by Vivi Andrews
“So you don’t, you know, love me?”
He held up both hands in a whoa there gesture. “I don’t even know you. And, no offense, angel, but you aren’t exactly my type.”
She felt her face heating again. This time with mortification. Not that he was her type. Though he was…impressive. In a way she’d never encountered before. But she certainly wasn’t bothered by the fact that an asshole warlock wasn’t secretly pining for her.
“I just need your help. And I’m willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to secure it.”
“To retrieve your heart,” she asked skeptically. She glanced toward his chest, a strange hunch suddenly tightening hers. “Why do I have the feeling that isn’t a metaphor?”
Prometheus smiled, though the warmth of it never touched the serpentine cold of his black eyes. “Wanna check my pulse?”
She shook her head, unsure whether she was denying his offer or the very impossibility of what he was implying. “How is that possible? How could you not have your heart?” Karma thought of Brittany, her new receptionist-slash-wedding-planner-slash-all-around-good-luck-charm, who was herself a heart-transplant survivor. “Did you…” she waved toward his chest, “…did you have a transplant? Did they replace it?”
“Nothing quite so mundane,” Prometheus admitted. “I traded it, but not for another heart.”
“What pumps your blood? What keeps you alive?”
“My power, Ms. Cox.” He spread his palms and electricity arced between them, crackling through the air.
Not for the first time she found herself wishing her hunches weren’t so freakishly accurate. She dealt with ghosts and demons on a daily basis, but there was something deeply disturbing about realizing she was talking to a man who literally had no heart in his chest. Like being told zombies and vampires really did exist and one was standing three feet in front of her.
Karma would have stepped back, but her shoulders were already pressed to the glass behind her. “How…?” Her voice cracked and she wet her lips before trying again. “How is that possible?”
“It isn’t the good kind of magic, Ms. Cox. I’m not surprised you aren’t familiar with it.”
Realization slammed into her brain, the pieces falling into place with the shattering certainty that came with her own gifts activating. She knew how Prometheus had lost his heart. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to believe. She wanted, as she often did when the worst of the visions came to her without warning, to live in a world where dark magic didn’t exist and she never had to see what it wrought.
“You sold it, didn’t you? You sold your heart to the devil.”
Prometheus smiled, unrepentant. “A devil. A particularly lovely one named Deuma. Typically, they deal in souls, but I was able to negotiate an alternative. And technically speaking, I traded it.”
“For your power.”
He inclined his head in ascent. “For my power. Twenty years of immense power, to be precise.”
“Twenty years?”
“I was only nineteen at the time. It seemed like an eternity.” He shrugged, as careless as ever. “The stupidity of youth.”
Her breath caught. There were the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes, but with his white hair, if she judged from his appearance alone she could have placed his age anywhere between thirty and forty-five. “How long ago…?”
“Nineteen years, nine months and five days. So you see why the sense of urgency. I need you and your people to help me locate my missing heart and restore it to me.”
Karma’s extremities suddenly felt chilled, like ice was starting at her fingertips and spreading like a malicious frost toward her core. Visions flickered through her brain, but she needed to hear him say it. “And if we don’t? In three months…”
“My power dies out. And if I don’t have my heart back by then, so do I.”
Chapter Three
Sympathy for the Devil
Prometheus decided to take it as a good sign when Karma visibly paled at the prospect of his imminent death. He’d hoped to play on her sympathies and she was proving to be as softhearted as he’d pegged her. Page one out of the sinner’s bible: blessed are the saints, for they shall be easy to manipulate.
He didn’t bother trying to look innocent and worthy of saving. Whether or not she would help him depended more on her character than it did on his. “Will you do it?”
“What exactly do you need me to do?”
He smiled, triumph and a feeling that could have been hope filling up some of the void that lived in his chest where his heart should have been.
“Don’t get too excited,” she interrupted his internal celebration. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet. Just tell me what you need.”
Her sharp words didn’t discourage him in the slightest. She hadn’t agreed yet, but she would. He might see his fortieth birthday yet.
“From the research I’ve done,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t spent three complete years scouring every magical tome he could find for the merest hint of a clue as to how to steal back his heart, “it’s a three step process.” He held up a single finger. “We locate the heart—which I have reason to believe Deuma is moving or veiling in some way.” It was the only explanation for the fact that every time he did a finding spell on the damn thing, it vanished before he could get to it. Based on his finds, he’d searched from Venice to Ethiopia for the damn thing without luck. “I saw her place it in a wooden box with gold inlay, then the box vanished and I haven’t seen it since. I think the box may have been Bacchus’s vessel.”
Karma’s brows pulled into a V. “Ignoring the fact that Bacchus’s vessel is a mythological figment of warlock imaginations run wild, what’s the second step?”
“Summon Deuma. Because she is the source of my power, I am incapable of using it to summon her, but you have that lovely exorcist at your beck and call.”
“The third step?”
