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When Marrok finally drifts off, I can’t sleep. He consumes three-quarters of the mattress, wrapping his big, hot body around me protectively.
Dawn is at least an hour away, but I wriggle free, slip from bed, and shrug into my clothes, studying him in the moonlight. He can be so intimidating yet gentle—when it suits his purpose.
Despite his pretty words, I don’t dare trust him with my heart. I can’t fall for his tenderness. I’ve already let him too close, and he’s had fifteen centuries to practice deception and perfect manipulation. I’ve always led with my heart.
If I don’t put distance between us, he’ll crush me.
I need to figure out how to help Marrok end his curse. Once I do, he’ll leave. He’ll probably break my heart, too. But I’ll survive. I always do.
First, I have to see my father, find out what he knows about the Doomsday Diary.
Of course, that’s not the only reason I’m reaching out. As a child, I spent hours devising tales about the man who, of course, died in some heroic way and would have loved me had he lived. As an adult, I’m trying to separate my fantasies from facts. And I want to know the man from whom I inherited my Le Fay blood.
Last night, before Marrok and I left the party, Richard pressed a piece of paper into my hand. His phone number. Now seems like the time to use it.
I pluck Marrok’s phone off his nightstand, tiptoeing over the cache of weapons he scattered around the bed before he climbed inside. Lord, it looks like enough to defend a small country.
An enormous broadsword leans against the mattress near his head. In a nod to contemporary warfare, he has something that looks suspiciously like a machine gun, two semiautomatic pistols, and a terrible looking knife spilling around him—for starters.
“I told you I would protect you.” He rolls to face me, his voice rough.
“Will these kill anyone magical?” I nod at the guns.
He shrugs. “Slow them down at least. In battle, winning is not always possible. Sometimes, a tactical retreat is the wisest choice. Why do you ask?”
How do I explain that I’m unsettled because everything in my life is? “Curious.”
“You have hardly slept. Come back to bed.” His voice is soft, but it’s a command.
I’ve given into him enough. “I’m going to call my father.”
“’Tis too early.”
“I didn’t ask your opinion.” I turn to leave.
Cursing, he vaults out of bed after me. “You must wake him before six in the morn?”
Okay, so maybe I’m being impulsive. But the longer I wait, the sharper my sense that valuable time is ticking away. “I’ll leave a message.”
Before Marrok can protest, I head to the farthest corner of the house—the kitchen—and stand by the window, then dial the number I’ve already memorized by heart.
“’Lo.” A husky male voice answers on the third ring.
“Sorry to wake you. This is Olivia.”
“Is something wrong?” Sleep clears from his tone. “Did you change your mind about staying with Marrok?”
“No. I don’t know. I…”
When the bastard isn’t fucking me into the mattress, he has a valid point. I barely know my father. No matter how kind or accepting Richard Gray seems, I can’t refute that. “I’d like to talk to you before I decide anything.”
“Of course. Becoming mated and finding out you have magical blood so soon after losing your mother, and then meeting me…”
“It’s a lot. I have questions about the past. About the diary and the symbol on the front, about my mother… Everything, really. When can I see you?”
“Now. I’ll come to you.”
I hesitate. Would the man who once turned on the Anarki sell out his own daughter for the Doomsday Diary? I hope not, but if I’m going to get answers, I have to take a leap of faith.
