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“Excellent. But there’s a catch…”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been planning a gathering. Since Mathias is back, magickind must band together. Olivia should attend and meet, as you put it, her own kind.”
“Mean you a party?”
“Of sorts.”
My gut clenches at a mental picture of Olivia in a skimpy cocktail dress, hanging on Bram’s every word as he introduces her to the magical world. “Nay.”
“The poor girl has to put up with a dour mate. She knows little about her roots or magic, much less her coming transition. She’ll need information to survive. The fact she’s a descendant of one of the most ancient and powerful bloodlines in history will make her an instant celebrity.”
“Smashing for you, but she needs not strangers gawking at her. We send our regrets.”
“Are you certain? I’ve been reading more of my grandfather’s dusty tomes. How fortuitous that I’ve come across several passages about the diary and what the symbol guarding its lock means. It’s very interesting, and I would be willing to share the information if you and Olivia pop by on Friday, say about seven?”
Once more, the insufferable maggot makes me grit my teeth. “That is extortion.”
“Yes, and I’m sure you’ll both need appropriate clothes. I’ll drive over in a bit and leave a car for you.”
Click.
The bastard hangs up.
I squeeze the damn device, praying it shatters.
But what if Bram has information about the symbols and their meaning? What if that could end my curse? Eternity, even if I have a beautiful mate capable of giving me ecstasy, is not something I want to endure.
“Well?” Olivia prompts.
“Bram has invited us to a party two days hence.” I turn to her, swallowing a lump of fury that nearly chokes me. “We will be attending.”
“You’re not happy about it.”
“I am not, so you will grant me a favor.” I cut a hungry stare in her direction. “Wear not a dress that is skimpy and black.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The following morning, Olivia and I indulge in a languorous fucking and a quick bite of toast before we ready ourselves. As much as I enjoy the sight of my “wife” wearing one of my T-shirts after I destroyed Tuesday’s blouse and corset, I prefer her in naught at all. In fact, I would rather have my cock buried deep in her cunt, her fingers scratching helplessly at the tile wall, and her screams echoing through the shower stall.
Instead, we approach Bram’s flashy black sedan. After loading the boot with as many of my carvings as would fit, I scowl. “You can drive that contraption, I presume?”
“Not well. People here drive on the wrong side of the road.”
“Since I drive not at all, you must take your argument up with the other louts who maneuver these infernal machines.”
“Come on. You’ve had a century to learn.”
“Wench, I came from a time of deep superstition and distrust of anything new, centuries even before the people were being persecuted for saying the Earth is round.”
She tries not to laugh at me—and fails miserably. “Good point. So…I’m driving?”
“Have you a license?”
“Yeah. And I’m guessing you don’t.” Olivia braces a hand on her lush hip. “You can skewer a thousand people in battle, but not steer one little car?”
“Aye.”
