by Smith, H. D.
“Hundreds?”
“I only know of one.”
“You’re lying.” I couldn’t be the only one he’d marked.
Mace kissed me again. Another long demanding kiss.
I pulled away. “You hate me for something I have no control over.”
“I hate my father for that. I hate you because you told Cinnamon about Aunt Mab. She will be harder to control now, and Aunt Mab will not be happy when she finds out.” He twisted a strand of my hair around his finger.
“Please don’t touch me—not like that. I don’t want that.”
He chuckled. “You’d enjoy it.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I’ve never had any complaints,” he scoffed, offended.
“Please. Not that.” Anything but that.
“You have two options, Claire,” he said, caressing my hair. “I recommend you pledge yourself to me—willingly.”
There weren’t two options—there were never two options. He does whatever he wants to me then throws me to the demons, or I willingly pledge myself to him, binding me to him forever, then he does whatever he wants to me. Neither option was desirable and seeing as there was no option to leave and return to The Boss, there was only one I could choose.
I took a deep breath. “I agree to pledge myself to you.”
“I want it sealed with a kiss.”
“No.”
He smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Pretty soon you won’t be able to say no.”
“What!” That couldn’t be how it worked—could it? “You promised.”
“I never promised not to kiss you, Claire. I quite enjoy it. Now, let’s start with this.” He picked up the small pink square from the tray. “Once you eat this, you’ll belong to me—forever.”
I eyed the cake suspiciously.
“A kiss would be more fun, Claire, but the cake seals the bond. By accepting what I offer, you will be bound to me forever. I’ll own you, like my father never has.”
The smell of the pink square was cloying. “What is it?”
He held the cake to my lips. “Pagan cake.”
“From Purgatory?” I rasped, my mouth dry.
His wide grin was unnerving. I hesitated a moment, swallowing hard, before I opened my mouth. He placed the moist square on my tongue. It was dense like pound cake, and the icing tasted a bit like almonds and licorice. Not really a good combination.
As the cake slid down my throat, a warm sensation spread through my body. I didn’t like the fuzziness the cake created in my head.
The initial wave of warmth was immediately followed by a swell of cold. Goosebumps rose all over my skin. My head tingled.
The initial wave of warmth was immediately followed by a swell of cold. Goosebumps rose all over my skin. My head tingled. My sight went in and out of focus. My thoughts started running together. I couldn’t think straight.
Mace held up another piece of cake. It smelled sickeningly sweet so close to my nose. I didn’t want it. I shook my head and pushed at his hand, not even wincing at the shock. Cradling my jaw, he tugged down, and forced my mouth open.
“Only the first must be willing,” he said.
Each piece of cake was the same—first a wave of warmth, then cold.
Once I’d eaten the last piece, he put the empty tray off to the side. Snaking his hand around my neck, he pulled me in close. I studied his lips, fascinated by what they could do. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. For some reason, that disappointed me.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
I didn’t understand what he meant. I was too busy thinking about—longing for—his almost kiss. The cake made me foggy, disoriented, and giddy. I laughed. “What?” I asked, my gaze fixated on the pout of his beautiful lips.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he shouted.
I touched his pillow soft lips. “Ouch.” I giggled. What did he want to know? I couldn’t remember.
He asked me again, this time keeping my attention on his eyes with his will. I was compelled to tell him the truth—my throat closed up immediately.
Was I drugged? Or was this longing a result of my pledge to him? Not that it mattered. Mab’s magic was stronger. I giggled again. He’d never get what he wanted. I still couldn’t speak about the future.
I touched his face. The bracelet shocked me; I didn’t care. The pain was dulled. I could ignore it, but I couldn’t ignore him. I wanted him. Fisting my hands in his hair, I yanked him forward for a kiss. If he wouldn’t give it to me, I would take it. A long passionate, breathless kiss. He was mine now. His lips were so soft and his breath was so warm and inviting. I wanted him—all of him.
I pushed him back to the floor, rolling him over and straddling him.
No! I heard a faint scream in my head. I ignored it.
A new wave of warmth washed over me. His hand tightened in my hair, wrenching my head back. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I leaned in. My body was responding to his touch. “I want you inside me. Now. Then I want to curl up in your arms and sleep.” I just wanted him to hold me—Stop it! No, you don’t.
Was that the voice? I snorted. It was trying to remind me. I was in love with Jack.
I smiled at Mace. I couldn’t stop myself. “You’re beautiful. Make love to me.”
I touched his face—those beautiful lips.
Fight it, the voice demanded.
“I don’t want to fight.”
The voice was angry with me—I giggled. The voice—who did she think she was? This was my life. My sucky crap-ass life. “I want to go home now.”
“You are home,” Mace said.
“Could he read my mind?”
“No, you’re thinking out loud.”
“Of course I am.” My head was swimming. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mace. I couldn’t stop wanting him to touch me. This wasn’t what I wanted, but at the same time, it was what I wanted.
“Tell me, Claire. What are you hiding?”
“I love you,” I said with the conviction of a high school crush.
His lips turned down. “Tell me your secrets, and I’ll let you have me.”
