After everything that’s happened, I’m barely holding back an impending breakdown. I swear to all that is holy, if he gives me another one of his non-answers, I’m walking out.
Odyn dips his chin, his glasses slightly slipping down his nose. “Okay, fine. Yes, I knew what happened to you, but not the way you’re thinking.”
“And how am I thinking?”
His metallic eyes burn into me. “I didn’t get a vision or anything. That shit only happens in the movies.” He sucks a breath through his teeth hedging on his next words. “Your mother told me.”
With four simple words, he drives his fist right into my gut. I don’t know what kind of sick game he’s playing, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stick around for his next move.
“Fuck you.”
As I move to slide out of the booth, he grabs my wrist. “Sit!” His commanding voice silences the small cafe, and I fall back into my seat, my pulse racing. “I swore I wouldn’t help you until you came to terms with who you are, Mila, but there’s no time for that. Believe me or not, I really don’t give a shit, but you will listen, do you understand?”
I nod, my limbs weakening under his unrelenting stare.
Before he can say another word, the overly-friendly waitress returns and plunks down a bottle of wine and a Ziplock full of ice cubes. “Here you go. Are y’all ready to order now?”
A low growl rumbles from Odyn’s throat. “For fuck’s sake. Just bring us a cheeseburger with everything on the side and the fish tacos.” Slamming his menu closed, he takes mine out of my hands and shoves them both at the waitress. He doesn’t have to say another word. His glare alone sends her scurrying for the kitchen.
“I can order for myself,” I say, staring down at my hands.
“Congratulations. Now, put this on your head.” He hands me the ice pack, and for once I don’t argue. As soon as I press it against my skin, he lets out a harsh breath, pushing his glasses back up his nose with his index finger. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you earlier today. Your interrogation about the Dauphine case caught me by surprise. I don’t like talking about it.”
“Why?”
“Because five years ago, I failed to save four women.”
“You were a consultant, Odyn, not a magician.” He quirks an eyebrow, and I roll my eyes. “Okay, so you’re somewhat of a magician, but you did all you could for those women. It’s not like you killed them.”
The minute the words are out of my mouth, I want them back. Odyn grimaces, his face twisted in pain. There’s a scar there. A deep one.
He closes his eyes briefly, and when they open there’s a flat resignation that makes my chest ache. “I said I failed to save four women, and that was unfortunate. However, it was the fifth who devastated me so deeply I barely saw the sun for a year.”
“There were only four murders,” I whisper. “I saw the case file.”
“The fifth won’t be in your files, Mila. According to them, she’s still a missing person.”
“Wait, how do you . . .?” The words get caught in my throat as the detailed notes from the case flip through my head like a Rolodex, coming to a dead stop at the one that didn’t make sense. “No. It can’t be.”
I want him to argue with me. I want him to tell me I’m being stupid, silly, stubborn, or whatever “s” word he wants to use. I want him to say this is all just a freak coincidence. Instead, he reaches for my hand only to pull back at the last minute.
“Lola Chabert, the lead detective on the Dauphine murders, was killed by the same sick son of a bitch she was chasing. Unfortunately, no one will ever find her body. A very old and powerful society made sure of it. Because of me, they killed the only woman I’ve ever loved, and unless you stop sticking your head in the sand, you’ll be next.”
Chapter 7
Odyn
She stares at me as if I have five heads. It’s a lot to take in, and I realize she needs a moment to compose herself. When I first learned about this life, it wasn’t easy, but at least I accepted it. I hope she does after our dinner.
“You loved someone?” she asks, almost incredulously.
I bristle at her question. “Of course. Do you think because I see dead people, I can’t love someone?”
“No, no, I mean . . .” Mila shakes her head. “I really didn’t mean anything by it . . . I guess you seemed so . . . reclusive.” I can tell she’s attempting to backtrack her words, and I’m amused at the blush on her cheeks.
“I can’t love, and I’m a recluse. No wonder you didn’t want any help from me,” I torment her further, enjoying her embarrassed humiliation.
“Odyn,” she murmurs my name, which has my body awakening in ways I haven’t felt in a long while. Shaking my head, I focus on the glass before me and lift it to my lips. This is a job. I can’t be thinking about Mila in any sort of way. “Are you listening to me?”
Her question jolts me from the thoughts running rampant through my mind, and I meet those beautiful gemstone eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me.” I reach for her hand without thinking. The moment our fingers touch, there’s a fucking lightning spark that shoots through every nerve in my body. Mila’s beautiful gaze locks on mine, her eyes wide with shock.
“Did you . . .? Did you . . .?”
“You’re not very good with words, are you?” I wink, playfully patting her hand and causing the current to course through our veins once more.
“If you weren’t so insufferable, perhaps I would be better at expressing myself.” Mila sits back, folding her arms in front of her chest in frustration.
I can’t stop myself from noticing her tits, her pouty lips, and those luminous eyes that seem to know me right down to my soul. I’m a man. But I’m a broken man. I shouldn’t be thinking or feeling like this over someone else.
