Page 33 of Blood on the Ice

“Mmmmm,” he replies, leaning in to nuzzle the shell of my ear. “I suppose it will.”

That was too easy.

I give him a suspicious look, but he just smiles innocently. Finally, I tilt my cheek into his face, enjoying the casual intimacy. “Why do you look so happy to get a punishment? Am I wrong about Slade?”

“Nope. He’s a siren or something, I think. I heard someone talking about the grad student who lives with a professor and plays so beautifully it will make you bawl.”

I’m not focused on departments other than sports right now, so I hadn’t heard that.

“I’d like to hear it. I’ve always enjoyed music and London was full of amazing experiences in that arena, both human and supernatural. There was always somewhere to find musicians and singers making melodies that even calmed the beasts inside me.” I frown, turning my head away for a moment as I mutter. “I had to go alone, though. I’ve never been able to share that love with anyone.”

He raises his hand and pulls my face towards him. “I’ll go with you. Musicals, symphonies, ballet, jazz bands… anything you want. I grew up attending everything from state dinners to private celebrity concerts. The arts may not be my gift, but I love them. Though, you’ll have to help me with visual art—unless it’s well known, recognizable shit, I don’t always catch the meaning.”

My heart damn near stops as I gaze into his eyes, gauging the sincerity of his words. He’s not lying; he really will go to any damn artsy fartsy thing I want without a word of complaint.Holy shit.Ducking my head, I whisper, “Thank you. Maybe you can… show me why you love hockey? I’m not very sporty, but I can learn. And I’d want to see you play, of course.”

Lucas beams. “Sure. I’ll teach you if you’d like. Hell, you might even enjoy some of it. It gets rough and you’re a scrapper, I can tell.”

“I killed a dragon, Lucas. I can hold my own if need be.”

Shit. Why did you bring that up, Morgana?

The silence hangs in the air for a moment, then he shrugs. “You must have had a good reason, and I hope someday you’ll tell me.I sense it’s more than what has made it out of the trial transcripts and maybe even more than you told them. I don’t think you’d kill without a reason; it doesn’t feel like you.”

“You just met me,” I point out, not meeting his eyes.

He snorts. “Yeah. But I watched you take in that body at the rink. You weren’t studying it like it was athing; your face was sad because it was a person. Stone cold killers can’t mimic empathy, Morgana.”

Frowning, I shrug. “Everyone has a dark side, Lucas. We’re all capable of very bad things when pushed and sometimes, it’s easier to hide what you’re feeling than allow others to use your emotions against you.”

I can’t go any farther until I’m ready to talk about Magnus and the past. He might not feel as kindly towards me when he hears the actual story.

But that’s for another time.

black magic woman

Ihad to cut off Iggy’s coffee and whiskey at one point. He’s oddly nervous about this meeting and, for the first time, I can’t tell if it’s because we don’t have all the answers or because of the woman we’re visiting. I’ve known him for so long it feels like I can barely remember a time when he wasn’t a major part of my life, but this is a side of him I’ve never seen.

Ignatius Briarton might actuallylikethis woman.

Chuckling to myself as I drive back from Belle’s with the feast we ordered, I swing into the drive of our townhouse and park Iggy’s Bentley. I’m not overly fond of tooling around in a car that costs more than most people’s yearly income, but when you live with a Briarton, you have to get used to that kind of shit. Iggy has ties that could pay someone’s rent for a month, and I’m still terrified to ask how much his damn pocket watch is worth. It’s clearly pre-Witch Trials, inscribed in Aramaic, and looks as though it belongs in a museum under twenty-four-hour guard. But Iggy swears it’s been passed down to the heir apparent of every generation forever and doesn’t seem to be bothered because it’s worth so fucking much.

I grin and shake my head.Fucking rich people.Pulling out my phone, I text my roommate impatiently.

MusicMan: Iggy, time to go. Please tell me you didn’t drink more while I was gone.

MagicMan: No! I’m sober as a judge. Okay, maybe as an American Idol judge, but I can certainly walk.

MusicMan: Fucking hell, Iggy.

MagicMan: I’m coming; I’m coming. Keep your pants on.

If only…

Of course, Iggy has no clue I wish he’d look at me that way. I’ve always kept that little crush to myself because I value his friendship so much. I never want to destroy that relationship by broaching something I’m not sure he’s even into. Although,sometimes, I swear he’s either taunting me or daring me—I’ve never been able to figure out which. I’m too much of a coward to take the bait.

The tease in question walks out with a tipsy grin, his magic kit in hand and every inch of him looking casually hot. Iggy has the sexy professor look down to a science and, though students fawn over him like he’s a rock star, he typically does his playboy act amongst staff and graduate level women. It wouldn’t be against the rules to date an underclassman, but I think he knows those girls simply haven’t seen enough of the world to be with someone who has no intention of putting a ring on their fingers. Not to mention all the damn rich parents who’d be knocking his door down trying to sell their darlings for a chance at being part of the Briarton legacy.

I’ve always played wingman and gatekeeper for that kind of shit when he’s…inebriated in some form. It doesn’t make me a lot of friends, but it keeps my friend safe and free from scandals. I’m much less concerned about being popular; hell, if I flouted my connections from home, I’d have hangers-on and wanna-bes draped all over our front door. Nothing like ‘connected’ bad boys to get chicks’ motors running—trust me. It’s why my father hasn’t stayed faithful to my mother for a day in his entire marriage.

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