Only when Nathaniel was out of earshot did Clarissa release her held breath and allow herself to shuffle backward and plop down hard on the bed. She leaned forward, her head between her knees, swearing repeatedly under her breath. She’d wanted to call his bluff, to gain an inch of power in this situation by appealing to his desire for her.
She’d failed miserably. He’d rejected her outright, which meant that despite the heart-shaped smoke she’d seen at the bookstore and his physical response, he was well and truly over her. His negative emotions toward her must trump any physical attraction. Which meant any hope of reigniting the feelings he’d once had for her in order to make this experience easier was dead.
Probably for the best, considering she hadn’t counted on his presence reigniting feelings in her instead.
When he’d walked into her room, for a second she was back in the quiet moments of their affair. Nathaniel stalking toward her was something out of a dream or a nightmare. Her body had betrayed her at the sight of his muscles rolling beneath his tailored suit, his sheer size radiating dominance across the room. Her stomach had fluttered. Heat had blossomed between her thighs. Her bra had felt suffocatingly tight.
Truly, some part of her had wanted him to take her when she’d removed her dress. Oh, she’d meant for it to come off as brave, a cynical jab at him for barging in on her without knocking, but feeling his heat against her skin, the smoky scent of his special blend of tobacco mixed with the underlying spice of dragon in her nose, she’d wanted him to give in to the fire that clearly still burned between them. She’d been stupid. She should have known he’d never have sex with her under such dubious circumstances. Nathaniel was many things, but he would never coerce a woman into his bed.
Too bad she’d lost this round. Her skin still burned from the memory of him. Her heart was a scorched wasteland from his rejection.
Fuck.
She set a timer on her phone. One hour. Sixty short minutes until she found out exactly what sort of punishment he had in store for her.
A thought niggled at the back of her brain and she pushed it aside. There was more to this than physical rejection, but she refused to examine those feelings. Hell no. She pushed herself up and stumbled to her suitcase, pulling on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Whatever Nate had in mind for this afternoon, she suspected his warning about her stomach wasn’t an exaggeration. She washed the makeup off her face in the adjoining bathroom and pulled her hair into a ponytail.
Her black roots formed a stark halo around her face, blending into the platinum highlights toward a completely blond tail. She looked like hell. Along with a set of dark circles under her eyes, her skin appeared pale and lifeless in the bathroom light. The only ones who should see her like this were Ben & Jerry—and not the real people, but the picture on the side of the pint of Cherry Garcia she wished she was curled around right now.
All too soon, the timer on her phone went off. She swallowed down her apprehension and padded toward the ritual room on shaking legs. This was going to hurt in more ways than one. By the time she got to the secret door behind the kitchen, she was trembling everywhere and relieved he’d propped it open. She wasn’t sure she could remember the procedure to trigger the lock in her current state.
He was there, waiting inside, seated at a table laden with jars and glassware, under a ceiling covered with dried, hanging herbs. With a wave of his hand, the door to the kitchen slammed closed and sealed behind her. The sound made her jump. She drew in a deep, fortifying breath and tried to relax.
Nothing about this room was calming. The walls were lined with shelves holding every manner of magical ingredient. Dried lizards and preserved eels. Animal skulls. Candles. Blood. The heady scent of magic filled the air, thick and vegetative, with the edge of smoke that always followed Nathaniel. This was the devil’s workshop, and she had volunteered her soul to suffer his torment.
Bright amethyst eyes locked on her, their former gray color now purple with his use of power. He stirred a small cauldron on the bench in front of him and never missed a stroke as he commanded, “Please stand within the symbol.”
Her gaze drifted to the floor. A triangle was sketched in chalk there with mystical shapes drawn at its apexes.
“Nathaniel, what is this symbol?”
“Ancient arcane magic.”
“What does it do?”
“You’re wasting time, Clarissa.”
With one last tentative glance in his direction, she slowly and carefully stepped into the triangle. Power scraped against her skin. Experimentally, she reached her hand toward the chalk line, and her fingers bumped an invisible force. As she’d feared, once inside the boundaries, she could not exit the symbol.
“In order to solve your problem,” Nathaniel said from his place at the workbench, “I need to know what caused it. I’ve prepared a series of potions. If one binds to a specific curse within your body, I’ll know what type of magic was used to hinder your voice. The symbol will then reveal the curse’s location inside you. Once we know both the magical origin and the placement, we can set about neutralizing it or removing it.”
A chill traveled through her at the thought of Nathaniel removing her body parts to get at the curse. She closed her eyes to stop that train of thought. “All right. So I just stand here and drink what you give me?”
It occurred to her how vulnerable she was. He could do anything to her in this room and no one would know. Not even Tom. No one would ever find her. No one would hear her scream. She trusted that Nathaniel wouldn’t hurt her on purpose—he couldn’t, thanks to the boundaries of the blood bond and the magical contract of sanctuary—but accidents happened when it came to magic.
“Who do you know with motivation to curse your voice?” Nathaniel asked.
“The only one I can think of is Eva Hart. My latest single has been leaving hers in the dust on the charts all month.”
