Gabriel pressed his lips together, trying not to taste the scent of her blood. Her skin. Even now, knowing she was perfectly safe, he still couldn’t shake off the bad mojo.
Seeing her running toward him like that, nearly breathless…
No, it wasn’t anger that had him on edge. It was fear.
For a split second, he’d thought she’d been threatened or hurt, and it had fucking scared him. Not because he’d lose his so-called leverage or his connection to Duchanes and the curse.
But because he didn’t want her to come to harm at Obsidian.
He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, period.
A new wave of anger washed through him, this time at himself. He’d taken the witch against her will. He’d been holding her captive for over a month, barely sparing a single kindness. Everything he did for her—the clothes, the apartment, the supplies—was all in his own best interest.
So why the fuck was he suddenly so concerned about her well-being?
“You’re the head bartender, Jacinda,” he snapped. “Figure it out.”
Hurt rippled in her gaze, but then it vanished, replaced with her usual fire. “Message received, dickhead. Guess I’ll just give ’em boring-ass rum and cokes instead.”
“I don’t care what you give them. Don’t ever raise the alarm for something so ridiculously mundane again.” He released her elbow and stomped off, back down the spiral staircase to the main level and straight out into the misty Manhattan night.
He returned fifteen minutes later with a grocery bag full of her precious mint—packets of clipped leaves, jars of dried ones, bottles of extract, three potted plants she could tend to her heart’s content, and—just to be extra rotten—three packs of spearmint gum and a bottle of mouthwash.
Finding her behind the bar once more, Gabriel elbowed his way through the throng of eager patrons and passed over the bag.
She eyed him skeptically, then finally peeked inside, a smile lighting up her face. “Are you serious right now?”
“I smell like toothpaste right now,” he grumbled.
“Thank you, this is perfect!” She beamed at him again, the earlier hurt and anger replaced with something much sweeter. Much more dangerous. “If you weren’t such a dickhead, Prince, I might actually kiss you for this.”
“Fortunately for both of us, Iamsuch a dickhead.”
Jacinda’s smile didn’t falter. She held his gaze, her eyes bright and beautiful in the dim space. A few more of her curls had fallen loose, skimming her silver-dusted shoulders. All around them, vampires and demons and mages chattered on, laughing, shouting. Music floated on the air, the heavy base thrumming through his bones. But for a moment, everything faded to a din, leaving Gabriel and Jacinda suspended in time and space, connected by that strange, electromagnetic current.
Maybe it was magic.
Maybe it was imagination.
Maybe it was all a fucking game.
Her glossy red smile finally faded. She bit her lower lip. Gabriel stared at her mouth, wondering what she tasted like. What her tongue felt like. Whether their kiss would be soft or ravenous. Whether his lips on hers would unleash a sigh or a moan.
Whether she’d call him dickhead or Prince or Gabriel…
Heat pulsed through his cock. Again, he tried to convince himself that his need—his obsession—was strategic. Duchanes. The curse. A bartender. Something safe. Logical.
But Gabriel wasn’t a liar. Not even to himself.
He closed his eyes. The sounds rushed back at once, raucous laughter and a brand-new song, too loud, too fast.
Against the witch’s dark powers, Gabriel had only one defense—one he was beginning to rely on far too heavily.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
* * *
An hour passed. One more. Gabriel needed to see her again.
