Poppy’s gaze combed the shadows. In the flickers of lightning, the creature crawled toward them with lurching movements, electricity sparking along his stapled wounds.
She could all but feel how much he must have suffered. “Rök, what are we going to do with him?”
“Do? Look at its eyes.”
She peered into the gloom. Whoa. Her empathy faded. The creature’s black eyes burned with raw malice. That wasn’t a man—not a he—but wrath embodied.
It opened its mouth wide, clawed hands reaching for them. My gods, it wants us dead.
“Behind me, witch. I’ve got this.”
“Let’s just get out of here.” She rubbed her thumb over her final pouch, and magic seeped into her. Rök’s selflessness—I’m all in—called to her own. Despite her desperation for the cursebreaker, she couldn’t risk him any longer. She aimed her portal for home. . . .
Magic said, Hard no.
Which meant there was no mystical way out of this place. She probed the castle for any kind of power source—maybe they could in fact shut down the battery—and tried to direct her portal there. The air shifted before her, opening a threshold to a dimly lit room. Looked like an attic.
GROOOOOAAN. The creature lumbered to stand. Must be seven feet tall!
“It’s walking!” Rök said in horrified wonder. “You seeing this?”
Poppy yanked on his hand. “Come on!”
With a last fascinated look, Rök followed her across the threshold.
She muttered the incantation to seal it. As the portal began to close, the creature roared with fury and limped faster.
Rök turned back and raised his sword to block. “Think again, fiend.”
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.
Yet then he drew back. “There’s still danger.” His voice had grown rumbly. His scent was embers.
Dazed with lust, she stared at his lips. “Danger? Oh. Well, you’ve convinced me we can handle it. Let’s release a little steam. We’ll be able to concentrate on the mission better.” She grabbed him once more. Against his mouth, she said, “I have to experience you. Just once.”
He drew back his head again. “Once?”
“You don’t have to worry about my summoning you. I’m stronger than that.” She was. She was.
“Listen, I need to tell you something.”
“No, you don’t.” How could a player’s confessions make her more likely to sleep with him? I’m 100 percent a sure thing. “I need you to do things with your mouth, and I don’t mean talking.”
He looked intrigued by that, distracted, but then his expression hardened. “You should hear what I have to say.” His tone was reasonable, even as his horns swelled.
She wanted to pet them and see if the rumors were true. Would he truly lose his mind if she gripped them? The prospect excited her even more! She went up on her knees to undress. “Quick. We don’t have forever.” As she removed her clothes, she might’ve been shy about her body or wished parts were different, but after seeing trends come and go for a hundred years, she gave sweet fuck-all about the body image du jour.
When she knelt before him in only her black underwear and demi bra, he appeared staggered. “Ah, Red.” Her nipples budding against tight silk had him riveted. “I can’t resist even your opening volley.” His talking merc was just icing on the cake.
“I’m waiting.” She unclasped her bra, loving his brows-drawn look as her breasts swayed.
“Dark gods below.” Rök shook his head hard, as if he stared at a mirage.
With a proud grin, she squared her shoulders—
“Fuck it, let’s deploy!” He bounded to his feet and tore off his bloodstained shirt to reveal brawny muscles and healing knife wounds.
Wounds earned from defending her. Poppy’s heart went pang, even as her body went want.
He toed off his boots, tripping before righting himself.
“You have done this before, right?”
“Once or twice.” He shoved down his pants, kicking them away.
His erection bobbed before her spellbound eyes. It figures he’d be magnificent there too. And he knew it, was sure to give her time to ogle him.
Once she could tear her gaze away, she raked it over the rest of his body from his horns down to his toes and back up. The sight of his ripped physique primed her as never before.
But her attention couldn’t stray for long from his cock. Each inch of it invited adoration. As she licked her lips for that distended flesh, she imagined tasting the broad head . . . tonguing down the meaty shaft . . . to those weighty balls.
Her appetite for his dick turned carnal, her witchly greed finding a new target. Want to nip, tease, and tug. Wrench groans from his lungs. Make him wish I’d summon him . . .
Though she could have stared for hours, he half-tackled her atop the quilts. She’d expected practiced smoothness from such a player, but this barely harnessed aggression was doing it for her.
When she wriggled from her panties, he swallowed hard. “I might have done this once or twice, but I can’t quite remember a single time before you.”
Awww. Making her voice a purr, she said, “You heard something tasty was here tonight and you wanted to jump all over it? There is. You may.”
Amusement lit his sinful expression as he moved between her thighs. “Oh, may I? If you think that’s how the dynamic between us will play out . . .” He trailed off when she let her knees fall wide. The demon’s eyes grew glazed as he turned a one-syllable word into three: “Fuh huh kuhk.”
