Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Caden
I curl my fingers into fists at my sides, trying to keep my hands to myself. Sydney looks edible in a short black skirt and a shiny copper blouse. The former clings lovingly to her hips; the latter provides a mouthwatering glimpse of cleavage. The remnants of a reddish gloss stain her lips, and she’s swept her long hair back into some feminine knot that makes my fingers itch to undo it as I unravel her.
Without thinking, I cross the room, burning to taste her lush mouth—and any other part of her she’ll let me.
But I can’t. Down that path lays disaster.
Damn it, I’m here to end this mission, not add fuel to the fire. Already, tonight is going to hurt.
Blast Bram and his grand schemes. I only agreed to this one because it should keep Sydney safe.
But she’ll also hate me forever.
Bloody hell, I feel rotten. Tired, hot, and aroused, my thoughts are sluggish and my body demanding. Worse today than yesterday by far.
Bloody transition is coming early, I fear.
“We should talk,” I finally say.
Cautiously, she nods and locks the door behind me, then heads for the kitchen, casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder.
Damn. I want to be rational in her presence. A gentleman. But the urge to fuck her until she screams my name, until I imprint on her soul, coupled with the gut-wrenching fear this is the last time I’ll ever see her, makes that impossible.
“Tea?”
“No,” I scratch out. “Thank you.”
“Something stronger?” She reaches to the top of a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey.
Dangerous. If I cloud my judgment with alcohol, no telling how little conversation we’ll have and how much shagging we’ll do. I owe her my best behavior, even if everything inside urges me to claim her.
I shake my head. “Can we sit?”
Sydney hesitates, then crosses to the sofa. I sit beside her, intentionally keeping space between us. But bloody hell, even at this distance she smells like raspberry and jasmine and softness. I swallow as need claws at my restraint. Everything about her lures me. My awareness is sharper tonight, painful almost. My body shakes. As hot as I feel, I would swear it was July during a swelter, not late November.
“Why are you here?” she asks. “If it’s to pick up where we left off?—”
“I came to explain.”
She raises a ginger brow.
“I swear, I didn’t try to steal your magical war story. Who would I sell it to?”
“You must know we have competitors who are ruthless and not at all picky about ethics.”
“I’m not one of them. Please trust me on that.”
“Holly caught you eavesdropping. If you didn’t have thievery in mind, what were you doing?”
How the devil can I answer that question without stepping on verbal landmines? “I needed to know who rang you. If you were seeing another man.”
Sydney’s face softens. “There’s no one else. For the record, I didn’t tell Holly to show you the door. In fact, I mentioned my concerns about you before we ever shagged.”
“We did more than that, Sydney.”
She looks crushed. “Holly is my trusted mentor. I only asked her for advice. Whatever you believe, I never thought she’d sack you. I even asked her to reinstate you, but she refused.”
“It’s all right.”
“If you weren’t stealing my story, then why so many questions?”
God, I want to avoid answering that and simply ask if Anka is her source. But Sydney would only barrage me with more questions. The first would be, how do I know Anka, a magical woman? If I’m honest and say that she’s my brother’s former “wife,” Sydney will know I’m close to magic. After she finishes haranguing me for withholding, she’ll demand more information about magickind that isn’t mine to give—or safe for her to know. She might even think I’m one of Mathias’s minions, looking to torture Anka again. She’ll likely shut me out completely.
Not that we have any future.
“I promise, stealing your story was the last thing on my mind.”
“Then what were you doing? Why romance me? Was any of what happened between us real?”
Bloody hell, she continues to prove how direct she is. As always, I admire—no, I desire her—for it. Unfortunately, there are a lot of things I can’t say. But I owe her as much of the truth as I can divulge.
“Everything I felt, every touch, every concern, was completely real. Being with you was incredible. It was…everything. This is a terrible time in my life for romance. I should’ve stayed away. But you’re damned hard to resist.”
“So are you.”
Sydney is still looking at me expectantly. The more information I give her, the deeper down the rabbit hole she’ll try to drag me. I’ve fed her lies upon lies upon lies, and I hate them. But the truth is hardly better. The more I give her, the more she’ll insert in another story, further putting her life in danger.
Finally, a godsend of an idea makes it through the quagmire of my fatigued brain.
“I came to Out of this Realm looking for a witch named Anka. Nothing has helped my brother’s condition, and I spoke with a…healer who believes Anka has magical powers that could help Lucan. I’ve tried everything else to make my brother whole, to no avail. Anka disappeared recently, and when I started reading your stories in the paper, I wondered if she was your source.”
Not a lie…just not the whole truth.
Regret and sadness cross Sydney’s face. “I can’t tell you that. As much as I want to help your brother…” She grimaces. “I can’t.”
