“Only a little, but that’s better than zilch, which is what you started with. Isabelle and I talked about warding Obsidian and the residences, but warding isn’t specific enough. We’d have to ward againstalldemons, which would cut your clientele in half and leave me out on my ass as well.”
“Yes, and whataboutyou? Shouldn’t you be in here with me? Where’s your protection spell?”
“I did it last night.”
“Fuck. If only I’d come sooner.”
“That’s whatshesaid,” she muttered.
“What?”
“I mean… I…” Jaci took a breath. Blew it out. Stopped thinking about Gabriel making her come. “I already did the protection ritual on myself, just as a precaution. But when it comes to Viansa, there’s really only one thing that can protect me: taking that bitch down for good.”
“I thought you said we couldn’t kill her.”
“No, I said we couldn’t kill heryet.” She plucked a smaller rose quartz crystal from the dish on the sink and chucked it into the bathwater, right between his legs. “Now dunk again. And this time, I want you to stay under for as long as you can, keeping that protective bubble of light in your mind’s eye until you feel it solidify around you like magical armor.”
Gabriel shot her another glare. “Obstinate witch.”
“Obstinatedemonwitch,” she reminded him, calling a flame of hellfire to her fingertips. “Don’t test me, Prince.”
Gabriel grumbled, sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face, then slipped below the water once more.
And Jaci, stifling a giggle, slipped out the door, grabbed her coat and purse, and headed off to Obsidian.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You’re hovering again, Prince.”
“Yes, it’s a thing I do now.” Gabriel stepped behind his witch and rested his chin on her shoulder, trying to read the tiny print on the ancient occult tome she’d spread open on the bar. “Hover.”
“Well stop. You’re messing with my vibe.” She slammed the book shut and tried to shrug him off, but there was no real force—not in her words, and certainly not in her meager efforts to escape.
“Should’ve considered that before your little bathtub prank, witch.” He slid a hand across her stomach and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, giving him clear access to her bare skin. To her intoxicating earth-and-pepper scent. “You won’t be leaving my sights—or my hands—anytime soon.”
“Worst punishmentever.” She turned around in his arms and threaded her fingers into his hair, staring up at him with those fiery blue eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to lock me in the dungeon instead? Strip me down, chain me up, whip me into submission?”
“Mmm.” Gabriel leaned in close and nipped her earlobe, his voice a dark whisper. “Don’t push me, little moonflower.”
When he looked at her again, she held his gaze for a long moment, a challenge flashing in hers, the warmth of her body conspiring with the softness of her mouth to make his cock throb with desperate, aching need.
Her effect on him was constant and obvious, and he saw it in her eyes the instant it registered now—pupils dilating, lids growing heavy.
“Gabriel,” she breathed, closing her eyes and nibbling her lower lip, and he held his breath, heart pounding, wondering if this would be it—the moment they finally gave in to the pull.
But then she shook her head and turned away without another word, heading over to the cocktail table where she’d stacked the rest of Isabelle’s books.
Gabriel let out a frustrated sigh.
He didn’t blame her, though. Just as often, he’d been the one to turn away first.
Two weeks had passed since Viansa’s attack, and that’s just how it was now. A few flirty innuendos, a sensual touch that ended far too quickly. The night he’d visited her with the mint had certainly brought them closer—closer toward forgiveness, toward trust, toward admitting what they both so clearly felt. But with that new closeness had also come a new fear—the sharp and sudden realization of just how much power they had to hurt each other.
Gabriel glanced out across the bar, watching as Jacinda bent over another tome, frantically scribbling notes onto a yellow legal pad. His heart bled just to look at her—a clear reminder of its fragility in the face of something so immense. So unfamiliar.
That was the paradox of love.
The heart was a terrifying thing to risk, yet without that risk, one could never truly love. Could neverfeelit—feel it the way Gabriel felt it when he held her in his arms, when she brewed him another mug of tea or mixed another drink she thought he’d enjoy, when he watched her now, searching beneath her books for the pencil she’d stuck into the pile of curls on her head seconds earlier.
