Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Then we have to uncover who cursed you. Who are your main suspects? I can help you track them.”
“I’m not telling you anything else until you reveal why you’re here. Who hired you, and what are you looking for?”
When he hesitated, she said, “What if your job is to find the very thing I need? Mariketa gave me a last piece of advice: If you find your prize in the castle, don’t let them steal it from you. I thought the tip was strange, because she knows I’m a witch merc; no one steals from me.” Poppy raised her hands again, managing a faint glow. “No one.”
“I’m not here to steal from you.” Recognizing he had no choice but to come clean, he admitted, “I’m only here because of . . . you.”
She canted her head. “Why me?”
He scrubbed a palm over his mouth, debating how much of his day he should divulge.
Earlier . . .
Rök sat at the bar in Erol’s, phone in his hand, staring at the selfie of him and Poppy from their date. They’d been standing side by side, all but melting into each other, and he’d had the crook of his arm around her neck. Her eyes had been merry, those coral lips curled into a smile.
They looked like they’d taken a thousand such pictures together. Seconds after that snap, they’d been kissing as a warm rain fell.
Gods below, that witch could kiss.
Since then, he’d tried to convince himself he didn’t need a certain red-haired Wiccan in his life. But whenever he saw her now, heat banked inside him. Involuntary smoke would emerge from his fingertips and the ends of his horns.
Humans never would guess that demons had souls. But we do.
And Rök believed that Poppy Dyer was the other half of his.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and signaled for another refill, surveying the busy bar. This holiday wasn’t usually anything special because every day was Halloween in the Lore. It just meant immortals could move among humans more readily.
With the Accession in full swing, though, everything took on new significance.
Erol’s was packed to the rafters with Loreans looking either for hookups—or for power. Couples in the back groped while others huddled over drinks, plotting for an upper hand. Alliances were formed; backs were stabbed; pleasure was had.
Immortals, man.
Tired of it all, he ignored glances from amorous females. The prospect of empty bedsport left him cold, had for years. Resisting the urge to look at that pic again, he wondered how long he’d have before his next awkward summoning.
The bartender, a seal shifter from California, brought over a pitcher of brew, frowning at Rök’s empty steel mug.
Apparently, he’d crushed it. He muttered, “Put it on my tab.” He needed another job, a truly grueling one to lose himself in.
The shifter gestured to one of Rök’s horns and said in a get-a-grip tone, “My dude . . .”
“Huh?” Rök reached up and found a piece of his cabin’s siding stuck on the tip—from where he’d been ramming his horns against the wall. Dark gods, the state of me. He yanked off the wood, crumbling it in his fist.
On a scale from not fucked up to completely fucked up, Rök was redlining the FU max limit. A demon denied his mate didn’t get to be a selfless gentleman. In this strung-out shape, Rök came to a conclusion: I can’t hold out any longer. I need—
“Poppy.”
He jerked his head up when someone mentioned her name.
Not far down the bar, a raven-haired female with flashing eyes poked Deshazior, a demon transporter, in his burly chest. “You’ll tell me where you traced her, or I’ll permanently blast your demonic testicles right off your demonic body.”
It was Poppy’s older sister, Lea, a witch so fierce she must channel the Furies. She couldn’t find Poppy and was worried, which meant Rök was seriously bloody worried. He’d bet the other Dyer sisters were out combing the city.
Though Lea’s threat would make most males quaver, Desh, a storm demon as old as dirt and a former pirate, didn’t flinch. He nodded at Lea with understanding, replying in his salty accent: “Wish I could help ye, luv. Don’t know a Poppet.”
“You bought a pouch from Poppy last week! You run the Luber service”—Lore Uber—“and I overheard you two talking about a trip together.”
A trip together? Desh was like a bad penny. Rök had laughed when Cade got jealous over Holly’s friendship with Desh. Now that storm demon was teleporting around with Poppy in his arms!
Lea snapped, “You’ll take me to her now, or I’ll GELD you!” Her palms began to glow with magic.
Desh pulled at the collar of his T-shirt, one that read: Luber Teleporting! No job too small, some jobs too big. “I got a privacy policy. Can’t help ye.”
“We’ll see, demon.” Her raised hands crackled, the rattle before a strike.