“What do you mean?”
“I was still wondering why the heck my hand was healing when my mother hit me with a spell that was intended to eviscerate me on the spot. It was only because she’d drilled me on how to block the most vicious spells that I managed to escape.” She blinked back the tears that threatened. She didn’t cry for that terrified girl who’d fled the cottage that night. Not anymore. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Ironic?” Something dangerous smoldered in the depths of his pale eyes. “It’s a damned mess.”
Chapter 17
Roke glared at the female who continued to screw with his emotions.
Why else would he be feeling pity for her? What did he care if her psycho mother had tried to kill her? Or that she didn’t know what sort of demon had fathered her?
He didn’t.
It was nothing more than an effect of the spell.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he was forced to concede. For the moment the demon blood running through her veins was very much his concern.
Damn it all.
“What other powers do you have?” he growled.
“Besides healing, I can see better in the dark, although not as good as you. And I’m stronger than most women.” She shoved her fingers through her tangled hair, her expression one of self-derision. “Oh, and I think I might be aging slower, unless I just have really good genes.”
He frowned, trying to ignore just how vulnerable she looked with her pale face covered with dust and the purple shadows beneath her eyes.
This female was his enemy.
Period.
“And you can compel others to your will?” he snarled.
She flinched. “Not exactly.”
“Then explain exactly what it is you do.”
She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Over the past few years I discovered I can, on a rare occasion—a very rare occasion,” she emphasized, “I can influence someone.”
“Influence?”
She nervously licked her lips, the tiny gesture sending a jarring bolt of desire through him.
Christ, he had to get rid of the spell.
“Okay, I’ll admit that it seems to be increasing in potency, but I swear I didn’t think for a minute that it would actually work on a vampire.” She shivered, rubbing her arm as if it bothered her. “I was just so desperate I had to try something.”
“Desperate?” He shrugged off her lame excuse. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you be desperate?”
“Are you kidding me?” She gave a shake of her head. “I was locked in a dungeon with the threat that a demented vampire who I narced on might track me down at any second.”
The tiny pang he felt was not guilt.
It was . . . contempt.
If she was so terrified of Gaius, then she shouldn’t have joined his demented band of misfits.
Even if she had been abandoned—no, nearly killed—by her mother and left on her own to figure out the shocking changes going through her body?
He gave a disgruntled wave of his hand. He couldn’t trust his thinking. Not when he was under the influence of her spell.
“We’ll finish this conversation once we’ve returned to Styx’s lair.”
She backed away, shaking her head even as she dug her fingernails into the sleeve of her sweatshirt, scratching at her inner arm. “No way.”
“Don’t press me, little witch.” His brows snapped together as his frustrated glare shifted to where she rubbed at her arm. It was distracting. “What’s wrong?”
“My arm itches.”
“Why?”
She sucked in an angry breath. “Probably because I’m allergic to ill-mannered jerks who get their jollies from intimidating helpless women,” she said. “It’s that or you gave me cooties.”
“Fine.” He leaned forward, his blood heating as the enticing scent of peaches teased at his senses. Damn witch. “You want to see the last of me?”
“Yes.”
“Then take off this goddamn spell.”
She actually pretended to be puzzled. “What?”
“I’m not in the mood, Sally.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grasp tight, but oddly careful not to bruise. “Take it off or I promise you that you’ll be very, very sorry.”
She futilely tried to pull away. “The spell was broken the moment I passed out.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s only a temporary enchantment,” she protested. “It was fading when we reached the end of the tunnel. By the time I fell asleep it was completely gone.”
“No—you’re lying. You’re trying to use me in some nefarious plot.”
“Nefarious?” she muttered. “Really?”
He lifted her off her feet, glaring straight into her wide eyes. “You bitch . . .”
“Chill,” she rasped, her dark eyes flashing with irritation. “And watch what you call me.”
Such stubborn courage.
Such exquisite beauty.
With a growl, he abruptly dropped her back to her feet, taking a step away from her sweet temptation. “What I call you should be the least of your concern.”
She stumbled before regaining her balance, tossing back her brilliant autumn hair as she glared at him in frustration. “What do you want from me? My promise? No freaking problem.” She drew an X on her sweatshirt, directly over her heart. He clenched his hands as the gesture emphasized the soft curve of her breasts. “I cross my heart and hope to die that the spell is gone.” Her hand dropped. “If it was still active don’t you think I would be making you lead me away from here, not freezing my ass off in this nasty . . .” She glanced around the warehouse where he’d brought her before the sun rose hours ago. “Where are we anyway?”
He stiffened, grimly allowing the humiliating memories of fleeing through the tunnels to escape with this female to rise to his mind.
At the time he would have done anything to keep her safe.
Anything.
And then he’d climbed out of the tunnel and the driving compulsion had been gone. Just as if a spell had suddenly been broken.
He shook his head. No. This had to be a trick.
What could be more clever than to release him from the greater compulsion so he would presume the spell was gone, while all along keeping him tied to her by far more subtle means?
A Manchurian candidate ready to be triggered when she felt the urge.
“That’s impossible.”
She shivered as his power wrapped around her in icy warning. “It’s the truth,” she protested.
“No.”
“Dammit, why are you so convinced I’m lying?”
“Because I can still feel you.”
“I . . .” Her words trailed away, her already pale face becoming downright ashen.
The sight wasn’t reassuring. “No smart-ass denial?”
“The spell is gone.” She hunched her shoulders, rubbing at her arm. “It has to be a—”
“A what?”
“Just a lingering side effect,” she said. “Yeah. A lingering side effect. That has to be it.”
She didn’t believe her excuse.
He knew because he could actually feel her growing agitation.
As if it were his own.
“Sally.”
She scrambled back as he reached to grasp her shoulders, her breath coming in short, painful pants.
“Look, I don’t know, okay? I told you I haven’t had much practice at being a demon.” She gave a sudden cry, yanking up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Dammit. Why is my arm itching?” There was a startled silence before Sally released a strangled moan. “Oh . . . shit.”
“Now what?” he growled, wondering if she was trying to distract him.
“I think I have a disease.”
She turned her arm to reveal the intricate red scrolling that crawled the length of her inner forearm. The marking wasn’t a disease. Or a reaction to his cooties. Or even the result of a drunken trip to the local tattoo parlor.
This mark was beneath the pale skin and only one thing could cause it.
A mating.
Swearing in several languages, Roke ripped off his leather jacket to glare down at the matching tattoo that marred his own arm.
The demon in him howled in disbelief.
“God . . . dammit.”
Sally glanced at him in confusion. “Am I dying?”
“Only if I decide to kill you.”
“That’s not funny.” She tried to meet him glare for glare but she couldn’t hide her growing fear.
And for some stupid reason that pissed him off more than the mark of bonding on his arm.
“Nothing about this FUBAR situation is funny,” he roared, moving with lightning speed to slam his hand into the brick wall.
His knuckles split open beneath the impact and the bricks crumbled to dust. Ignoring the blood dripping onto the cement floor, he slammed his hand into the bricks again, allowing the pain to hold back the blinding fury that threatened to consume him.
“Stop,” Sally cried from behind him. “You might be immortal, but I’m not so sure I am.”
