Page 16 of Curvy Hostage Mate
I was still trying to process what had happened back there. Normally, I was a pretty rational guy. I typically took mytime and thought through things instead of jumping in headfirst. This time, though, it felt as though all rational thought had gone out the window, starting with kidnapping Morgan in the first place. And then how I’d handled the thugs Cain had sent after us.
What the hell was wrong with me? What was it about Morgan that made me act on impulse, on instinct? I didn’t like it. I was used to being more methodical and rational, the exact opposite of everything I’d been recently.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” I grunted, twisting side to side. “Doesn’t hurt at all. You’re a miracle worker.”
She shook her head, those gorgeous curls swishing with the motion. “I’m not talking about the injury,” she muttered. “Though I’m glad. You just seem distracted, like your thoughts are miles away.”
I raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on my lips. “Are you saying you care about me?” I teased.
She glared. It was cute.
“No,” she said. “But since you refuse to let me go, I want to make sure that my kidnapper is at least in his right mind.”
I cracked a grin, then sobered. “What I want to know right now is how they found us so quickly,” I muttered. “I know how to hide my scent. They shouldn’t have been able to locate us for another few days at the earliest.” I rubbed my chin, then shook my head and glanced at her. “Do you know if Cain had any way of tracking his slaves?”
“I might have been his mate—or at least, he wanted me to be—but he made a point not to discuss business with me,” she said. “I don’t think he wanted to give me any ideas on how tocircumvent all his precautions. Knowing him, though, I’m sure he had something.”
I stared down at the golden collar glinting around her neck, tilting my head as I studied it. It was pretty. The emerald jewel in the middle sparkled whenever she moved. Reaching out, I tapped it, then ran my thumb along its surface. I didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath Morgan let out as my fingers caressed her bare skin, didn’t miss the way her breasts heaved, but I forced the more primal urges itching to take over to the back of my mind. I had more important things to worry about right now.
“That emerald,” I murmured. “Have you ever looked closely at it?”
Her brow furrowed. “Sorry?”
“It’s warm,” I explained. “It should be cool, especially after being outside.”
Her fingers went to it, running along it as confusion flickered across her face. “I never noticed that before. I don’t know if I ever really even noticed the emerald in the first place. You think it’s enchanted?”
“You’d know better than I would,” I said. “But I definitely think there’s something off about it.”
Her lips drew into a thin line as she gave a faint scowl. “Considering I barely remembered it was there despite seeing it in a mirror nearly every day, I wouldn’t be surprised. There are enchantments that do that sort of thing. They make it so you don’t notice important things. There’s a chance there’s a tracking spell on it, so we wouldn’t realize it. It would fit with everything else.”
“I’m guessing you can’t take it off yourself?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Scowling, she shook her head in frustration. “I tried, but part of the enchantment on it means I can’t take it off myself.”
I chewed my lip as I debated with myself, nodding as I finally came to a conclusion.
“I know a witch who can take them off,” I said. “If we hurry, we can make it before midday.”
“You do?” She perked up, eyes glinting with hope and relief. “How can you be sure?”
“She’s the one who got them off your sister.”
Chapter 8 - Morgan
The band around my arm fell to the table. Cold air brushed against my skin for the first time in years. I twisted my arm back and forth, staring at it in disbelief and relief. I gave a short, breathless laugh as a smile crept over my face despite all the insanity that had happened over the last few days.
“The collar next, now, dear,” said the witch, Isadora, not quite the old crone of storybooks but middle-aged with graying hair and decades of wisdom shining in her pale blue eyes. Her fingernails, long and delicately painted, tapped on the metal of the collar as she studied it. She muttered an incantation I didn’t recognize.
The back of my neck prickled as if pressed against an ice cube. A moment later, a click reverberated through the small cabin. The witch plucked the collar from my neck.
“There we go,” she said as my hand went to my throat in disbelief. It was the first time in years that I hadn’t had a collar there. The lack of something there felt unnatural, almost foreign.
“Thank you,” I said, my fingers still lingering on bare skin.
“You’re quite welcome. I’m more than happy to get any fellow witch out of those monstrosities.” Her nostrils flared as she glared down at them. “Dampening and hindering magic, it’s revolting. I wish I knew the witch who made them so I could force-feed them a potion that would turn them into a frog.”
