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I blink.
Is that a tattoo?
It is. It’s written in a strange style, but the more I look at it, it’s like I can translate, turning the letters into the English alphabet.
K…E…N—Kennedy.
Why does this demon have the name ‘Kennedy’ carved in his chest, set with a shimmery, silver ink that stands out on his red skin?
Mate, supplies a little voice in the back of his head. She’s his mate.
I don’t know about you, but ‘Kennedy’ doesn’t seem like the name for a demoness.
At least now I have a good idea how this demon knows my language…
Whatever. I don’t care about that.
I point my finger at his chest. “You can’t stop me.” Loki totally can. “I have to go after him. He… that’s my mate.”
Loki’s glowing purple eyes flared brightly before dimming again. “I warned him,” he rumbles. “I warned him not to mess with the old magic. And now he’s left you here on your own.” The demon gnashes his fangs; surprisingly, he doesn’t frighten me. “Gods damn it. He would have been better off making you forget him.”
Yeah, well, maybe—but he didn’t, and if he got to know me at all—from watching me as a ghost, or from my essence—then he had to expect I wouldn’t just shrug and wave goodbye.
“He belongs to the duke now,” is all he says before he glances behind him at the portal thing as if someone was calling him. He turns back, frowning as he quickly adds, “The book. You have the book?”
The book? The grimoire?
“I… yes, but—”
Loki takes a step back. “It will give you all the answers you need. Use it.”
Use it? For what? “What?”
“You’re not the only one,” he grates out, using one of his thick claws to underline the tattoo on his chest.
Then, before I can ask him why that matters, he turns on his heel and walks right into the flames. An instant later, the portal winks out, leaving me standing alone in my bedroom with a rumpled bed, a thudding heart, and a stomach that’s too twisted up for—
Breakfast.
Shit!
I smelled something burning while I was glaring at the demon. Part of me just assumed it was courtesy of the flames in the magic portal, but the moment it’s gone, the stink of acrid, bitter, burnt bacon reaches me.
Shit, shit, shit!
I race downstairs, yipping when I see the plume of faint grey smoke rising up over the ruined bacon. Turning the burner off, I toss the pan to the cool one next to it, wafting wildly before the smoke sets my alarm off.
Once I’m certain I’m not going to burn down my house, I leave the kitchen a miss, heading right for my living room. I have a pang in my chest when I notice the Ouija board still set up from last night. It gets worse when my bare feet tromp all over the sprinkled salt, tracking it even more across the floor as I head right for the spellbook.
It’s open to the ‘true love’ spell. Thinking that’s what Loki meant, I struggle through reading the manifest part, then the promise. It’s even weirder that, when I’m on the second paragraph, the letters shift the same way the ones on Loki’s chest did, turning from Sombran to English.
Even so, nothing freaking happens.
Okay. That would have been really nice if I could read the spell and bring Sammael back to me, but I doubted it would be that easy. There had to be a reason why the two demons bothered with putting chains on my mate, right? How much do I want to bet they’ll prevent any magic use, either from Sammael or anyone trying to use it to summon him.
Flipping through the book, I see if there are any other spells that might dosomething.
I’m too frustrated to really look. All I keep thinking about is that last look Sammael gave me, like he knew this separation was coming and that he was trying to memorize my face.
