Page 91 of Magic of the Damned

“You’ve not had me as one, either. I can guarantee, you don’t want me as one.”

I can attest, you all need a family counselor.

As she angrily flounced away, Dominic returned to his chair in silence. I wanted to return to searching the books for possible spells, but I just couldn’t do it. Were we supposed to behave as though that dysfunctional drama didn’t need to be discussed? Did he consider that entire interaction normal?

I made a sincere effort to overlook it as I flipped through several pages and asked the correct questions only for him to inform me that the spell was inappropriate or had been attempted before. By the twentieth spell, my mind was so clouded with the interaction between his family that I had to give up.

“Your father’s interesting,” I cited, leaving an opening for more dialogue.

His fingers clasped behind his head, the languid way he was sitting back in the chair, his slim-fit shirt pulled over his impressive form, and his eyes roving over the titles on the shelves behind me all gave the impression that his father being interesting wasn’t a mutual belief.

“I take it you two don’t get along,” I probed.

Brow furrowed, he pulled his attention from the books to me. “What gives you that impression?”

What gives me that impression! Had we witnessed two different interactions? An incredulous blink was all I could muster. He had to be screwing with me.

“I don’t think our interaction is any different than anyone else.”

“I suppose. My dad has asked me to kill a bug or two, yours a person. Totally similar.”

A smile coursed over his lips. But I persisted. I wouldn’t be sidetracked by a sultry smile and an amused glint in his eyes.

“My brother and I have our share of disagreements, but he doesn’t try to slice and dice my face when it happens, nor does he add me to his list of enemies. I’m positive his enemies list consists of whoever tries to price gouge when game consoles become scarce, and the inventor of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. He really has it out for that person.”

That pulled a chuckle from him, but it was strained.

“You didn’t share the information about my birthmark being cloaked.”

“I have no answers so there isn’t anything to discuss.”

“Finding that it was cloaked isn’t worthy of discussion?”

He shook his head. “It could mean nothing.” That’s a lie. “Or it could mean everything. Does your brother have a birthmark like yours?”

“Not like mine. His looks like a—” I searched for the right way to describe a haphazard starburst enclosed in a circle. It was the best way to describe it, so that’s what I provided to Dominic, who took in the information with a nod. He stood and approached the bookshelf at the opposite end of the room, unceremoniously putting an end to our conversation. But that wouldn’t discourage me from continuing my questioning. I simply grabbed a notebook and pen from the middle of the table. On the paper, I wrote “Dark Caster” and “Imprisoned.” The cause and the effect. And the line down the middle was to divide the spells that had been performed and the potential.

“You did ward and binding spells for the property,” I said, “but Helena pointed out that you never did one on me. Maybe you should.”

“I have,” he admitted, taking a book from the shelf and flipping through it.

“What? When?”

“When I started questioning you about what had occurred before you ended up here.”

I remembered the lull into complacency as the lavender-scented magic spun around me. I’d thought that was a tool to make me more pliant to his questioning. I didn’t like it but at least I knew what had been done to me.

“You were distracted,” he provided, answering my questioning look. No, he was distracting me. The questioning, the touching, the warmth that wrapped around me were spells being performed without my knowledge.

“Do not do spells on me without me giving approval,” I said. “I get a say in it all.”

His attention snapped in my direction. I got a fleeting glimpse of the man who’d taken on a bar full of people, killed assassins with minimal effort, and struck contempt and fear in powerful supernaturals. It was enough to make me cower. But I wouldn’t.

“Do you?”

Squaring my shoulders, I stood from my seat. “Yes, I do.” Not enough conviction in my voice to do anything more than amuse him.

“How do you plan to enforce that?” he asked in a neutral tone.

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