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She clutches the blade, clearly not trusting me enough to go without a weapon. But I suspect she has another purpose for the dagger.
She’s powerful. She doesn’t need a weapon any more than I do.
The energy radiating from her is intense and intoxicating.
It’s also veryfamiliar.
She’s not a vampire. While vampires typically have heartbeats, they are… calmer. What gives her away is the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her heart is racing and I can count every pump of blood.
But she is a witch and clearly familiar with death magic.
A necromancer, perhaps? But she feels different from any necromancers I’ve met.
I’m intrigued by her energy signature as she leaves the room, presumably expecting me to follow.
I do.
While I pocket my soiled handkerchief, she guides me to an office of sorts.
It’s more like a witch’s lair with spell books, ingredients, and potions that imbue the place with mint. It’s a chaotic system of papers and various items that makes my fingers itch to start cleaning and sorting.
I’m notoriously organized.
A few more memories trickle back into my mind, informing me of the book in my pocket buried underneath my stash of handkerchiefs.
It’s a list of names, one of which is Ishara Doyle. There are notes next to the name of a mute witch living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere.
“It’s close to the dukes’ headquarters, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble. She’s alone, and as long as you approach her by surprise, she poses no threat. The reward, though, will be the information you’ve been seeking for a very, very long time.”
The voice of the male who ordered the hit makes my brain itch in all the wrong ways. For some reason, there had been a desperation to his words as if he wanted me to find what I was looking for even more than I did.
Which was odd, something I intended to investigate.
After Ishara’s death.
He hadn’t told me her power—said that wasn’t necessary to know if I did my job right.
But I don’t like this memory and I shut it off before it can go any further. It has to do with the guilt that claws behind the netting.
And the list of names? It’s a secret collection not approved by the dukes that this witchling mentioned.
A swallow works down my throat because I have the sinking feeling that Iamhere to harm her.
She has something to do with my dark past, whether she realizes it or not.
She has her back to me—another show of trust I don’t deserve—as she fumbles through her books.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, edging around her shoulder.
She freezes when my chest presses against her back. I can’t help but initiate contact.
Something is drawing me to her and it’s only getting stronger. Her spell clearly was one that only altered my memories. It didn’t cause this attraction that seems to be going both ways.
Because it’s an outside force.
Making her my…
Fated mate.