Prometheus met her eyes. If she’d known him, she would have known to doubt whatever he was about to say next, that he always looked ‘em in the eye right before he lied his ass off, but no one knew him that well. He was an island. “The third step is all you, Karma. As a channel, you are capable of redirecting energies. You will reverse the flow of energy from Deuma to myself and sever her hold on me. It will keep me alive.”
It wasn’t, technically speaking, a lie. If Karma did all those things, it would keep him alive. It would also piss off the devil by stripping her of her powers and giving them permanently to Prometheus. It would keep him alive, all right. It would make him immortal.
Prometheus wasn’t ready for his clock to run out, but he also wasn’t about to lose his powers while bargaining for his heart back. He hadn’t spent the last twenty years as a god only to go back to being a normal man. He was already reneging on his deal with the devil—a dangerous prospect in and of itself. He couldn’t afford to leave her with the power to smite him after he stole back her prize. But Karma wouldn’t go along with his plan if she knew there was a way to keep him alive any other way.
“I can’t.” Karma’s protest almost gave rise to a glimmer of doubt—did she suspect he was lying? But when she went on, he realized it was her doubt he had heard. “I don’t have that much power.”
Prometheus snorted. “You have plenty. You just have to learn how to let it out to play.” He straightened away from the sales counter, letting his presence fill the room. “I can teach you that.” The words were a seduction. A flush rose to her cheeks and he could see her pulse fluttering wildly at her throat—like the power he could feel beating velvet wings against the inside of her mind, struggling to get out. What he wouldn’t give to be the one to give her that release.
“If I help you…” She glared at him when he started to smile. “If. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but if I were to help you, I would need your word that none of my people would be harmed in any way.”
“Done.” For all his word was worth.
“Al
l attempts to disrupt my business or invoke chaos would obviously have to stop.”
He smiled, flicking his fingers. “Of course.” This was going to be easier than he’d thought.
“And I would expect you to make amends for your actions over the last few months.”
“Amends,” he repeated, nausea stinging his throat as he forced out the word. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t regret. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. Prometheus didn’t do amends.
“As a show of good faith, you would have to work for me, using your powers only for good, to prove that your sorry ass is actually worth saving.”
This time Prometheus’s smile was genuine—though bile still left his throat raw. “We both know you’ve already decided to save me, angel. Whether I deserve it or not.”
“My terms are not negotiable.”
“Of course they are. You may want to have the position of power in this negotiation, but we both know power goes to whichever party can walk away.” Or, more importantly, which party could convince the other they could walk away. Prometheus may need her more than she needed him, but he never flinched in a game of chicken.
He crossed the room toward her, approaching her for the first time. Goose bumps rose up on her arms and her pupils dilated, but other than that she remained unmoved in the face of his prowling approach. Her scent—jasmine and something sweeter, not quite honey, but something with more bite…ginger, that was it—rose to his nostrils and he inhaled, deliberately drawing in the exotic aroma.
“I could walk away.” She spoke softly, the words a husky, dark promise they both knew she would never fulfill. “You’re the one who needs me.”
“I do.” He didn’t touch her. He was close enough to now, but Prometheus felt the strangest urge to save that first touch, hoard it until the perfect moment. “But you need to be the woman who saves the day more than I need to be saved. That do-gooder complex is your Achilles’ heel.”
“Or my greatest strength.”
“You couldn’t let even your worst enemy die if you knew you could help him.”
“Are we enemies? Here I thought you were a pest. Like a roach. I’m fond of killing pests. There’s such satisfaction in exterminating them.” God, her voice was intoxicating, sultry and rough.
He leaned in, just a hair more, and the air around them grew tight—talking about cockroaches had never been so intimate. “You would never forgive yourself if you could have saved me and stood by doing nothing.”
Her jaw tightened, lovely anger flaring at the way he’d boxed her in—physically and verbally. Prometheus raised a finger, but stopped himself a centimeter short of brushing the muscle clenching along the column of her throat, still saving the first touch, holding it in reserve.
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do if you believe there is anything I wouldn’t do to protect my people.”
“I’m not a threat to them. Demonic kidnapping aside.”
“Demons aside, you sold a medallion that nearly killed my favorite ghost exterminator.”
“Again with the nearlys and the almosts. Besides, I sold it. I didn’t activate it. Are you really going to hold me responsible for every little bauble I’ve ever touched that was eventually used for less than wholesome purposes?”
“Yes. You enchant charms then sell them to whoever wanders through your door. They’re unregistered weapons in the wrong hands, and you just scatter them wherever the hell you please.”
“I’m a businessman, not a cop.”
“Magic should be used for good. It needs to be monitored. Controlled.”
“On that we’ll have to disagree. Magic is a force, a freedom. It’s meant for the masses.”
“Is that why you stole a valuable heirloom from one of my clients? You steal magic from its rightful owners because you want the masses to have it?”
“Borrowed. And she hired one of your little pets to get it back, so are you really going to complain about profiting from my temporary possession?”