“I love Jack—and he—” Loves me. My throat closed before I could say it out loud. I hated Mab’s spell.
Mace’s lips curled into a snarl. He flipped me over. Now he was on top.
“Yes, take me. I’m yours.”
“Fuck. Too much cake,” he muttered.
Was he angry with me because I loved someone else? “I love you too.”
Mace kissed me, but it was too short. He rested his forehead against mine. I studied his lips. I wanted them on me. “Tell me, baby,” he said, in that beautiful voice of his.
“I love—”
“Tell me what I want to know.” He ran his hands down my shirt, cupping my breasts. “I’ll give you everything you want if you do.” He was back in my face, but his lips were too far away.
Licking my lips, I willed him closer. I groaned when he wouldn’t. The tingling burn at my wrist started to hurt. I didn’t care.
“Tell me,” Mace demanded.
I smiled up at him, incapable of keeping any thoughts in my head. “I love you.”
He pushed me away, getting to his feet in one fluid movement.
“No, stay with me,” I whispered as the warmth of his body left me.
He muttered a curse before slamming the door as he left.
Fourteen
The room was bright from the sun outside when I woke. I was on the bed, twisted in the sheets. The room had been put back together and someone had tucked me in.
Cringing at how I’d practically thrown myself at Mace, I thought of the night before and wanted to scream. I moved my head and almost hurled. Nausea was not my friend. I nearly tripped detangling myself from the sheets.
I ran to the bathroom and made it just before I threw up.
After flushing away the cotton candy sludge—the rema
ins of Pagan cake—I sank to the floor. My conversation with Mace ran through my head.
I’d kissed him. I’d begged him to stay with me. God, make love to me.
I wanted to go home, curl up on the couch with Jack—not Mace—and have him hold me. I’d go crazy if I didn’t have something that was normal soon, something that didn’t have anything to do with my insane reality.
My stomach gurgled. I leaned over the toilet and threw up again. Crying wouldn’t help. I had to get out of here. Screw Mace and my pledge to him. I could leave—go to The Boss—he’d fix everything. He might kill me too, but that would be better than pining for Mace.
I stood and washed out my mouth. After drinking several handfuls of water, I splashed more on my face then glanced at the shower, then at my clothes. I’d been in the same shirt and pants for what seemed like days. I needed the clothes off, and to wash away the memory of Mace’s hands and lips.
I peeled off my clothes and started the shower. It was hot and steamy within seconds. Inside, the water washed over me, soothing my nerves and sore muscles. I washed, but no amount of scrubbing made me feel clean. My skin tingled as if his hands were still on me. His touch, his kiss, his smell—it was all around me. Resting my head against the tile, I closed my eyes and thought about home—about Jack. What if I never saw him again? I started to cry. What would he think if I never came home?
I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. When I stood in front of the vanity, I didn’t recognize the girl who stared back at me. Her color was sickly pale, red hair dull and lifeless. She had bruises everywhere and scars. Twisting around to see my back, I gaped at my gaunt reflection and Mace’s mark!
She’s still you, the voice whispered.
I know. I didn’t need to be reminded of everything. Taking a deep breath, I wiped my eyes. I couldn’t lie down and accept this hell. I had to fight.
I leaned in closer to the mirror to more clearly see the mark. It was a red tattoo, a cord of vines and jagged edges circling the emblem of a serpent. It rested in the center of my back, between my shoulder blades. I loathed it and what it represented.
The click of a door shutting brought my attention back to the room. I shrugged into the robe hanging by the door. When I returned to the bedroom, it was still empty, but a tray of food had been left on the bed. The savory smells of a warm breakfast reminded me how hungry I was. Yesterday’s lifesaving hotdog was barely a memory. And the god-awful Pagan cake was gone too.
Ravenously I devoured the food before I considered what I was eating. From the few remaining crumbs I decided my breakfast had been bacon, eggs, and toast with orange juice. Not that it mattered—considering it was almost gone—but the food tasted normal. No licorice and almond aftertaste. I hoped that meant I wouldn’t be a lovesick puppy for Mace today.
After breakfast, I found clothes in the chest of drawers. The choices were limited, but I was glad to have something clean to wear. I put on the capri pants and tank top, then blow-dried my hair.
I slipped my shoes on and headed for the door. Remembering the door was locked and warded when I tried to twist the unmoving knob. Still, I needed to know what was going on. I wouldn’t be able to physically leave until they let me out of this room, but anything I could learn about them would only help me escape.
I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes, pushing my presence outside my body. Now that I was rested, it was easy. The warding on the door had a yellow glow to it, but unlike the basement prison downstairs, which had wards up and down every wall, floor, and ceiling tile, this one just covered the door. I blinked to the hall and headed toward the main room on the first floor.
The doors to the other bedrooms were open, and I could see what each of the quads was doing. Cinnamon sat at a dressing table preening in front of the mirror. She’d gathered her hair into a messy twist similar to the style she’d worn in the garden. Sage was ironing a bright green tie. I chuckled. The tie reminded me of the dashiki—I guess he’d forgotten to pack it. Sorrel was asleep.