I refuse to coerce her into compromising her ethics and giving me her source’s name. She’d resent me, and I can’t tolerate adding more fuel to the anger she’ll feel after tonight. Already, I feel beyond guilty for stopping the story that could help her prove her merit to the world and her stodgy parents.
“I know. And working with you under false pretenses was wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be dodgy. I was desperate.”
After tonight, I’ll have to devise another strategy to locate Anka. But that’s a tomorrow-me problem.
Now I have to deceive Sydney again. I can barely think beyond my exhaustion and my need to touch her. Knowing I have to lie to her again burns—even if it’s for her own safety. And magickind’s.
“Let me prove I have no designs on your story. I came here because I’ve found two people who are experts on that old book Aquarius got you, the one you want to write about.”
“You told people about it?” She huffs. “Too late. They can’t beat me to press.”
“I merely mentioned the book to people who can help you understand it. I swear, no one has designs on your story.”
She hesitates. “All right. Everything I’ve written about it so far is conjecture, so if you brought me experts… I’ve already turned in the next installment, but I’ve got a bit of time?—”
“You’ve written about the book?” At her nod, my stomach lurches. Fuck. She’s painting a huge red target on her forehead for Mathias. “You have until tomorrow afternoon to change it, yes?”
“Unless Holly releases it sooner. She’ll let me know in the morning.”
“Call her and tell her to hold it. You’ll want to, once you talk to my connections. Olivia Gray owns a local art gallery and is an expert in antiquities. She’s handled something remarkably similar before.”
Sydney’s face blooms with excitement. “Has she?”
Despite my searing guilt, I nod. “Indeed. I also spoke with Simon Northam. He’s?—”
“ The Simon Northam? The Duke of Hurstgrove?”
“You know him?”
“I know of him. Who doesn’t? Hello! magazine has named him England’s sexiest bachelor too many times to count. He’s filthy rich and intelligent, and…he knows about this book? And he’s willing to talk to me?”
“Indeed. Antique books are a passion of his. They both need to examine it. In your presence, of course.” Right before they steal it. “They can either come here or meet you at the pub ‘round the corner. I told them I would call if you were willing.”
Sydney studies me, biting her plump, pouty lip. The sight distracts me. I yank on my internal leash to stop myself from kissing her.
She’s too human—too delicate—to be in the middle of this magical war. If she accepted my Call, her lifespan would mirror mine. I can’t subject her to centuries fraught with danger, surrounded by people who could kill her in the blink of an eye when she has no way to fight back.
“I’ll talk to them,” she says. “But no pictures. The book doesn’t leave my sight. No one writes anything down.”
“And you’ll call Holly?”
“If I like what Olivia and Hurstgrove say, I’ll tell her to hold the story so I can make revisions. If I don’t hear anything interesting, it’ll run as is.”
Once they take the book, I’ll have to find some way to convince her to pull the article. But I won’t shag her to do it. After this deception, I refuse to hurt her again.
“Thank you. I hope you find Olivia and Duke’s information helpful.”
“Duke?”
“Simon’s nickname.”
“Simon, is it? How well do you know him?”
Well enough to have fought a battle by his side. Well enough to have endured Marrok’s physical training side by side until we nearly dropped. Of all the Doomsday Brethren, I like Duke most. He’s not the titled prat I first thought. He doesn’t bark orders like Marrok. He isn’t half mad like Ice. Or a manipulative sod like Bram. He’s reliable unlike Shock. Duke is quiet, shrewd, and tough when necessary. Having a bazillion pounds hasn’t made him pretentious at all.
“We met a few weeks ago,” I hedge. “He’s a friend of my brother’s.”
Sydney shakes her head. “This is surreal. I appreciate you introducing me to Olivia and ‘Duke.’ But regardless of what they say, I still can’t give you the name of my source.”
I wish otherwise, but I respect her loyalty. “I know.”
“If you want me to meet these people, why come here alone?”
To see her. Talk to her. Touch her one last time.
Her lips part expectantly, and I tense, step closer. It would be so easy… Lean in, close my eyes, press my mouth to hers, let magic and fate take over. I would have someone who would be mine literally until death—or Mathias—parts us.
What if she doesn’t want that? Committing to me wouldn’t be for a typical fifty years, but a millennium. Every moment of it dangerous.
“I can’t stay away from you. You’re an amazing woman.”
She swallows. The moment pulses between us, thick, tense. I lean closer, drawn by her sweet jasmine scent, by those chocolate eyes that are melting me by the second.
No, no, no! My internal temperature kicks up—right along with my amped-up sex drive. I’ve barely touched her, and I’m unbearably aroused. I cup her cheek with a shaking hand and trail my thumb over her lips. Her mouth looks like heaven.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she breathes raggedly.
She feels this ungodly pull between us, too.
That knowledge sears me.
I caress my way from her shoulder to her nape. “If you don’t want me, stop me.”