Page 60 of Magic of the Damned

That was apparent.

“Can bullets and blades hurt you?”

“They hurt,” he offered in a level voice.

They hurt. Well, Prince, they hurt everyone, but will you die? “That’s nothing notable. I think they hurt everyone.”

“I’m very difficult to kill.” He leaned toward me, a hint of a warning.

It wasn’t even a fully formed thought—just a fleeting moment of me knowing I had other ways to protect myself against him and Helena. One freaking passing thought. A half thought. Not even a complete thought.

“Tomorrow, we’ll get you magic and you’ll do the spells and this should be over for you.”

“But not for you?”

He shook his head. “There are other players involved and I need to find out who they are. What their endgame is. Those people who came after us—after you—weren’t the Conventicle guards and they aren’t allies of the Awakeners. If I figure out their objective, then I’ll know how to deal with them.”

“Perhaps they’re just the ruthless arm of the Awakeners,” I tossed out but quickly added, “but that wouldn’t explain them killing Rei and the others. If they were allies, they wouldn’t have tried to kill me. If anything, they’re more aligned with the Conventicle.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Unless there’s about to be an attempt at a coup. Perhaps they don’t like the agreement the Conventicle has with me. That may be why killing me was a bonus.” Looking down at the blood splatters on his shirt, he added, “I should shower and change.”

Had he only just noticed that?

I had to drag my eyes away from the exposed warm, olive-colored skin, the sculpted stomach muscles, and the light trail of hair leading into his pants when he tugged his shirt from his pants, examining the crimson stains on the bottom of the shirt.

“Do you need anything, Luna?” he asked, dropping his shirt.

“What?” I wasn’t leering. I know I wasn’t. It was just a casual perusal. Of the Prince of the Underworld, Luna, I scolded. The Underworld.

That should have been sobering. I blamed my gawking on everything that had happened today. My body still hummed from the adrenaline rush. The highs and lows. The attempts on my life. That was all. I’d be ogling any moderately attractive man. That was my story and I was sticking to it.

“Food, drink, a platter of chocolate?”

I nodded. I hadn’t eaten since lunch. “Food—definitely. Vodka in a Big Gulp cup, and I’d take a small tower of the chocolate you had earlier.” I planned to take that home with me. It was expensive, decadent, and the type of chocolate I couldn’t afford to treat myself to.

“Very well. I’ll see what I can do about the Big Gulp of vodka. We usually only have wine.”

I shrugged; my taste in alcohol wasn’t very discerning. I wanted something to take the edge off and to make sure it didn’t involve being naked with the prince.

“Very well.”

He left, but there was a smugness to him. His teeth gripped his lips.

“Meet me in the kitchen in an hour.”

CHAPTER 18

After a half-hour shower, I headed down and found Dominic seated, with an empty plate off to the side, a different notebook than our original in front of him, and sipping on wine. He gave me a once-over: the damp hair pulled into an untidy bun, loose-fitting Dorian Gray t-shirt, threadbare leggings, and fluffy ankle socks. I wasn’t going for sexy but wouldn’t have known that from the look Dominic gave me. He seemed most intrigued by my t-shirt, giving it a long, languid look.

In a black, soft-looking cotton t-shirt and age-worn jeans, he was the most casual I’d seen him, but he still possessed the refinement of someone wearing a bespoke suit. The edges of his exposed tattoos shimmered under the halo of the warm yellow lights.

“No Big Gulp,” he said, “but we had enough to make you a French martini.”

I took a small sip. It was really good.

It wasn’t until the smell of the steak, caramelized potatoes, and tomatoes skewered with mozzarella hit me that my stomach started growling uncontrollably. Since he hadn’t waited for me, I tore into the food.

I drank the water provided instead of the martini. Looking up from my plate, feeling the heat of embarrassment inch its way up my neck and cheeks, I said, “I was hungrier than I thought.” I wiped my mouth with the napkin and took a sip of martini. “Thank you.”

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