Page 47 of Warlocks Don't Win
I stopped and turned to look up at him. “When did your grandmother’s curse begin, as close as you can estimate?”
He raised a brow as he continued to come closer, eyes falling to my burning, shameless lips. “Four months, give or take a few weeks.”
“Interesting.” I spun around and continued away from him. Was it possible that the first kiss was tied to my house cursing his grandmother? Impossible. And yet, I was bound to the house like he was bound to the Winston name. She was Dame Winston, the seat of their familial power. I was Clary Sage, inheritor of my mother’s magic and Sage House. Another lead that probably wouldn’t go anywhere. Like the bindings that made kissing Winston irresistible. If I did kill him, it would break thebindings. I could drain him of his magic and bury his bones in the yard. That would break the ties to the Winston name, maybe even cut off the curse along with strengthening the house and me. Win, win.
Win. Winston. Nettle Winston. What would he do if I used his name? He never used it. It wasn’t public knowledge. Was that who he really was behind the bold and the bluster? Nettle stung. But it was as good for hair tinctures as clary sage. I could use a good hair tincture…
Chapter
Sixteen
Ms. Sultry was in the laboratory café, studying an ancient scrap of parchment while sipping a smoothie that looked like swamp chunks.
“I have the headdresses,” I said, slipping into the booth opposite her. Winston was outside the café, where I’d asked him to stay, looking like a dangerous Warlock in his messy coat. It was a good look for him. Tons of females were slowing down to check him out.
She grabbed my chin, forcing me to focus on her not him. “Do you want some advice?”
I blinked at the succubus who probably understood my energy issues better than anyone in this city. “Not really.”
She smiled, a flash of oozing sensuality that she usually kept covered with her uptight obsession with ancient cultures. “You’ve got this situation with the Warlock handled?”
I gave her a flat smile and started to tell her I was using him for his body and I had it handled very well, but instead I sighed. “Is it that obvious that I’m in over my head?”
She gave a small shrug, red lip standing out against pale skin. Her business suit was sharp, crisp, perfectly black like her hair.“Some of us don’t love easily, but once it is done, there is no alternative but to continue until the end.”
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it felt right. I’d been stuck on Winston in love or hate for way too long. “So, what’s your advice?”
Her eyes were thoughtful, sad. “Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won’t. He’ll betray you, or die, or both.”
Ah. Someone who understood betrayal and abandonment. “Which is worse?”
Her slight smile came and went. “Betrayal hurts the pride, but death hurts everything.”
“Betrayal hurts more than my pride. Way more.” I crossed my arms and leaned back. “Anyway. The headdresses will be in my shop when you’re ready to pick them up.” I got up and walked away, aware of the empathy in her eyes as she watched me go towards my doom.
“You have interesting friends,” he said as soon as I left the café, falling in beside me.
“Clients. I don’t have friends.” But if I did, it would probably be Sultry. She didn’t really have friends either, just fellow reenactors.
“Are you lonely? I’ll be your friend if you’re desperate.” His voice was low, somehow suggestive in spite of the innocent words. Innocent? Winston the Warlock? Hardly.
I snorted, loud as an ogre. Sultry suggested that I enjoy being with him when I knew that he was the worst kind of manipulative traitor? Because she also knew that I couldn’t help myself. Why try to fight against the inevitable? Because anything else was madness.
“Do you have a lot of friends?” I asked then added because I wanted to see him flinch, “Nettle.”
He gave me a wide-eyed look and then grabbed my waist and pulled me out of the path of an ogre I hadn’t noticed. Tusksweren’t as distracting as Winston the Warlock, particularly when he had me pressed against his side.
“Careful. No. There’s only one person in the entire world I can trust with my life, my grandmother’s life, and anything else I may have thought was important a year ago.” His focus dropped to my lips.
“I wasn’t going to run into her,” the ogre said, frowning at Winston. “We’re civilized here. We don’t just run over people because they’re in the way. She’s clearly distracted with her new mate, but I am not. That’s why we recommend a period of isolation between new couples so they don’t put themselves and each other in danger.”
He nodded his blue head at us and then turned and strode briskly down a hall while I shoved out of Winston’s arms and tried not to die of humiliation. I’d been staring at him and forgotten that we were in a den of thieves. Not thieves, much worse than thieves. I headed for the exit, fighting the blush from the tips of my green and purple hair to the roots. We were newly married. Horrifying as that fact happened to be. Maybe I should enjoy the honeymoon. Ha! Only if it involved decapitating him. If it was destined to end, and my choices were death and betrayal, I’d choose death. His death. And I’d choose something agonizing. I was Rasputin’s daughter, Clary Sage of Salem, most psychotic coven in the world. My vacation from all of that had ended. It was time to take what I wanted.
I glanced at the Warlock beside me. My skin prickled. He was just so…delicious. I should enjoy him before I killed him. Particularly if Sultry was right and I’d never want anyone else. But then I’d forget that I was going to kill him and forget that I hated him and forget that if I didn’t kill him he would betray me.
“You’re staring at me,” he murmured with a side-long glance.
“Do you have any preferences as to your death?”
