“What did they do?” Mona asks, afraid of the answer, but knowing she needs to hear me say it. Not because she has to know, I don’t think, but because she’s having a harder time letting me lock myself away from her. The isolation I briefly described of my mother—she sees the similarities in our stories.
“They came one night… Mamá had a contingency plan already, she’d spelled the closet. It was layered with her magic, so she didn’t have to prepare. They came, and we hid. And we listened to what they did to my father.” The loss is still raw. “My mother has never been the same. She’s a shell most days.”
“And you?”
I laugh self-deprecatingly, “What about me?” There’s a glint in her crystal blue eyes, which seem to darken, and something seems a little off. My brow furrows. “Are you feeling alright, Mona?”
“I’m fine,” she tells me. The air down here is stifling, though. I assume it’s because we’re so far beneath the surface. Mona wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, coming away damp.
Eyeing her suspiciously, I answer her other question. Because I can’t lie to her. This push and pull between us, it’s growing unbearable. “You’re right. I’ve been… protecting you. Keeping my distance.”
“Protecting me? You sure you’re not protecting yourself?”
I huff, then laugh. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it? I know it might seem that way, but I’m not trying to protect my heart from you. Maybe it was that way at first, but… Mona, you already own it.”
The admission feels like a weight has dropped between us. How could I ever deny it?
Mona doesn’t have to ask what I can read all over her face, thewhyon her tongue. Maybe it’s because our magic fits together like perfect puzzle pieces, and she is my mate, and I justknow—so I answer, anyway. “My very existence invites danger, Mona. Who I am,whatI am—you heard Deidre. Her sister has a vendetta against me—I wasn’t even aware of it, because apparently I murdered her lover. I’ve killed a lot of people. All of them at my hands. If I let myself… if we were together, I would only bring danger to you.”
I try to feign ease, staying slightly detached, devoid of emotion. But I’m betrayed by the slight tremor in my voice.
She shakes her head and smiles. And then… she’s laughing before I even know what’s hit me.
“Mona?”
She leans in and pats my cheeks. “You’re perfect, Ghost. Just as you are. Don’t ever change.”
Though the words are like kindling to a flame inside me, I can’t help but notice how very off Mona seems. Like she’s high on something. Warm too, judging by the flush crawling up her cheeks, waving heat through her body. The room, stifling before, now feels like a sauna. Her perfume trickles between us, stagnant in our strange, quiet bubble, making my mouth water.
My nostrils flare, and I wrap a hand around her neck, digging my fingers into her nape. It’s possessive and aggressive, and though I have to remind myself I’m trying to maintain distance, I can’t ignore the pleasure snaking down my spine at holding her warm skin. Sadly, I can’t act on it because I know what’s going on.
Goddammit. Can’t this girl ever catch a fucking break?
I lean in close and sniff, confirming my suspicions.
“Mona,” I say cautiously.
“Hmm?” She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, as if she’s trying to inhale my essence.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, pulling back. I press my thumbs into her eyebrows to lift them up.
She tries to slap my hand away, but her limbs move slowly.
“Your pupils are dilated,” I say frankly.
“It’s dark down here.”
“Not that dark. Your eyes are nearly black. Mona, how are you feeling right now?”
“Good,” she sighs dreamily.
I wait a moment for that word to catch up. Meanwhile, looking her over clinically, I try to determine how much damage has been done.
“Why are you acting so weird? I feel good. Great, in fact.” Her eyes close, and she lets out a soft moan, then begins rubbing at her pants. “Too itchy. Too hot.”
I had a chance, once, to take her like this. Mona’s heat in the woods. It didn’t feel right then. She didn’t know me, and I was determined to keep my distance. Since then, she’s broken down so many of my walls that this time is exponentially harder. Still, I force the words out. “Mona, stop. She’s spelled you.”
“What do you mean she spelled me?” Holding out her arms, she looks them over as if she’s expecting to see evidence of the magic. But she gets distracted by the clothes she’s wearing and begins undressing, fingers at the hem as she drags her shirt up, whining about the fabric. I snatch it back and hold it down.