“If memory serves, Eva is a witch, yes?”
She nodded once. Glass clinked against glass as he retrieved a vessel of questionable cleanliness from his collection and poured a finger’s height of green liquid into the bottom. “This won’t narrow it down to Eva, but it will tell us if it was a witch who cursed you.”
He handed it to her inside the symbol. Apparently he could reach in even though she couldn’t reach out. Great. “Ugh. It smells like…”
“Possum urine,” he said. “I never promised this would be pleasant.”
She breathed through her mouth to lessen the stench. “I drink this and then what happens?”
“As I mentioned, this potion will bind to the curse and show us where in the body the spell abides—at least if a witch is responsible. If I can see it, the shape and color glowing through your skin, I should be able to research its origins and find a cure.”
She nodded. It sounded like a good plan despite the smell. She raised the glass to her lips but paused without drinking. “What happens if it wasn’t a witch who cursed me?”
“If the potion doesn’t bind, it will find its way back out of the body.” He tipped his head as if his meaning should be obvious, then backed up and kicked a silver rubbish bin in her direction. It skidded to a stop at her feet.
Great. Taking one more shaky breath, she raised the glass in his direction. “Here’s hoping that Eva is the culprit.”
She tossed it back like a shot and swallowed it down. The taste that coated her throat made her gag, but the feel of the spell careening through her body was far worse. Worms, like giant, squishy caterpillars, crawled and writhed up and down each of her limbs. She screamed and clawed at her skin to no avail. The magic wriggled in her veins.
And then, when the worming had burrowed down to her toes and back again, it gathered in the pit of her stomach. All at once, it rose in her throat. She heaved into the bucket, her forehead breaking out in a dense sweat.
Although she hadn’t drunk but an ounce of the brew, she filled the bottom of the bucket. Her head throbbed.
“Not another witch,” Nathaniel said dryly, tapping his chin. “It’s possible the hair had nothing to do with it. Perhaps when the woman touched you, she cursed you. Maybe a nymph or a sprite?”
He took the glass from her, strode to the bench, and returned with it a quarter full of glowing blue elixir.
“A little heavy on the pour, wouldn’t you say?” she grumbled.
“The amount required for the spell is based on your weight.” He arched a devilish eyebrow.
Asshole. She gave him her most stinging glare and tossed back the shot. This one felt like ice in her veins, and she shivered violently as it coursed through her body. It came back up her throat with force and swirled in the bucket like a blue whirlpool.
“No. No. That’s not it either.” Nathaniel took the glass from her sweaty hand.
Clarissa’s head swam and her tongue went numb. She sank to her knees within the triangle. Her heart pounded like a restless prisoner against the cage of her ribs.
“Is there a problem, Ms. Black?” Nathaniel asked tersely. He’d returned with something purple and sludgy. Her gaze locked with his and she forced any weakness from her expression.
“No,” she croaked defiantly. She took the glass from his outstretched hand and tossed it back. It barely hit her stomach before her limbs turned to concrete. What poured out of her mouth a moment later resembled a giant slug. “What was that a test for?”
“A spell that involved vampire blood.”
She leaned her hands on the bucket. “I need some water.”
“It’s better if you don’t drink. It will dilute the magic. Besides, there are only two more.” He left and returned with a fluorescent-orange elixir. Nuclear mango juice. “Fairy magic.”
This time she had to pant to build up her courage. She tossed it back and forced herself to swallow. Instantly her entire body vibrated like it was filled with Pop Rocks. She waited.
When nothing happened, her eyes shifted to Nathaniel’s. “I’m not throwing up. Maybe this is our answ—”
Vomit careened through her lips so fast and hard that she missed the bucket and slid backward on her knees. She fell forward, her hands landing in it.
“Water, please, Nate…” She was dying. Her mouth tasted like ash, and it was becoming difficult simply to remain upright. Every muscle in her body ached.
“Last one.”
She thought concern flitted across his expression, but it was gone before she could be sure. He shoved a red elixir that reminded her of cherry cough syrup into the symbol.
“Can’t we just assume this is it?” she asked through a raspy, sore throat.
“No. If this fails, it means this isn’t a curse but something else. Perhaps you’re legitimately sick. Some kind of witch disease.”
Her hands were shaking so hard she had to use both of them to lift the glass to her lips. The syrupy red liquid smelled like sulfur. With every drop of willpower she had left, she forced herself to swallow. It burned going down.
The pain when it hit her stomach folded her in half and coaxed a scream from her lips. Her skin was on fire! She broke into a sweat and rolled onto her side, her breath coming in ragged pants. Tears streamed from her eyes. It hurt. It felt as if every drop of moisture had been wrung from her veins.
She waited and the torture gradually faded.
“By the Mountain,” Nathaniel said under his breath.
Her hands glowed red. She tried to stand but failed. Her head was spinning. Still, it was impossible to miss the bright crimson lighting her from within.
“It’s in my bones,” she rasped. She wanted to ask him what had cursed her. What did the red mean? But black dots swam in her vision, and then her head cracked against the floor and everything went dark.