Page 101 of Magic of the Damned

“Peter is quite skilled at misdirection. Before, I thought it was the marking on your hand only and the spell. It would have slipped my notice if he hadn’t cloaked your identifier.”

“Birthmark.”

He frowned. “I don’t know if it’s a birthmark. I’ve explored every inch of you,” he said, giving me a look that probed at the memory of that, “and there’s a lighter discoloration on your right thigh. I believe that’s your birthmark.”

I eyed the small orb. “If that gets broken, what happens to the magic?”

“It’ll be released. I’d like to take it, but I’m not sure if I can hold it. Witches can’t steal my magic. It’s incompatible. The same happened with you. You thought you couldn’t hold witch magic. That wasn’t the case. The Tenebras magic was dormant and it was warring with the witch magic.”

Growing silent, I contemplated trying the magic, seeing if I could wield it for my benefit, essentially. But doing so would undeniably catapult me into the world I desperately wanted to escape. Curiosity got the best of me.

“I want to try a spell—to see.”

He nodded. Opening the drawer to his desk, he pulled out a book. “Let’s try something simple,” he suggested, pointing to a spell.

It didn’t seem simple. To them, maybe. It appeared to be a transfer spell, moving an object from one place to another in the room.

“Does size matter?” I asked.

“I don’t know, does it matter to you?” he teased.

I glared. “Remember the guidelines.”

“Of course, Luna.” The low rumble of his words told me he had no intention of complying.

“The object’s size. Does something small require less effort?”

He shook his head. Magic, like anything, seemed easy when a person had mastered it. I decided to try something small. Moving the jar of ink. Looking at the spell, I said the words, then looked at my target, commanding its compliance to move to the other side of the table. It gave me the middle finger. After five more attempts, I gave up. I wasn’t sure why Dominic had me attempt more spells, but in the end we discovered that I couldn’t control elements, calm him or myself, or use defensive or offensive magic. I wasn’t going to knock him down or pin him to the wall with magic. Nor could I protect myself from magic with a ward. We even dabbled in seeing whether I could grow claws. Nothing. My sole purpose for magic was to be a vessel, from where magic could be pulled by others to be used by them. That wasn’t a good feeling, like a sordid violation.

“Now what?” I asked, plopping onto the luxurious pebble-color leather tuxedo sofa, which looked more comfortable than it felt. Rigid and practical like the rest of the minimalist room. There wasn’t any décor on the walls. Not even a task light, but when you can call light at will, it wasn’t necessary. His large, plain black desk was brought to life by the brass handles on the drawer. The console, on the other side of the room, was for storage. Nothing about this room was meant for comfort or solace.

“We do the spell to remove the magic. Peter won’t have a well to pull from, and hopefully it will make the spell he’s using to imprison us null.”

And without me as a source of magic for him, I would no longer be any use to him.

CHAPTER 9

The room held a steely silence as Dominic leaned against the desk, drawn into his thoughts and absently rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, drawing my attention to the ink markings on them. His spicy sandalwood scent permeated the room. Dominic’s bemused eyes lifted to meet mine, and he flashed a smile, making me blink hard at the realization that I wasn’t just looking, I was gawking. His merciless beauty was captivating.

“I think you’re beautiful, too,” he said in a low, smoky voice.

“What?” Panic raced through me. Could he read my thoughts? That would explain how he seemed to anticipate a lot of my actions. That had to be just anecdotal. I had plenty of thoughts that if he knew them would have definitely caused problems between us. There would be more hostility.

“You were staring,” he noted. “Most women do…” After a moment of consideration, he amended. “Most people.”

“Everyone thinks you’re hot. How do you manage such a burden?”

“Not a burden at all. It has its advantages,” he touted with a level of confidence that quite efficiently straddled the line between admirable and infuriating.

“But you possess something far more extraordinary,” he admitted. A hint of reluctance was in his voice as he studied me with the intensity of looking at a specimen under a microscope. A strange specimen. “I encounter a large array of supernaturals and humans. They provide that hint of humanity that keeps me grounded in purpose. There’s something quite alluring about you, Luna. It vexes me that I can’t place it. Something I’ve never experienced in the centuries I’ve existed. What is it?” The latter was a speculative whisper. The desperation to find the answer lingered in his voice.

“Maybe it’s as simple as you like me. Is there something wrong with that?”

The crease of his frown showed an internal battle that I couldn’t quite understand until I remembered the way he had looked at me. His struggle with leaving the vessel be, when the most effective thing to do would be to break the vessel.

“Yes, there is,” he admitted, turning away from me to gather the orb and knife and unceremoniously putting an end to the conversation. “Ready?” he asked, his back still to me.

Hauling to stand, I approached him, extending my hand much closer.

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