I stopped, pivoting around to peer at the open doors. Sorrel had been unconscious before and now he was just sleeping. Sage was ironing a green tie, which wasn’t really one of his normal colors, and except for the garden, I’d never seen Cinnamon with anything but straight hair.
Why did Mace’s spell appear to affect them the same as Junior’s?
Voices from the living room pulled my attention away from the quads. As I got closer I heard Mace and Aunt Mab speaking Pagan. “I agree, that is very bad news about Cinnamon, but it is not entirely your fault. I should not have made myself known to the girl so soon. But the spell is working?” Mab asked.
It was Mab’s spell?
“Yes, but I thought you said it would make them cooperative.”
“Claire’s abilities had an unintended side-effect. I couldn’t use the same spell,” Mab said.
The same spell? Was there just one book of them? How would she know the spell Junior used?
“Her abilities?” Mace’s tone was clipped telling me he was annoyed.
“Nothing for you to worry about, dear, and no need to worry about the others.”
“They must willingly cooperate. You said that was imperative.”
“Yes, but that was before.”
“Before?”
“Yes, before Claire got involved. She changes everything.”
Me? How do I change everything?
“Everything,” Mace scoffed. “How?”
“Do not worry, dear Nephew. It is nothing you need to be concerned about.”
“But she belongs to me now,” he said, almost whining.
I hated the way that sounded, and wished it wasn’t true.
As if to stifle her chuckle, Mab put her hand to her lips. “I wouldn’t get too attached, my boy.”
I really didn’t like the way that sounded.
Mace was disappointed, but he didn’t challenge her.
“Ask her why,” I prompted and immediately wanted to kick myself. For a moment I thought the corner of Mab’s lip curved up. Oh, yeah, she heard me.
Mace hesitated. The suggestion in my voice was clearly enough to nudge him, even though he couldn’t sense me in the same way Mab could.
“My father can’t claim her,” Mace said. “So why can’t she be mine?”
Can’t claim me? Why couldn’t The Boss claim me?
Mab waved her hand in the air as if shooing away his question. “Something else is on your mind, Nephew. What is it?”
No, no, no. Go back to the other question.
Before I could suggest this to Mace, he sighed and continued.
“I’ve been contacted by an unexpected ally,” he began cautiously. “But his timing is too coincidental for my liking.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A traitor? In your father’s organization?”
“It would seem so,” Mace confirmed. “He claims to know things about the future.”
“That’s highly suspect.” She paused. “But we must not rule out his usefulness.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me worry about that. You have other matters to attend. Have you contacted the blacksmith as I suggested?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have, but she is reluctant to trade with me.”
“What is her concern?”
“Retribution, perhaps. I’m not sure.” He lifted a shoulder. “If you—”
“That’s not possible, but I’m sure we can find something she wants.”
Mab glanced in my direction. I ducked behind the wall. I sensed her smile at my attempt to hide. Realizing it was stupid, I moved back into the room. She clearly had no intention of telling Mace I was here.
“What of the girl?” she asked. “Is she well?”
“She will live.”
Mab’s eyes narrowed. “Be sure she does. Especially now that we have a traitor.”
His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
Ugh, I’ll never get any information with him a
sking the questions.
“You must go to the blacksmith,” Mab said. “Take the girl with you, and she will trade with you.”
He needed another nudge. “Why? Ask her why.”
“Why?” he blurted out, then snapped his mouth shut. His gaze searched the empty space near my presence. He was getting better at sensing me. “I don’t trust Claire. She’s not being completely honest with me. My methods of persuasion have not been as effective as I would have liked.”
I rolled my eyes. “He means threatening and drugging me didn’t work.”
Mab’s lip curled. “I have looked into her mind, Nephew. She doesn’t know more than she’s telling you.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
This time Mab had to cough to cover her laugh, but she regained her composure when Mace spoke.
“Bullshit. I agree. She’s not telling me everything,” Mace countered, then realized who he was talking to. “Forgive my outburst Aunt. It’s just—I could tell she was holding something back.”
Mab smiled. She strolled forward and took hold of his hands. “Don’t worry. Move forward with the plan. Everyone will play their part.”
He nodded.
Unbelievable. He was going to take her word for it.
She’s the Pagan Queen, the voice reminded me.
Whatever.
“I must go now. I have business to attend to. Take the girl to see the blacksmith. She will trade with you, but don’t let her kill the girl.” Mab winked at me before disappearing.
~ * ~
I was beyond sick of being in the room when Mace finally opened the door. He’d called for a car about an hour ago, and it just arrived. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. Not a style he wore often. He, of course, rocked it, but that was because he was perfect. I was sure his body had been the inspiration for countless marble statues over time. At least I didn’t have the urge to throw myself at him today. That was a plus.
He leered at me with possessive eyes. A warm tingle ran over my body as his fingers stroked my arm. I turned away. He cupped my face, tugging it back around. He kissed me, holding me in place. I eventually gave up trying to resist and opened my mouth to let him in. Guilt crowded my mind every time he touched me. I forced back tears. I wasn’t going to cry. Not about this.