Page 27 of Of Magic and Murder

Not because I’m afraid to be alone with him. At least, I don’t think that’s why. It’s not like he’s going to hurt me… but I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to do that the last time we were in the same room together.

The last time I was alone with Riordan, there were silver bars between us and his curse stole control of my body. I know he didn’t mean for it to happen. I saw the horror on his face the instant he realized what he’d done, and I’ve had two months to understand that whatever magic was forced on him is as much his enemy as it was mine.

Still, it’s easy to tell myself that. It’s a lot harder when he’s right there, watching me as though expecting me to change my mind.

Out back? Where there’s space and there’s privacy? Yeah. Maybe that’s a good idea.

“It is.”

Riordan gestures for me to go first. I say good night to Honey, Max, and Gus before heading into the kitchen. I place the potted plant down next to my purse, then lead the way to the back exit.

The sun’s still out, but the way the alley narrows behind Dough You Believe in Magic means that it’s constantly shadowed, no matter what time of day it is. As Riordan follows me outside, I can just make out the faint green wisps of the curse wrapped around his aura. Now that he’s come to a stop right next to me, close enough that I can reach out and grab him if I wanted to, I finally have the chance to do more than stare at it.

“Your hands, please,” I say.

“Penelope—”

“If you want me to work with you on this investigation, this is what I want first.”

Look at me. I’m a lot braver when it’s just the two of us which you would think wouldn’t be the case, but though something about Riordan has me buzzing, I hold true to my earlier thought: he won’t hurt me.

Still, he studies me for so long that I begin to wonder if I finally pushed the topic too far. Then, without another word, Riordan holds out his hands.

My heart gives one stupid little jump as I step up to him and slide my palms on top of his.

Warm. That’s the first thing I notice. The second is that his hands are way bigger than mine, and rougher than I expected from someone who dresses like he has a standing appointment with a tailor. The third is that standing between his knees while holding both of his hands feels much more intimate than anything that should qualify as professional cursework.

The fact that Riordan is peering down at me with those gold eyes has absolutely nothing to do with how warm I suddenly am. Nope. It’s his shifter heat and that’s all.

Just in case…

“Close your eyes,” I murmur.

“Does that help me or you?”

“Yes.”

That almost-smile of his appears again before he does what I said and closes his eyes.

I do the same, and then I feel.

Cursebreaking isn’t anything like ordinary magic. Not for me, at least. There’s no fumbling for the right words or me freaking out, making sure I remembered every step of a spell before I inevitably mess it up. Instead, the power is both instinctive and strong, and I let it flow through our joined hands.

At first, I feel Riordan.

His aura is stronger than most shifters I’ve worked on before. Bigger, too, though I’m not sure if that’s because he’s an alpha wolf or simply because he’s Riordan. His dominance feels wild beneath the surface, restrained by the man holding my hands, yet undeniably powerful.

Then I touch the curse.

My breath catches.

It’s everywhere.

Just like I suspected, it doesn’t sit on top of his natural aura. It winds through it, twisting around the wild pulse of his wolf until I have trouble telling them apart. Every time I follow one thread, it knots around another piece of him, and when I probe deeper, the curse seems to disappear straight into the dominant magic that marks him as an alpha.

That’s when I understand.

All along, I thought his curse was similar to this mortal movie I once watched. Only, instead of the heroine being cursed to obey every order she hears, the hero in front of me was cursed so that anyone he commands has no choice but to listen to him and do it.