Page 47 of Magic of the Damned

“Is he still alive?” It took a moment for me to get the question out, afraid of the answer. He had been staked in the chest. It seemed like a harsh enough punishment.

“He doesn’t breathe or have a working circulatory system,” Dominic pointed out.

“Is he still around?”

“No, but Bael is,” he told me. “The shifter who attacked you,” he added in response to my questioning look.

“Then I should be fine. The Awakeners won’t hurt me. I die and the prisoners are returned. That won’t serve their purpose if they’re looking to secure an alliance with them.”

He nodded but still looked unconvinced. “Understand that my sister will be here whenever you arrive unaccompanied,” he reminded me.

Yes, I was perfectly aware of that. “You two seem to be playing nice,” I said.

“She’s playing nice because I’m the means to her getting back her magic. I know my sister well. To her, you are simply a toy she has the opportunity to break as a way to retaliate against me.”

I frowned. “Toy?”

“No worries. I have no intention of playing with you.” His gaze was playful, his smirk a sensual taunt. “Unless you want me to,” he tacked on in a husky drawl.

“No,” I sputtered. It didn’t ring true or have the level of assertion to wipe away his smirk.

“Luna, why do you really want this?”

His brow hitched as he studied me. I wasn’t giving him anything.

“We want the same thing. As you said, our interests align.”

Nodding his head slowly, he considered my answer, but it was apparent he remained unconvinced.

“If there’s a protection spell around the markings, how do we get around it?” I was genuinely curious about that, but the question also served to redirect his scrutiny.

“Magic. We have to get you your own. That should be an acceptable workaround.”

It’s that easy? Just get you magic and while we’re at it, let’s end world hunger, negotiate global peace, and develop great-tasting zero-calorie chocolate.

“Is it as simple as you’re making it sound?” It might be that simple. He was magic and had an abundance of overlapping magic.

He shook his head. “Not at all. If it were as simple as loaning my magic to you, maybe.”

“Why make it harder than it needs to be? Or is the idea of you being without magic for a day too much?”

“My magic will kill you,” he provided with an easy shrug. “Witches crave magic and although it is against their laws—violations are met with swift and pitiless penalties—there’s always one Strata Three who wants to take it to another level.”

“You’re that next level.”

Oh, Prince, modesty doesn’t fit you, I thought at his downcast eyes and his failed attempt at humility.

“It’s been tried twice—and they both died. I didn’t kill them,” he added before I could ask or get the inquiring look off my face. “It will have to be witch magic.”

“I’m human. Will it work for me? Isn’t it usually witch to witch? A stronger witch taking magic from a lesser?”

He assured me with an unenthusiastic nod, but I needed much more than that.

“How do you know?”

His eyes dropped to the ring. “Because that would have killed you.”

“What?” I fumbled out.

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