He saw the moment he broke her heart, and it didn’t make any sense to him. He was as concerned about the Exosculatus ritual as she was. It was going to be harder than hell to keep his hands off her once the ritual began. But he was sure that as the most powerful member of the group, he could conceal his ongoing love and longing for her. To find the one who’d cursed her, he’d happily give it a try.
He’d expected performing the Exosculatus would be difficult for him. But the moment he denied it, her face had fallen as if she was absolutely crushed. He thought back to the night before, to the moment she’d pulled her dress over her head and offered her body to him in exchange for his help. At the time, he’d thought she wanted to use sex to reignite the unfinished bond between them and use it to control him.
Had he been wrong about her motivation? Was there a partial truth to it? No doubt she’d wanted to control him, but maybe there was more to it. Maybe, in her deepest subconscious, she wanted to be here. Perhaps the curse happened to be a convenient excuse.
She’d mentioned her wrinkles. A fear of aging might be another reason to try to get back in his good graces. He could make her immortal if he fed her his tooth. But he’d never told her as much. He’d carefully withheld the information, wanting her to love him for him and not some hope of eternal youth. She couldn’t know; therefore, perhaps it was a lingering affection?
No. No. He couldn’t afford to think that way. If he dropped his guard for even a second, the love for her he so carefully kept walled off inside himself would come through, and once she left again he’d be ruined. It had almost destroyed him the first time. This time would absolutely wreck him.
“What’s wrong, Clarissa? Does something about performing the Exosculatus spell concern you?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Was that pity in her eyes? That wouldn’t do at all.
He stood and leaned across the table until he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. In a low voice, he said, “The only one you should worry about getting hurt is you.”
Her face paled by several shades and her eyes focused on his lips.
“Be ready tomorrow by twilight. I’ll have Laurel find you a robe.” He strode from the room, the sound of her pounding heart music to his ears.
It was easy to be smug at first. He had her right where he wanted her. Tomorrow night by this hour, he’d know what she was feeling. He had magic. She didn’t. He’d be able to read her like an open book. But in the quiet of his office later that night, fear entered the equation. He’d pretended not to want her anymore, but nothing could be further from the truth.
When dragons mated, they did so for life. It was always so with his kind. And although he’d slept with many women over the years, he’d only offered the mating bond to one, to Clarissa. The night before she’d left, he’d admitted that his inner dragon wanted her, wanted to mate with her in a way that was forever. A mating bond was more permanent than a marriage. For him, once the mating was in place, he would love her and only her for the rest of his immortal life.
Dragon mating bonds were so strong that in Paragon, it was not unheard of for a dragon who had lost his or her mate to request a mercy killing. But a mating bond that strong required two things—a dragon must offer to mate and his potential mate must accept. Consent to mate was everything. A dragon could have sex without triggering a mating bond, although once a dragon offered the mating, it was often painful to continue a physical relationship without it.
On the other hand, dragons could bond without mating. Nathaniel had bonded with his driver, Emory, in order to impart his longtime servant and friend with immortality. It had required feeding the man his tooth. That sort of bond was also permanent but by no means as strong as a mating bond. And although he’d been tempted to offer that sort of gift to Clarissa in the beginning to lure her back into his arms, he’d known that it would be torture if she never accepted his invitation to mate and the bond sentenced him to pine for her for eternity.
The worst part about what had happened between them was that she’d never told him a definitive no. She’d just left. He’d delivered his heart to her on a platter, and she’d simply walked away from it. And so the mating bond was never accepted or declined. She was not his, and he was not bound as to a mate. But that didn’t mean his feelings for her had died. The thread he had offered her was still there, waiting for her answer. She’d never given him the closure of an outright refusal. And so even now his dragon wanted her. And if she asked for the bond, if she said yes to his proposal, he might be helpless to refuse it. The level of control it would take to keep his inner dragon at bay would be more than he could muster.
He lit his pipe and poured himself two fingers of scotch. Raising his glass, he toasted Warwick for the welcome effects of the numbing tobacco. He was going to need all the help he could get.
He avoided her the following day. With the ritual close at hand, he couldn’t risk further igniting emotions he’d long worked to suppress. He spent most of the day in his dragon form, curled under a mountain of treasure in his treasure room. Every dragon had one. The vibrations from the gold and jewels were healing to his natural form and soothing to his soul. He’d need soothing if this was going to work.
