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“I did that?”
I hold her fingers above her face. When she sees the blood under her nails, she grimaces. “Oh, my god.”
“I did not lie. Not about drugging you, not about restraining you…and not about the fact Morgana used the book—the one you saw in our dream—to curse me to immortality when Arthur was king.”
Clearly, Olivia struggles to believe me. “You have to admit, you sound like you belong in a mental institution.”
I nod. “Over the centuries, I have tried nearly every way to die.” I search for some way to convince her, but Bram told me Olivia has no idea magic even exists. “Do you know aught of magic?”
She frowns. “Hocus-pocus stuff, like David Copperfield?”
“Nay. Not illusionists, people born with magic. Like Merlin. Or…Harry Potter.”
“They’re fictional.”
“Folklore misremembers much of Arthurian history.” He rolls his eyes. “Merlin was quite real—and very odd.”
Her face clouds over. “Are you trying to convince me that you’re both immortal and magical?”
“Nay, merely immortal, cursed by someone magical.”
“Morgana Le Fay?”
“Aye.”
Dare I say more? She is newly recovered. To tell her we are mated and that she is a descendant of one of the evilest witches to litter history’s pages could send her into another shock. She will have many questions, for which I have few answers and even less proof.
“Morgana Le Fay wasn’t real either.”
“Unfortunately, she was.”
“It’s legend. Come on…”
I reply not. Mayhap if I give her time to consider all I have told her, she will be better able to accept the truth.
“Crap! What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Holy…” Olivia scrambles to her feet, then gasps, blindly reaching for my sheet to mop up our combined release as it drips down her milky thigh.
I grab her arm. “Where do you think to go?”
“My shop. I’ve been out for a whole day. No one is manning it, and I need the money—”
“You have been ill, and the hour is still early. Later, we will find someone to keep your shop until you are fully recovered.”
“I feel fine. I have to run my business. Now that you know I’m not Morgana and that I don’t know anything about the book—”
“I alone can prevent you from falling ill once more.”
“I thought you knew nothing about it,” she challenges.
“I know how to prevent it.”
“What, you have a special tonic?”
How do I explain this if I withhold the fact we are mated? “We must fuck. Frequently.”
