Page 84 of Curses & Keys
His laugh is harsh. “Once my father saw my powers and my rebellious ways, he immediately enrolled me in military school.Power is controlled by discipline and intent, he would say. He was right. It did me good.”
He never answered my question. “Although I’m not sure I like his methods, you turned out to be an incredible man,” I say teasingly. “A little bossy. Broody too. Reluctantly charming.” I lean closer. “Plus, you smell divine.” The unique combination has driven me crazy since we met.
He chokes. “I’ll own the bossy but broody?” With a roll of his eyes, he turns the tables. “What about your childhood? Were you happy?”
“It was the best,” I say with a soft smile. “My sister and I were close, always playing and causing chaos. Our parents were secretly amused at their little princesses, but as royals, they rarely showed emotions.”
“Hawthorne told us you were a princess.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I say with a huge sigh. When he laughs, I shrug. “What can I say? It was exceedingly boring. If it weren’t for P… my sister, I would have run away.” Damn, that was close. I’m too comfortable around him.
Time to change the subject. I reach down and peel back the tape covering the wound. Light pink and no sign of infection. “See. It’s working.”
A relieved expression crosses his face. “Hmm. Does it matter what kind of magic?” He looks over at the weapon on the chair.
“Magic isn’t good or bad. It just is,” I remind him.
He walks over and picks up the weapon. Holding it aloft, the cloth protecting him from its deadly magic, he examines it closely. “Mage magic.” His brow furrows.
“Surprisingly, not my father’s. I don’t know whose it is, but they’re powerful. There are at least a dozen spells on it. Complex ones.”
“Bring it over here.”
He steps close to the bed, and the magic calls to me. I reach out a finger and slide it down the blue blade. Jerking the weapon away, he glares at me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Testing a theory,” I say innocently. “Like with curses, I can see the spells on it. If I remove the most dangerous one, I’m curious to see if the knife will remain a threat.”
“There’s more than one lethal spell on this knife,” he states confidently. “And you’re still healing from the last encounter.”
He tucks the cloth around the knife and places it back on the chair in the corner. Stalking back to me, he lightly presses his finger on my lips to stop my words. “You might be used to calling the shots, but I hated seeing you hurt. Give me a minute to recover.”
“I’m healed,” I protest, drawing his eyes down to my wound. “See.” Not a single blemish remains. Little black suture threads lie on the smooth surface of my skin, and I brush them away, only to encounter sticky residue from Greta’s medicine.
He reaches over and brushes his thumb against the wound.
A shiver runs across my body, but I’m distracted by the dried bits of blood I see. “I need a shower.”
“The bathroom is fully stocked,” he informs me. “I’ll let everyone know you’re healed, but we’ll be awhile. Take your time.” He pulls me up until I’m standing steady.
“Thank you for taking care of me. It’s been a long time since someone cared whether I lived or died.” The words emerge from somewhere down deep where I tend to shove all my emotions. Coated in gratitude and a lot of feelings I don’t want to examine too closely.
His brows draw together, and he lifts my chin, steel-blue eyes locking with mine. “Scared the hell out of me, to be honest. Seeing you like that…” He clears his throat. “Go take a shower. I’ll be here when you get out.”
With a hard swallow, I escape into the bathroom. The shower has everything I could need, including a luxurious body wash. I sniff the masculine scent and smile. It smells like Mathias. I quickly wash up and shampoo my hair to erase the smell of medicine.
Clean, I step out into the steam-filled room and wrap a towel around me, then comb through my wet hair. Conscious of time, I don’t bother to blow dry it, but I do grab a new toothbrush and toothpaste from the drawer and brush my teeth.
Finishing up, I bend down and pick up my clothes and wrinkle my nose at the medicinal smell and flecks of blood on them. Maybe Jamison or one of the others has stocked some clothes here. Padding out of the bathroom, I find Jamison standing by the window, talking on the phone.
As if sensing me, he turns and falls silent. His gaze travels down my body, and his knuckles whiten. “I’ll call when we’re ready to leave.” He pockets the phone.
“Do you happen to have a fully stocked closet too?” The husky tone of my voice a reflection of the thoughts running through my head.
He reaches up and begins to unbutton his shirt, and all my attention shifts to his fingers as I watch every button slip through its hole. Jamison pulls it off, revealing a white t-shirt underneath, then walks over and holds it out for me to take.
His unique scent hits me the second I take it from him and the intoxicating notes remind me of when we first met. This attraction has been simmering between us in every encounter since then, waiting for one of us to make a move, but this is the first time we’ve truly been alone. I lick my lips and take a deep breath, then drop his shirt along with the towel I’m wearing. Cool air drifts across my breasts, making my nipples tighten, and I lift my chin.
