Page 77 of Charmed

“Riley…” She stood from the bed and walked closer, a smidgen of oh-shit in her eyes.

He shook his head and moved aside. If she touched him, he wouldn’t be able to muster the strength or will to do what was needed. “Love me or don’t. Rip my heart out or don’t. Make up your mind. Just be quick, Fiona. Yank it off like a bandage, and take care when you do.” He reached for the knob and paused. “I surrender.”

Stomach roiling and utterly defeated, he left the room, closing the door behind him. He closed his eyes a beat for composure, then stared at the wood grain, praying she’d follow. Chase after him. Fight back. Anything to indicate she’d choose him.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty. By the time sixty had come and gone, he couldn’t see through the haze in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, he glanced at his inner wrist, hoping against hope the tattoo would offer an indication to her mood.

But it was gone. Vanished. Poof. Like the mark had never been branded in the first place.

He reared. It’d been there not five minutes before. He was sure. It had ached after he’d found her bedside, ready to bolt. It had really started to burn once he’d challenged her and…

“Ah, shit.” He huffed a laugh devoid of humor and gazed heavenward.

And…he’d given her the ultimatum. He’d stripped himself bare and put his heart in her hands for the taking. Or crushing. According to Fiona, Celeste’s cryptic dream hint was she didn’t have to do everything alone and that anger would cloud her judgment. There was freedom in letting go.

Perfect. It seemed he’d managed his end of the task by shredding dignity, swallowing his pride, and bathing in the fountain of humility. His innards were mince meat, there was a gaping hole where his soul used to be, and any ounce of optimism he’d accumulated had gone bye-bye in the aftermath. But all for the sake of destiny, right?

God save them. His gorgeous witch would have to do the same to fulfill her part.

Well, miracles weren’t completely extinct. Rare and unlikely, but not extinct.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fiona shoved through the back door to her house and into the kitchen. At the top of her lungs, she screamed. Just…screamed. Long and loud. Until her limbs shook and her voice was hoarse.

Huffing, she straightened, but felt no better for the effort.

Aunt Mara crossed her arms from where she stood by the island, brows raised in unamusement. “Problem, lass?”

“Men are epic assholes.”

“Mmm. All of them or one in particular?”

Fiona stalked to the stove and set the kettle to boil, pulling down the canister for energy and clarity tea. She didn’t have time for Riley’s head games. She had to prepare for the meeting with the Minister. Damn it, they had a plan, and it didn’t involve sappy endearments or ultimatums.

“All right. What did Riley do now? Unload so you have a clear mind for tonight.”

“What didn’t he do is more like it.” She transferred tea to a mug and poured steaming water, letting the leaves steep. She whirled on Aunt Mara. “First, he says he loves me. Can you believe that rubbish? Love!”

“Aye, I can believe it. He’s been smitten with you since before Kaida and Brady completed their tasks.” She studied Fiona, lips pursed. “Isn’t that what we’ve all been fighting for? Curse-breaking and tasks and accepting destiny in order to find or keep love?”

“Oh, Goddess. Not you, too.” Fiona strode into her workshop, cup in hand, frustrated to no end. She flipped on a light, took a healthy gulp of tea, and set the mug on the large center table, attempting to recall what she needed to grab for later.

Aunt Mara followed. “What’s the second thing?”

A sigh, and Fiona set her palms on the workstation, leaning into them. “What?”

“You said first, as in, that was the beginning of a list of things he did to upset you. What’s the second?”

Fiona thought about answering, but it seemed everybody in the known universe, Riley included, was against her. Instead, she stared at the dried herbs hanging from the wooden cross-beams below the glass-paneled ceiling. She was about to head into a battle against their greatest enemy, and she didn’t even know the rules. Or what weapons said enemy had at his disposal. Or what he even wanted and why. All she could think was how the weight on her shoulders was too cumbersome to bear. She couldn’t do this anymore. Acid was eating her stomach lining, her temples were throbbing, and she was terrified beyond rational reason that she’d fail.

One or all of them might not survive the night.

And it would be her fault.

“I’m waiting, lass.”

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