Lola, I’m so sorry.
“Guilt doesn’t look good on you, Mr. Broussard,” Mila bites out, causing me to snap my gaze her way once more.
“What?”
“You’re not that good with words either.” She grins. “What I was saying is that we should probably set up a time so you can show me the ropes.”
“The ropes?” This time I’m confused.
“You know,” she whispers, leaning in close, and I inhale her perfume — lilies and vanilla. “I want to talk to my mother.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and I realize I may have hurt her by mouthing off like that, but I needed to get her attention.
“It doesn’t work like that, Mila.”
“Then why . . .?” Words fail her once more, and the pain on her face is evident.
“Why doesn’t she come to you?” She nods. “Because she knew you don’t believe in this world.” I sip my drink, then continue. “Your mother realized if she had appeared and spoken to you that you would’ve thought it was some dream and set it aside as such.”
“I would’ve believed her,” she argues, but I know there is no way in hell Mila would’ve believed her mother had come to her to help her.
“Also” — I hold up a finger to quiet her — “there’s the problem of the Elders.”
She scrunches her nose in the cutest way. I have to blink a few times to focus on the job at hand. Mila is beautiful. She’s utterly intoxicating, and that’s what makes this even more dangerous.
“They’re not going to stop until you’ve done their bidding.”
“And if I do it? Won’t they just be happy and move on? What would they do?” she questions, furrowing her brows.
I sigh, then tell her. “They’ll kill you.”
Even though the restaurant is packed with patrons, it feels as if we’re the only two people here. Her aura is magical, alluring, and I have to turn away because I can feel my attraction to her starting.
Stop holding on.
The voice comes from the breeze that’s filtering through the open door, but I know it’s not just a random voice in my mind. It’s one that I want to ignore, but I can’t. And she kno
ws it.
“Mila, I think we should meet at my place,” I tell her suddenly, looking directly into those hypnotic eyes. “An hour. I need to go.”
* * *
After rushing out of the restaurant like a madman having an episode, I’ve shut all the curtains, needing down time after the confusing evening. I shouldn't have invited Mila here. Not tonight.
I should've taken the rest of the night and recovered from the emotional turmoil that’s currently waging war inside me. The last time I was so enamored with someone she was in the same position Mila is in now.
And look what happened to her.
“Shut up,” I bark out in frustration. It’s nothing more than my imagination playing tricks on me. The Elders have probably already found out I’m going to help her. They should have by now, which makes this so much more volatile than I expected.
Running my fingers through my hair, I tug at the strands and focus on the bite of pain rather than the anxiety twining itself in my stomach like a sleeping serpent.
I seat myself at the table, staring at the words of the goddamn prophecy. It’s the only thing keeping me from calling the woman who’s slowly burrowing herself in my head and telling her not to come near me again.
I promised her mother.
I can’t back out now.
Also, she’s in real danger, and I can’t allow another woman to die because of me. This time, I’ll do it right. Without having my heart involved. It’s a job, and I’m a professional. I should be able to do this.
There’s a knock on the door, interrupting my inner monologue.
The moment my hand tugs on the door handle and I pull it open, I’m caught unaware. The woman on the other side is no longer in her work attire, but rather in a pair of dark skinny jeans and a flowing top that should hide her curves but doesn’t. The material is sheer, offering me a glimpse at her figure-hugging tank top.
“Mila.” My voice comes out huskier than normal. Clearing my throat, I wave her inside, getting another sniff of the lilies and vanilla I smelled earlier.
“So, tell me all you know, Odie.” Mila laughs as she settles herself at my table, her dark hair framing her heart-shaped face, and those wide, inquisitive eyes pierce me right down to my fucking core.
I’m so fucking fucked.
Chapter 8
Mila
The tension isn’t just thick, it’s suffocating.
“This isn’t a joke, Mila.” The turmoil battling in Odyn’s steely gray eyes catches me off guard, and my playful smile quickly fades. Removing his glasses, he places them beside a dusty, leather bound book and sits down while clasping his hands together, the movement jerky and awkward. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to keep himself from—
No. Don’t be stupid, Mila.
He’s jumpy. I’m jumpy. I’m communicating with murder victims, and he’s having tea parties with my dead mother. This day has worn on both of us. There’s no way in hell he’s thinking the same inappropriate thoughts I can’t get out of my head.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. In case you can’t tell, I’m not exactly comfortable talking about this stuff.” I trail my fingertips over the edge of the table, feeling ridiculous as I peek up at him through my eyelashes.
“This stuff.” He repeats my words, a small smirk easing the strain on his face. "At least you've stopped calling what I do fraudulent bullshit. Careful, detective. You might end up liking me after all."
“I could say the same to you.”
“Sure, I’m a sucker for women who constantly insult me.”
I search his face, and finding a glint of humor in his eye, I let out a relieved chuckle. “From what Nick has told me about Lola Chabert, that’s probably true. He told me she was as cynical as they came.”
All humor in Odyn’s face melts away, leaving a stone exterior that chills my skin.