“You’re a thief, a liar, a demon-summoner and an unscrupulous bastard who sold a piece of himself to a devil. I could never trust you.”
“I’m not asking for trust. I’m asking for help.”
“You aren’t my problem. And I think the best way to protect my people is keep it that way.”
Was she actually going to say no? Prometheus cursed internally. This wasn’t going as planned.
Time to activate the home-field advantage.
“Say you’ll help me, Karma,” he urged, making his voice thick with power and a pulse of heat, leaning in to remind her of their physical proximity, pull her out of her mind and put her into her body. He could control her body. Her mind was another story. “Say you’ll do it.”
He put his palm flat on the frosted glass behind her, sending a low pulse of energy through it to activate his little insurance policy. Over the years, he’d woven a binding spell into the walls themselves. With a thought, the spell woke and any words spoken within these four walls took on the weight of an unbreakable vow. She wouldn’t be able to back out later. She’d be forced to follow through, provided he could get her to say the words that would seal the deal.
He stared into her eyes, tracing a phantom path behind her ear, still holding that first touch in reserve. “What will it take to get you to say yes?”
“I would have to believe you were reformed. That you would use your powers for good. I don’t see that happening, Prometheus.”
“How about a show of good faith?”
“Do you even know what good is?”
“I know freedom without the moralistic constraints of good and bad is a lot more fun.”
She was so restrained. So contained. Not a hair out of place. Not a smudge in her lipstick or a wrinkle in her dress. He wanted to muss her. Rake his fingers through her hair, smear her lipstick with his mouth, bunch her dress in rough, urgent hands. The urge to unleash the chaos she’d buried deep was a living thing inside him. Her power calling to his, a siren song of perfect destruction.
“Let me show you, Karma. Live a little.” He rested a finger against the nape of her neck, half-expecting her to sear his skin with the heat of that first touch. She was smooth, soft ivory, cool marble and hard diamond—all that promising heat buried beneath layers of icy reserve, but he could feel it. An echo, a tremor, a promise of wildness to come. He stroked his finger slowly up the arch of her neck. “Say yes…”
Chapter Four
The Great Escape
Karma’s entire existence revolved around a single, long finger slowly stroking her neck. Was Prometheus going to kiss her? Was this how he hoped to gain her cooperation? By seduction? Did he really think she was susceptible to that?
Maybe he’s right…
“Let me go.” The demand lacked the heat she’d wanted behind it. He wasn’t holding her really, the door at her back was doing that for him. “I listened to what you had to say. I heard you out. Now let me leave.”
“Why won’t you say you’ll help me, Karma?” he asked, his voice seeming to come at her from all sides at once. “Why this stubbornness?”
She struggled to reclaim her brain, tried to remember the logical reasons why any sort of interaction with Prometheus was dangerous, reckless. Karma was never reckless. She was calm. She was control. Restraint was power. Control was its own reward.
So why did Prometheus’s finger, just a single finger, stroking the nape of her neck in slow, deliberate lines, make all her careful control unravel? Why did her neatly organized thoughts scatter? It wasn’t chemistry; it was something else, something much more dangerous.
Temptation.
That was why she could never say yes.
Which was selfish. Was she really refusing to help him, refusing to save his life, just because she was afraid he was the one man who could corrupt her? Was she really such a coward?
“Please, Karma.”
Was she denying him because deep down she wanted nothing more than to be close to hi
m, to bask in the seductive proximity of his power, and she was terrified of letting that part have its way?
“Okay.”
The word was barely audible. It invited him closer. Prometheus leaned in, his breath brushing against her face in ways that made her want to press against him and revel in his warmth like a cat. “What was that?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll help you reclaim your heart.”
The lights flashed and she felt that power surge zap through her shoulder blades where they touched the glass door. An invisible energy snapped shut around her, her own words the key that locked her prison as she felt the spell surge. A gasp ripped from her throat.
Prometheus stepped back, returning her space to her own care, a smile curling his lips that made what she felt a pathetic cousin to uneasiness.
“What. Did. You. Do?”
He shrugged, the graceful raise of his shoulders distinctly Gallic. “Just made sure you keep your promises.”
“I’m not the untrustworthy one,” she snarled at him. “I said I would help you and I will. For a price.”
“Ah, we’ve come to the mercenary portion of the evening. My favorite.”
“My earlier terms still apply. You will stop harassing my people and protect them from any harm, you will make amends and you will use your powers for good. By working for me.”
“Could be amusing. For how long?”
Karma considered for a moment. “Three weeks.”
“One.”
“Three. One of my best finders is backlogged—” and currently being harassed by the FBI. Which reminded Karma she needed to call the regional office on Monday and tell her Jewelry and Gemstone recovery liaison to rein in his new boy. A million little problems. She didn’t have time for Prometheus’s needy it’s-all-about-me bullshit. “—and the other is on his honeymoon. No one will be able to start looking for your heart for a few weeks anyway.”
“Ten days.”
“Three weeks,” she snapped, refusing to budge.