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“You know how to release me from this blasted curse. Do it.”
When he digs into his pocket, I don’t wait to see what he’s pulling out. I wrench free and turn, twisting the handle.
It doesn’t budge.
He’s locked the old-fashioned door. The key is gone.
Before I can search for another exit, Marrok traps me, his enormous chest covering my back. He tangles his fingers in my hair, and he rocks his hard cock against my ass.
His hot breaths against my ear make me shiver. “How you must be cackling at the proof I want you. But this time, I will have the control.”
He grabs my arm and clasps a medieval-looking bracelet around my wrist, securing it with a tiny silver padlock. Then he steps back with a smug smile full of vengeful triumph.
I eye the jewelry. “What is this?”
“Amethysts the color of your eyes set in pure silver. Merlin made it for you. So long as you wear it, you cannot perform magic, and you will weaken. I have locked it snug around your wrist. There it will remain until you agree to uncurse me.”
Magic? My thoughts race as I blink at the ornate silver bangle lined with huge purple gemstones. Discreetly, I give it a tug. Nope, I’m not getting that off.
A wave of dizziness hits me. I tremble. Exhaustion sets in. I struggle to stay upright.
“Marrok, I’m not this Morgana person,” I plead, steadying myself against the door. “Let me go!”
“You will remain with me until you set me free.” Then he crosses the room and produces a giant sword. “If you refuse, I will kill you.”
Chapter Thirteen
With that parting shot, he disappears down the hall, leaving me stunned and terrified.
I don’t waste any time lurching for the sturdy door at the back of the cottage.
Before I can wrench it open, he returns, blocking my path. Instead of the sword, he’s holding something red and square against his massive chest.
The book from our dream.
“Never have you possessed a shred of decency, but find one now. Open this and write the reversal of my curse, so I can finally die.”
“You want to die?” He’s both delusional and suicidal. “Look, I don’t know anything about that book. I’m not Morgana. I can’t help you. Just call Bram and let me go home.”
Fury twists his face. When he looms closer, my head tells me to back away. But my heart pounds, and it’s not purely terror revving me up. The invisible connection between us flares through me again, making my pussy pulse in hunger.
“You know everything about the book.” He shakes it in my face. “You created the infernal thing.”
“What? I’ve never even seen it. I’m not Morgana. Get that through your thick head.”
“Pretending amnesia? No matter. I memorized your curse before the bloody book locked. Mayhap you will recall writing these words: Under midnight’s moon you loved me and made my body fly. By sun’s harsh light you left me to ache, no matter what I try. Eternity is my curse on you, with nights of endless need. Find the key to free your black heart, or live this hell, no matter how you plead.”
Holy shit. He made up his own curse. What does that say about the depth of his delusion?
I’m afraid. How will I ever escape his cottage without being carried out in a body bag and featured on a two-minute segment of the news?
“With a few strokes of your quill, you condemned me to an eternity of misery,” he growls. “Now open your bloody tome and end it.”
Marrok is total straitjacket material. Yet…the closer he comes, heat licks my skin again. My head swims as if I’ve imbibed too much wine. As if he has a gravitational pull I can’t resist. As if my flesh and bones need to be pressed to his to feel complete.
God, now I’m losing it. “I’m sorry that Morgana…um, put a nasty curse on you. I’m sure it sucks. But I’m not her. Let me go.”
“I cannot.” He tosses the book on a nearby table and curls his fingers possessively around my face.