When he wasn’t resting, he was smoking, puffing on Warwick’s tobacco like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. If he failed to suppress his feelings for Clarissa, and she rejected him again, he’d most certainly want to die. Still, he knew this was the only way to help her, and helping her was the only way to be rid of her. He filled a vial with blood and used shadow mail to deliver it to Warwick. At the rate he was smoking, he’d need more tobacco ahead of schedule.
As the sun descended, he donned the hooded black silk robe he used for this ritual. He wore nothing else, not even shoes. The silk brushed his naked legs and ankles as he walked. Already it felt like a caress. He thought of her.
He’d reached the foyer when he saw her at the top of the stairs. Dressed in red silk that clung to her curves, she descended the stairs, her blond hair drifting out from her shoulders. He missed how it was before, all dark and silky. The blond gave her appearance a sharp edge. Like the colors of a bright spider, it was a warning that she had grown into a deadly adversary. Something to be feared.
“Ready,” she said, her bare feet landing on the cool marble beside him.
He tried not to notice the way her nipples strained against the silk. Bloody hell.
He forced his mouth into a firm line and raised his chin. “The order should be convening now.”
He led her out the back door of the house, past the pool, and into the dark forest beyond. Deep inside the woods, he reached the order’s most sacred space on Mistwood grounds. The clearing, carpeted with wild violets, had been their gathering place for centuries. A ring of smooth black stones marked the perimeter.
Warwick was already there, standing in a black robe beside his wife, Victoria, whose petite stature left her red robe dragging on the ground. They greeted Nathaniel affectionately with hugs and vigorous pats on the back.
“Thank you for the tobacco,” Nathaniel mumbled in his ear.
The man’s graying eyebrows bobbed and his pug nose wrinkled. “You’re welcome. I hope it helps.” Warwick nodded coldly toward Clarissa.
Victoria glanced briefly in Clarissa’s direction, then pivoted away with her nose in the air. Nathaniel frowned at the snub, hoping Victoria was not the one responsible for Clarissa’s state. His list of possible suspects grew as the rest of the coven seemed to share Victoria’s sentiment.
Calliope and Fergus arrived next, followed by Aiden and Jane, Finn and Bronwen, Willow and Percival, and Fiona and Steven. They all embraced him, one by one, before backing into the circle with varying degrees of obligatory greeting to Clarissa. Even Fiona, who had been inducted by Clarissa, was markedly cold. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“What do we do with her?” Victoria asked him bluntly. “Since Jane joined, we’ll be fourteen all together. Not an optimal number for the ritual.”
Clarissa’s gaze darted to the other members. All of them had daggers for her, and he could see her squirm under their judgmental glares. An uncomfortable tug worked its way through his chest. He’d led her to do this. He owed her some support.
“Clarissa and I will both play the role of Puck in the ritual.”
All eyes snapped to him.
“A dual role?” Willow said in alarm. “You’ll be too strong. You’ll overflow the cup.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “No. She’s cursed. She has no power. She’ll be going through the motions in the hope the ritual will drive the curse from her, but she won’t be contributing any power.” He wished he could share the true reason for the ritual with the order, but he didn’t want to risk anyone refusing to participate. If one of them had cursed Clarissa, it would be all too easy for them to conveniently excuse themselves.
The couples murmured to each other.
“Is it safe?” Jane asked, her soulful brown eyes glinting in the growing moonlight. “We shan’t catch it?”
“It’s safe. As safe as magic can be,” he said. But the truth was, he’d be hard-pressed to prove it. “I need your help, all of you. Clarissa has claimed sanctuary and called on our order for protection against whoever did this to her. I believe flooding her with our magic will help cleanse her of whatever dark spell plagues her. This is the only ritual that can do so. Do I have your cooperation?”
He watched the group carefully. If one of them was responsible for the curse, they’d most likely refuse his call. But one by one, each agreed and a couple of them—Jane who was new and hadn’t been hurt directly by her, and Aiden because he loved Jane—patted her on the shoulder and said they’d do their best to help her.
“Then if everyone would join me, we will begin.”
The other twelve circled, toes outside the ring of stones. He held out his hand to Clarissa.
“We’ve never done it this way before,” she said. “Are you sure?”
Their eyes met, and he knew instantly he was in over his head. He’d be forced to touch her. He’d be forced to share energy, space… heat with her.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. Burn it all down. In for a penny, in for a pound. Whatever happened tonight, he was in. Besides, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to lose control. Just one more time.