Page 56 of Magic of the Damned

“You’re not nearly as clever and sneaky as you believe yourself to be. Your slow reaction wasn’t for deliberation; it was to provide him the opportunity to kill Luna. The second one, you weren’t aiding me; it was a chance for him to finish where the first one had failed,” he said in a low, carefully controlled, rough voice. “They nearly killed Luna, and that was your intention.” He turned on his heels, striding past me, leaving me in her crosshairs. Her features wilted into a sullen look of disappointment before it snapped into anger, which she directed at me.

“Don’t you dare be smug,” she snarled. She had definitely misread my expression. Not smug. Shock. I had given her the benefit of the doubt. I knew in the moment of fighting and chaos, it was hard to prioritize and errors in judgment were inevitable. But they hadn’t been errors—they were opportunities for my assassination.

Her movements were like the strike of a serpent, quick and deadly as she devoured the space between us. Refusing to cower, I squared my shoulders and met her blazing, spiteful eyes.

“Don’t be too confident in Dominic’s protection. He only seeks to capture and destroy the only person whose magic rivals ours. This is not an act of altruism. It’s ego-driven and nothing more. When he finds you have no value to him and aren’t a means to a satisfying end, he’ll go nuclear.” Her nails swiped across my neck. I knew she wished she had her claws. “Then there will be no more Luna.”

Stepping away, I said, “You mean, magic that rivals his. You no longer have magic.” Turning from her, I kept looking forward, feeling her hard stare boring into me. I didn’t care about her or her hate-laced glares. If she attacked me, I was going to fight dirty. I wasn’t above using the tried-and-true windmill tactic. I was bound to land at least one good blow.

Dominic hadn’t waited for me, which was probably best. I needed some time alone to process everything. Making my way to the room where I’d stayed before, it surprised me to find Dominic seated in the chair, legs spread, deep in thought. His eyes slowly moved to mine. The raw depths held a level of unrestrained violence and calculating intensity that supported Helena’s comments.

He rose from his chair like a numinous wave. Not only had an attempt on my life been made, but one on his as well.

I pointed to my overnight bag, which I hadn’t considered when we were leaving the store. It had the Trapsen and the knife in it. Placed in my locker, I didn’t fear it would be taken. If found, it would probably be by someone who had no idea what it was. But I felt better knowing that a pathway to the Underworld was no longer in my locker—secured only by a padlock. And since Dominic had it, not one vulnerable to supernatural lock picking.

“My bag,” I said, hoping to start some dialogue because him motionlessly watching me was off-putting.

He nodded, not offering anything more of an explanation.

“What’s going to happen to Books and Brew? There’s no way magic can fix that.”

I’d seen the height of it, but illusions could only go so far. Could magic replicate the scorched books, renew the destroyed display shelves and bookcases? Or the blood, vampire dust, and fog of powerful magic I was convinced lingered in the room?

Dominic had settled into silence as he stood in front of me. It ticked on so long that I didn’t think he’d answer.

“This isn’t the first time we have had to handle something like this. It will look like a random act of property destruction. There will be recompense for loss of income. The store will be back to normal in three or four days.”

“How much of this efficiency will be a result of mind manipulation and compulsion? Making people perform for the magical puppet masters.”

He blinked once, his fiery amber eyes an abyss that was hard to pull from. “Do you have other options? If so, do tell.”

The fact that I didn’t frustrated me even more.

“You wear your thoughts on your face,” he told me.

“Good, then you know how exasperating and overwhelming all of this is.”

He closed the distance between us, putting me face to face with him. The continued silence, taut as a stretched rubber band, remained between us. When it snapped, would I be verbally sparring with the Prince of the Underworld?

The light touch across my cheek was a contrast to the intense, painful-looking scowl that did nothing to diminish his appealing features. It enhanced it—a cruel beauty.

“Does it hurt?” he asked. “The bruise,” he added, answering my confused look. I shook my head; it had just merged with all my other aches and bruises. With the adrenaline gone, I felt them even more.

“Why didn’t you leave with him?”

“As if that was a choice. Remember, I only have the illusion of choice.”

His finger moved from my cheek and was resting against my hand. Warmth slithered around me, his intoxicating smell enveloped me, and I let myself be submerged in the depth of his eyes. Searching for answers that he wouldn’t willingly offer. He was a mass of contradictions. Raw power and violence but capable of gentleness. A fuse just waiting to be ignited but stalwart tolerance with Helena, and even with me.

“I wouldn’t have stopped you,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“It wouldn’t have stopped the plans I have, but if you needed to be with him, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“I don’t think I will ever need to be with him.”

He let the surprise show on his face.

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