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I open my mouth to tell Bram not to bother. If Marrok isn’t interested, he isn’t interested. Then I look at the whittled wood in my hand. A fawn. It’s so lifelike, I’m stunned. Its soulful eyes melt me. At any moment, I’m sure its legs will wobble as it learns to walk.
Marrok’s talent…wow. And this is just a tiny slice.
I close my mouth.
The man might be a rude, unhinged asshole…but his work will thrill anyone who loves art. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like me. I’m used to artists’ quirks. I’ll work tirelessly until I earn his trust. I don’t have a choice. I need his carvings on my shelves…or my business will go under. Then how will I remain in the UK so I can pay the detective to find my father? Once I discover what motivates Marrok, I’ll work with him—no matter how difficult.
“Perfect.” I paste on a smile for Bram. “I want to see him again, as soon as possible.”
Chapter Seven
Marrok
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Bram barks, suddenly at my heels.
Ignoring all the passersby, I turn on him, ready to unleash my wrath. I hate that civilized society demands I leave my sword behind. Bloody inconvenient when I need to skewer a devious wizard. “You knew. You fucking knew.”
“That Olivia is a Le Fay? I did.”
“Not just any Le Fay, Morgana in a different wrapping. You tricked me.” And every moment I stood near her, I burned to touch her. My desire raged, far stronger than the night I fucked her in the meadow. Stronger than in this morning’s dream. Stronger than anything I have ever felt.
I hovered inches above that witch’s mouth and thought of naught but kissing her senseless before lifting her skirt, freeing my cock, plunging deep inside her, and staying until she cried out that she belongs to me.
Impossible fantasy. Foolish lust. I cannot give in to her.
“I don’t know that she is Morgana,” Bram insists. “She predates me, so other than painted likenesses, I’ve no idea what she looked like. And Olivia doesn’t have a full magical signature yet, so I can only see her bloodline.”
“Magical signature?”
“It’s…like her aura but specific to her magic. Well, the magic she’ll have once she transitions. Every witch or wizard has one, and they’re visible to anyone magical. Olivia’s is almost nonexistent. Since she isn’t yet twenty-five—the age a witch comes into her power—I’m not surprised. Until then, there’s not much to glean about her, except her lineage.”
Or she’s Morgana craftily masking herself. “Pry into her mind as you did mine. Learn her true identity.”
“With a casual touch, I can only read her passing thoughts. So unless she happens to be thinking that she isn’t Morgana, that exercise is pointless. I’m only able to read her mind thoroughly if our contact is…deeper.”
I like not where this is going. “Meaning?”
Bram clears his throat. “The deeper the touch, the deeper I can delve into her mind. So if I was fucking her…”
He could discern her life story.
I have known enough wizards through the centuries to know that is not a common skill.
Letting Bram tumble the deceitful witch for information should appeal, but the very notion of Bram’s hands on her makes me violent. I hate her with every breath in my body…yet Morgana in her new form fires my blood like no other.
Why?
I grab his shirt in my fists with a growl. “You will not lay a finger on her.”
“I hadn’t planned to. Lovely girl…but we’re merely friends. Besides, if I mated with her, I might lose my Privileged status.”
Frowning, I release him. “Because she is untransitioned?”
“Because she is Le Fay. A couple of hundred years ago, the last known descendant of her bloodline supported Mathias.”
“So the entire clan was deemed undesirable?” And marrying into such a family would be political suicide for a wizard who prides himself on his pedigree and his Council seat.
“Not precisely, but I wouldn’t want to gamble on the Council’s reaction to such a mating. They have long memories. However, since I haven’t been remotely compelled to Call—um, propose, in human terms—to Olivia…”
