible she would be bound to Leonidas, and him to her, irreversibly—not a horrible fate when the man was already in love with her and hotter between the sheets than anyone she’d ever slept with. But still… it was unnerving. Especially when she had to make the commitment just as strongly as he did to make the magic work. Could she do that? Would the spell fail because she was just inept as a witch or because she held back on the commitment side? Either kind of failure would doom Leonidas to an early death as a horrible beast.
