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“The choice isn’t yours. I’ve done my research into the Old Ways. It doesn’t matter who a debt is owed to and who imposes a lien. Either party can put an end to it, as long as the debt is settled.”
He likes people to fight back, to challenge him. I understood it the day he unleashed the Greenfire on me. Retaliate, and he’ll up the ante. Surrender, and he doesn’t know what to do. Vulnerability terrifies him, and I’m giving it to him in spades.
“Why?”
“I can’t fight against you with this hanging over my head. I couldn’t get a word out in court. My relationships collapse. I don’t think my family can fully trust me. You tell people I’m yours and on one level, I can’t deny it, and the thought horrifies me.”
I think about you when I’m in bed with other people. I think about you when I’m in bed by myself. I think about you nonstop. I need this to end.
“If it really bothers you that much, consider the debt written off. I’ve told you before: I’m not a nice person, but I’m not a monster. I was never really going to cash it in.”
My head starts to spin. What the hell? Surely tackling the issue that’s defined my life for years on end can’t be that easy.
“Then why did you impose it in the first place?”
“I told you. I imposed the lien to dig the knife in deeper with your family and to give me some leverage in case I ever needed it.”
I study his face. His eyes look sincere, but some sixth sense tells me this is half the truth at best.
“And why me? The others offered.”
“Like I said back then, prettiest face, strongest magic, most effective way to hurt the Sadlers.”
He still sounds believable, but this time, I’m sure he’s not telling the whole story. For a start, while I’ve got a reasonably high opinion of myself, no one in their right mind would think I was better looking than Chrissie or more powerful than Bren. Beyond that, he’s already told me that he’d thought about me before that night. But why? How?
He leans towards me, takes my branded hand, and slips off the ring. He stares disdainfully at the offending piece of jewellery. “If you were that desperate to hide the lien mark, I could have given you something much prettier.”
His hand closes around mine. He presses our entwined hands against my sternum, then leans forward even further, so that his chest touches our hands and his forehead makes contact with mine. I stare deeply into his eyes. I long to close mine, but even with the bracelets blocking my connection to my powers, I can sense the eye contact is part of the magic. It’s so like that night that haunts my dreams that I could almost have stepped back in time.
To distract myself from the memories, I start to count. At ninety-nine, I feel a jolt at my chest and a burning in my finger. There’s pain and relief all at once, like stretching out an aching muscle.
“It’s done,” he says, but he makes no move to separate us. “The lien’s gone.”
I snatch my hand free from his grasp. The mark has disappeared. My hand looks odd without it.
“You’ve removed it. No tricks and no deals and no debts. You’ve lost your leverage and your way to hurt my family more. Why wouldyoupossibly do that?”
“Because I’m beyond delighted that you rocked up at my house on a gorgeous summer’s evening, demanding sex, and making clear that you weren’t willing to take no for an answer.”
I straightened up. “You’re utterly crazy. I didn’t come here because I wanted to sleep with you. I came here to break the lien, whatever it took. And now it’s gone, I’m going to leave.”
“It’s gone, and you’re free to go. But all those things you blamed on the lien. All the facets of our connection. The way you physically couldn’t speak against me in court. Do you think a simple deal took away your free will and invaded your mind to that extent? Can you look at me now, free of that old debt, and honestly tell me you feel nothing?”
I look at him, trying to be logical and methodical about it. Trying to size him up like an opponent in court or a casual date. It’s impossible. He’s already far too deep in my mind.
He’s removed the lien; I believe him on that score. But he’s not removed my fascination or the questions that lurk at the back of my mind. If I don’t act on this in the here and now, I’ll continue to play it out in the darkest reaches of my mind, again and again and again.
It’s just sex. It’s not like I’m a naïve little innocent. I’ve had casual flings with intriguing strangers, and short-term relationships with people I’ve liked and respected. But Gabriel doesn’t really fall into either of those categories.
“If we’re going to do this, let’s do it,” I say, standing up and taking his hand. “I want to screw you out of my mind.”
Gabriel’s eyes are wide. Whatever he expected my response to be, it clearly wasn’t quite this. But even in his own home, even with my magic blocked, I’m the one in control.
He opens the study door and leads me out into a hallway. A little group of party guests—two men and one woman—are lingering. One of them opens their mouth as though they can barely resist the urge to ask a question, but at one glance from Gabriel, all three of them hold their silence and look away.
We arrive at his bedroom with no further disturbances. It’s the one room I really recognise from my last visit. The accuracy with which I’ve replicated its early Victorian opulence in my regular fantasies is quite impressive.
Finding myself in a bedroom with a strange man and only one thing on our minds is a familiar experience. I pride myself on my poise, my nonchalance. I’m confident about my body. I’m comfortable with my sexual prowess. I’m utterly sex positive. Just recently, with Connor in Mannith and with Christopher in London, all of that’s been true. I’ve shrugged off my clothes and draped myself over the bed or around my wannabe lover. But confronted with the prospect of sex with Gabriel, I’m frozen like a self-conscious teenager.
