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Suddenly, as if provoked by her thoughts, the ice began to melt, and she couldn’t determine the causality except perhaps her desire alone. She wanted, therefore it was. Could it really be that easy? It hadn’t been last night. She had simply wanted a single leaf from the plant June had gifted her to grow and unfurrow for her. She’d worked for hours on that single task, then suddenly, minutes before Orik had returned, giving her no time to undo the mess, an explosion of glittering foliage had burst through the room end to end.
The anger she’d expected. An argument, sure. But the threat to send her away, back to Earth where she would once again be alone, had cut her to the bone. As though depriving her of magic was more important than either of their happiness.
From somewhere on the other side of the door, another curse filtered in. The last of the ice dripped to the floor, revealing the door. She turned the handle and stepped out.
Then froze.
He’d dressed for battle as well…or to be more precise, hehadn’t. Brilliant bastard. But for a fluffy white towel held around his waist, his big, goliath chest was bare, dotted with beads of water. His hair was damp and slicked back off his face. He stood in the doorway of the spare bathroom, haloed in soft light, flowers twinkling around him.
She bit her lip, swaying from a wave of lust.
He was sucking on his pointer finger, making her remember the wonders of that talented mouth. She cocked her head. Why was he doing that?
He glared at her and dropped his hand, fisting it at his side. “Your fucking flowers have grown thorns…” He trailed off, going still as his gaze slowly devoured her, catching on all his favorite bumps and curves. Desire bloomed behind his eyes, and she could swear she felt the sudden hot blast of it hit her head on.
How fitting. They wanted each other, craved each other, yearned for each other, but they were separated by a thorny battlefield of their own making.More literally, ofmymaking. When had the thorns grown? Just now, because of her mood? Had she made them appear, or did magic have a mind of its own?
He shook his head as though to clear away all that beautiful desire in his expression, and he once more turned cold. “Either do something to clean thisshiteup or I’ll burn it to cinder.”
“Oh, so now youwantme to use magic? Now that it suits you? Now that it’sconvenient?”
“I saidclean it up, not magic it away,” he replied tersely, then muttered, “As long as it’s gone by the time I return this evening, I don’t much care what method of extraction you use. I just don’t want to know about it.”
She tossed him a disappointed look. Would she really be forced to choose between him and exploring her magic? She wasn’t sure if she could simply shut off what was quickly becoming part of her essential being on a visceral level. The feminist in her screamed that she shouldn’t have to. She’d accepted that he turned into a snarling fire-breathing, yacht-sized, carnivorous creature. Couldn’t he accept that sometimes she bent the immutable laws of physics with her mind?
He looked away.
“You’ll be gone all day?” she said, torn between wanting him gone so she could feel free to be herself, practice her magic—she wasn’t giving it up, no matter how loudly he groused—and wanting him to stay.
“Aye, unless the hunt ends early.”
“Hunt?” Why did that send a shudder down her spine?
He met her gaze with a chilling pledge. “We will find the witch who marked you and eliminate him.”
* * *
Hours later, Jessie sat on the partly cleared sofa, her hands blistered and marred by thousands of tiny cuts. No matter how hard she’d tried, the sparkling flora refused to respond to her attempts to “magic it away.” Frustrated and looking forward to a little exercise, she’d grabbed her Ka-Bar and started hacking away. She’d succeeded in clearing a narrow path from the entrance through the seating area and out to the balcony.
At first, the exertion worked her ire clear out, but then the gates opened to a slow-rising tide of disquiet.
All morning she’d tried not to worry about Orik confronting the witch who’d tagged her. Could he contend with such a powerful being and come away unscathed? What if that man really was the witch from his past…Rathmort? Could Orik handle the emotional shock and keep his wits? Rathmort would most certainly be more powerful now, it if was true he still lived. But then, so was Orik. She reminded herself he was The Destroyer, but only a few days ago a malicious curse nearly claimed his life.
If she had mastery of her powers, she’d have insisted on going with him and provide valuable backup. As it was, she couldn’t even defeat a nest of effervescent shrubbery. Sometimes accessing the secrets to her powers seemed so easy, like turning a key in a lock. Other times it felt like trying to break through a ten-ton safe.
She only wished there was someone she could talk to about all this. Someone who understood what she was going through, maybe offer advice. June could sympathize, commiserate on some level, but she couldn’treallyunderstand. Tristan had accepted her fully, even before June had been dragon-enhanced.
If only that witch in the woods had been serious about wanting to teach her, without all the ominous overtures and general skeeviness.
She sat up. Maybe therewassomeone who could help guide her. She’d been wanting to find time to search for Xanthia. Now seemed as good a time as any.
Thirty minutes later, Ka-Bar fastened at her waist, she sleuthed through the castle, slipping from one exquisitely decorated hall to the next. It took her a while to find familiar ground, but soon enough she was slinking down into the darker depths of the castle where this world’s criminals were kept.
The dungeon was exactly as she remembered it. Dimly lit, stinking of staleness and mold and perspiration. She peeked around a murky corner, making sure no guards were waiting to seize her the moment she stepped from the darkness. Once certain she was alone, she padded forward through a hall of dingy cells, some empty, some occupied. She only briefly observed the inhabitants as she strode by. Most of them were men. Luckily, many were asleep, while others paid her no mind. But some glanced up in surprise. A few of their gazes sparked with male interest, but they didn’t call attention to her presence. As she trudged on, she glanced behind her, noticing several sets of hands grasping bars in her wake, peeking heads trying to keep her in sight.
Just as she approached her old cell, a familiar voice fired from her right. “What are you up to, witch?”
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