Page 30 of Nightmares and Numerology

“Guilty as charged. It’s a nice ass.”

“It’s demonically enhanced.”

“And it still belongs to you,” I pointed out. “The point is that I want you, no matter what you look like. This just makes you harder to hurt, which works for me.”

Lydia chewed her lower lip. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do. Now stop stalling and march your sexy ass inside so we can get on with this dog and pony show.”

She did, and I watched. I was reformed, not dead.

And it really was a nice ass.

***

Lydia

I stared down at my fingers numbly, half-hoping I hadn’t just heard what I thought I had. I couldn’t curl my fingers around Angelo’s hand, even though he’d offered it while Betanya and Olga examined my aura thoroughly.

The process felt a lot like being stopped and frisked by a handsy cop. Having Angelo’s hands on my energy was one thing. He’d given me pleasure back, even as he’d taken from me. I hadn’t felt the transfer, though it had definitely happened. Angelo looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him, his expression open and self-satisfied. He was the cat who’d finally pounced on the pesky canary. And the stupid canary had loved every second of the tussle.

Having nosy witches touch my aura, on the other hand, felt unpleasant, like being poked in the ribs by an older relative. I knew they meant well, but it was still uncomfortable as hell.

I couldn’t take Angelo’s hands because of what they’d discovered. If it was true, Angelo was going to hate me. I hadn’t meant to do it, but if they were right...

“What do you mean, a mate bond?” I asked in a small voice.

Olga sat back, folding her hands primly in her lap. She looked like what I’d been taught witches ought to look like. The German was a well-preserved sixty-something to the uninitiated observer. She was infinitely older than that in reality though—three hundred, if she was a day. She’d twisted her long white hair into a graceful knot on top of her head, holding the stragglers in place with obsidian hairpins. It matched the dark gown that fell to her ankles. Just the quiet, confident aura of the witch across from us had made Indigo fall into respectful silence, even in her own thoughts. Indigo didn’t follow many rules, but she still looked up to older and wiser witches than herself.

“Just vat I’ve said.”

I waited for her to elaborate, but apparently, that was all the soft-spoken woman would say on the matter. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only witch with experience in these matters.

Betanya Tayir looked about Wanda’s age, clearly in her midlife. Granted, a witch’s midlife was around one hundred and fifty. According to several sources I trusted, Betanya had spent at least a few decades in a parallel dimension to escape a blood-crazed vampire.

Yeah, my friends’ lives were strange, to say the least.

Betanya’s hair wasn’t a fluffy white or a rich, lustrous black like the other witches I’d met. Her hair was dark red, riding the line between scarlet and burgundy. It made Indie prickly for a reason I couldn’t decipher.

“She’s a red-haired witch,” Indie said, as though the sentence made complete sense to her.

“And?”

“They’re dangerous. Odd magic, odd ideas, odd in general. Sometimes they go completely off the range and start interfering with humans. It usually makes the history books.”

“So who better to look at our odd situation?” I countered.

Indie didn’t have a good answer to that. I could practically feel her sulking in a faraway corner of my mind. She knew I was right but didn’t want to admit it.

Betanya gave her fellow witch a long-suffering look before turning her attention back to me. Her eyes were a dazzling shade of emerald. I felt a sudden pang of envy. Were these witches all beautiful? Did it just come with the genetics of being a witch that they’d all be hot and exude confidence?

“I think what Olga is trying to say is that the mate bond was formed during sex. An assortment of factors came into play. Indigo’s...” Betanya paused, struggling to hide her revulsion. “Activitiesgrafted something foreign onto your soul. That alonewould have consequences. Your fusion is unprecedented. I was a Blood Witch for many years, and even my power didn’t warp to that degree. There are just some magics we shouldn’t be exposed to, and I’d rank a Koloth near the top. It’s a very temperamental and violent species. Their mating practices are deep and abiding. They choose a mate for life, hunting, battling, and traveling together. It’s rather the opposite of what most incubi do, so it surprises me that the bond could have formed so easily between you both. The species must be more closely related than they think, or there were other factors we don’t know about.”

Oh. Oh God. Had I done this to him?

Had loving Angelo affected the exchange that profoundly? Had I subconsciously tied him to me? It sounded reprehensible. He should have a choice in the matter, damn it!

I needed to look. I had to know how he was taking the news. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my hands. I once again felt like an observer in my own mind. Nothing about my body felt right. I felt like I’d undergone a radical metamorphosis in hours. I didn’t look or feel like myself. That alone was panic-inducing. Knowing that I’d essentially performed a demonic shotgun wedding after our first time together was even worse. Surely mating for life was just another form of marriage? No, it was even worse than marriage! It sounded like it was forever binding.

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