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“Other than sex? Indeed. Years passed, decades…centuries. A whole millennium. I hated every day, so like the last, knowing tomorrow would be the same. I forgot how to feel, how to care.”
“Marrok…”
He cradles my cheek in his hand, and I have to resist the urge to nuzzle his palm. “Grieve not for me. ’Tis past.”
“Is it? If you and I are having the same dreams, maybe that’s her doing?”
“Likely, even. Recently, she began seizing my dreams and tantalizing me with the possibility that I could finally die. No doubt, she was amused that I tried every suggestion she planted in my head.”
“You still want to die?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“What have I to live for? My castle, family, and friends became dust long ago. I dare not form friendships. Whenever I have, Morgana visits their dreams and fills their heads with my evil. People I came to respect suddenly believed me a most dastardly villain—a grave robber or a child slayer… By the time she ceased such games, I was accustomed to solitude.”
I understand isolation, being an outcast. But what Morgana did to Marrok ventured beyond revenge and into psychotic bitch territory.
My heart goes out to him. He seems strong and proud, but his carvings demonstrate patience, intellect, and tenderness. As we talk, he’s beginning to show me those sides of himself. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
How has he endured being so alone century after century? I’ve only had to deal with it for twenty-three years. How is he not bitter and bent?
“You said that the book you showed me is the key to ending your curse. Can I see it again?”
Marrok shoots me a narrow-eyed gaze. He’s probably wondering if he can trust me. I would be hurt…but after everything he’s been through, I don’t blame him. “Why?”
“I have a degree in art, and history is one of my secret passions. I have connections with lots of people who study and deal in antiquities—literary scholars, antiques dealers, and historians. Maybe one of them will know something about this book and how to uncurse you. But it’s up to you. I’m not Morgana, so despite whatever weird resemblance we share, I can’t just sing a chant and solve your problem. I might be able to help, though.”
“You would do that after I abducted you?”
He cared for me during my mystery illness. He showed me what it felt like to be desirable. He’s sexy in a men’s-cologne-ad way, but rougher around the edges. I wouldn’t hate hooking up with him again, especially if he can make me feel that good… But I’m probably just in his way. After all, I’m an American nobody.
“You’ve been pushed to the brink of sanity by a curse that would have warped the average guy long ago. If you want my help, you’ve got it. Maybe together, we can unlock the secret of the book.”
He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “You have given me light and hope where I expected darkness. Thank you.”
Even that little touch makes me tingle. The sensation is still with me when he drops to one knee and lifts the floorboard. He stands a moment later with the familiar book in hand and sits on the edge of the bed. After a brief hesitation, he gives it to me.
Like before, its energy hums in my hands. Not bizarre, I suppose, since it’s capable of cursing people for eternity.
It should look ancient. But the reddish leather is smooth, the gold leafing at the corners crisp. An odd symbol graces the front—a scripty squiggle in the same delicate gold as the leafing in the shape of an M, but underlined with curlicues. The lock on the side holding the volume closed has a sturdy, unusual-shaped lock.
I pick at it with my fingernail. “Have you tried prying this open?”
Marrok laughs mirthlessly. “Aye, with brute strength, sledgehammer, paper clip, skeleton key, wire cutters, butcher knife, chain saw, blowtorch… I once tied a pair of ropes to the lock, then secured each to horses bolting in opposite directions. It gave not an inch.”
Whoa. A very powerful object. “What do you know about this symbol on the front?”
“Naught.”
I don’t remember seeing this in school, but as prominently placed as this symbol is, it must be meaningful.
“Does it mean aught to you?”
“No. Sorry.”
Marrok heaves a disappointed sigh that tugs at my heart.
“But old books aren’t my area of expertise. If I had a computer and a camera, I could ask people much more knowledgeable than me.”