Brilliant, Mila. Finally build a rapport with the man, then bring up his dead love. Why don’t you run outside and kick a puppy next?
I bite my lip and lower my eyes. “Odyn, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t.”
Well shit. I didn’t expect a hug and a dinner invitation, but it was an honest mistake, and he’s overreacting. Weary from the day’s events, I push back from the table and stand up, my green eyes connecting with his metallic gaze. “Look, I’ll just go. We can do this some other time.”
Odyn is out of his chair before I can blink, his hand around my wrist. “Some other time will be too late.”
“For who?”
“For the victims. For you. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you’re in danger, Mila. I knew this before you showed up on my doorstep. Even before you called me.”
“My mother.” I try to force as much sarcasm as I can in those two words, but I don’t have the energy. Besides, curiosity is stronger than satire.
“Your mother,” he affirms with a nod, his thumb raking across the inside of my palm. When I don’t answer, he tilts his head, his stare boring into me. “You still don’t believe me.”
I glance down to where his long fingers are wrapped around my slim wrist, and all I can think of is that if he wanted to, he could snap it in an instant. However, even though I barely know him, Odyn Broussard is the last person I fear. I feel safe in his presence. Almost as if I’ve known him my whole life.
Maybe longer.
“No, that’s not it. It’s just . . .” The rest of my excuse lodges in my throat.
Is that it? I don’t know. Honestly, I want nothing more than not to believe him. It would be so much easier to go through the rest of my life pretending that the here and now is just that — here and now — and the afterlife is a giant mystery nobody understands. Unfortunately, pretending won’t stop the bodies from piling up, and it won’t stop their spirits from begging me for help. Whether I like it or not, this is my reality, and if Odyn Broussard claims he’s talked to my dead mother, who the hell am I to call bullshit on him?
Besides, if they both claim I’m in danger, I’d prefer to face it head on rather than end up communicating with him from my mother’s side of the fence.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and stick out my hand. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Mila Moroz. I’m a homicide detective with the New Orleans Police Department.”
Odyn pinches his eyebrows together, a deep vertical line sinking between them. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Starting fresh. If we’re going to work together, we need to get off on the right foot this time, don’t you think?”
“This is stupid, Mila.”
“So is expecting me to believe my dead mother sent you to protect me, but I’m willing to bend my analytical side to solve this case. Can’t you meet me halfway here, Broussard?” Just to ensure I get my way, I stick out my bottom lip and pout.
He lets out a chuckle and rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Clasping his hand around mine, he gives it a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you, Detective Moroz. I’m Odyn Broussard, human voicemail from the great beyond.”
“A little less sarcasm would be nice.”
The corners of Odyn’s lips turn up in a dangerous smile. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, and the thumb gently rubbing my palm is now drawing circles over the steady thump of my pulse. The room is so silent I can hear our steady heartbeats mixing with our erratic breathing. The sound creates a carnal rhythm beating regardless of the possible consequences.
I clear my throat. “We should get started.”
As if my voice breaks a spell, Odyn blinks a few times before releasing my wrist and nodding. “Of course.”
“So, what is this thing?” I ask, sitting down and pointing toward the worn leather book on the table. “It looks a hundred years old.”
“Something like that.” With lightning reflexes, he grabs my wrist again as I reach for the cover. “It’s the Book of Shadows. It’s very old and power
ful, and someone who isn’t properly trained can do a lot of damage with what’s inside.”
I cast a downward glance at where we’re joined again. “Careful, Odie. A girl might get the wrong idea.”
Odyn’s cheeks flame, and he drops my arm again. “Your mother never mentioned the book?”
I scoff, focusing anywhere but his penetrating stare. “My mother never talked about this stuff to me.”
“She knew you weren’t ready to accept who you were. Trust me, she never planned to leave you so vulnerable and unprepared, Mila. She wanted to give you time to come to terms with your gift on your own before attempting to open your eyes to your lineage. Unfortunately, things don’t always turn out like we plan.”
That’s the understatement of the year.
I cross my arms and let out a humorless laugh. “You’d think if she was so gifted, she would’ve seen that mugging coming and stayed the fuck at home, huh?”
There’s a long silence before Odyn sits back in his chair and appraises me with those damn silver eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“What?” I snap.
“It’s not that you don’t believe in your gift. You’re afraid of it.”
I swallow hard, sweat beading along my forehead. Placing my palms together I bring them up to my face and inspect my nails. “I already have one shrink, Odyn. I don’t need another.”
Usually when a woman tosses off a smartass remark and studies her manicure, it’s a clear signal to shut the fuck up. However, it seems Odyn Broussard slept through the nonverbal female communication lesson during class.
“You think if your family’s powers weren’t a curse, your mother should’ve seen her death coming and been able to prevent it,” he presses, leaning his elbows on the table as he studies my face. “Mila, do you think being a necromancer caused your mother’s death?”
Every muscle in my body stiffens. Dr. Crane couldn’t get me to answer this question, so I’m sure as hell not going to spill my guts to a perfect stranger.
Cursed in Love Page 5