Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Uncaring, it clumsily dove, black eyes wide. . . .
The portal blipped closed right in the creature’s face. A bellow of rage reverberated across the castle.
Once the sound tapered away, Poppy exhaled a breath and scanned their surroundings. A tepid lantern lit a pitch-ceilinged room that must stretch over most of the castle. Scattered toys, clothes, and broken bits of furniture from a bygone era smelled of cedar and dust. Dolls lined a shelf.
Rök tensed at the sight of them. “Bloody hell! Those yours?” He leapt forward and swung his sword, slicing through the dolls.
In a dry tone, she said, “Innocent toys were harmed in the filming of this scene.”
“Smart-ass. You’ll have to excuse my caution.” His attention turned to a pair of dormer windows, buffeted by the wind in the stormy night. He attempted to open them, but they were sealed. “Why did your portal take us here?”
“I tried to aim it toward a power source, but I don’t sense the battery.”
He crossed to a nearby door, which opened easily. “It’s a stairwell. We can walk right out.”
A piece of luck. “How about a short rest then?” They hadn’t slowed for an instant, and fueling her visitors took a toll. This curse was like a millstone she could never lose, one that grew heavier each Halloween.
“Sounds good. Just let me clear the area.”
As he scouted for bogeys, she processed what they’d seen. “Do you think the creature will find a way out of that lab?”
“Depends on how clever it is. And how clever that wizard was.” Rök investigated the attic, checking wardrobes and chests. He relaxed by degrees, his ease calling to her own.
Sitting on a large pile of quilts, she retrieved her thermos. “You want some pumpkin spice tea?”
“Sure.” He sheathed his sword and joined her.
Passing the thermos back and forth reminded her of tasting wines at their dinner, sharing glasses with him. For the first time, she was able to recall that night in a different light. She hadn’t imagined their affinity—Rök truly had enjoyed bantering with her and getting to know her better.
One aspect she hadn’t noted was his reaction to the summoning. His brows had drawn together as he’d uttered her name, and his grip on her hand had tightened.
Being summoned wasn’t a power trip for Rök; it was a burden.
Had her anger over his disappearance clouded her memory? She set down the thermos, remembering other details about their interactions.
Over the last few years, she’d had some lucky breaks on jobs, and each had been marked by the scent of smoke. Her lips parted. At varying times, the demon had traced and helped her, doing everything from removing an enemy to diverting a rockslide that had narrowly missed her.
She even recalled throwing precious magic his way to assist him as well. As if she couldn’t stand to see him hurt.
She glanced around at all the forgotten knickknacks. Attics often preserved the past. Was a wizard’s attic making Poppy remember hers more clearly?
“Do you sense the prize?” Rök studied her expression.
“Magic is thick here, but it feels like . . . memories. Like if the castle was a person, this would be a storehouse of memories.”
“Never a dull moment with you.”
Had he reached his limit of mystical bullshit? She had, and she was a witch! “You thought I could portal us out of here—to safety and cocktails—and you told me not to.”
“Because we’ve still got work to do.”
We. “For the record, I did try to get us out. This situation isn’t fair to you.”
“Red, no. You came here for a cursebreaker, and we’ll find it.”
“What about the visitors? I still sense that they’re going to return in a big way. Going head-to-head against them isn’t logical.”
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but if they show, we run. We evade them while we search. But you will be free of this curse.” He curled a finger under her chin. As he stared down at her, his irises grew gray with feeling, displaying that Rök-type tenderness. “The visitors are a danger to you, so we have to defeat them. Woman, understand me: I’ll take on hell for you.”
Oh, Rök. Earlier when she’d realized that the visitors would kill everyone she loved, she’d also feared that this ladies’ man might be among that number.
He is. She did feel love for him.
Involuntary.
Foolish.
Love.
“Poppy, you’re mission critical to me.” Something a merc couldn’t live without.
Her breath caught. Emotion demanded an outlet. Screw it. Screw self-respect. She grabbed his nape and dragged him down to meet her lips.
He groaned with readiness, cupping her face with those big, callused palms. He slanted his head to take her mouth deeper, seeming to breathe in her moan when their tongues met.
She sensed need seething inside him, but he kissed her languidly, stoking her desire as if they had all the time in the worlds. He built the tension like a controlled burn—demon-hot and mind-numbing in its intensity.