TEN
“What do you mean,” Zarek snapped, “she told you I have to ask her myself?”
Zarek paced the length of Pete Macrombie’s library, his boots heavy over the polished wood, while irritation rolled off him in heatwaves that he refused to acknowledge.
The room smelled of old paper and the faint tang of warding chalk from the professor’s simple attempts at protection that wouldn’t stop a genuine threat but might slow one down.
But Zarek wasn’t here to teach those skills, and certainly not to mortals. He was here for answers, while Martar lounged in a chair near the hearth, far too entertained for Zarek’s liking.
“Miss Duboise said so,” Pete murmured. “Word for word.”
Zarek cut back and forth again across the floor. “She is not supposed to know I exist.”
“Well, she also said she could smell you on me.”
Zarek stopped so hard that the floorboards creaked.
Martar’s head lifted. “She could do what?”
Pete cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between them. “Your scent. Like… residue. A brand. A thumbprint. Yes, that was her word.”
Zarek had been called many things across the centuries. Monster. Killer. Executioner. Captain. Never had he been recognized by scent. He’d taught his soldiers to mask their scent, to never let the enemy smell them first. It was impossible.
“Explain,” Zarek demanded.
Pete swallowed as he looked away, like most people did, from Zarek’s glare.
“I-I went in to ask some questions, and I barely got my name out before she showed up. Miss Duboise just looked at me and said, You know Zarek. And then she asked if you’d sent me. And I said yes.”
Zarek’s eyes narrowed. “You volunteered that.”
“No.” Pete squirmed in his seat as the words spilled like panic.
“That’s the point. I didn’t mean to. My mouth—” The professor pressed his lips together, as if visibly remembering the moment.
“My tongue tried to move of its own volition. I had to bite down hard to stop myself from telling her everything.”
Martar let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”
“It is not,” Zarek growled, forcing himself back to the table. He sat heavily, with his forearms braced on the wood.
Martar asked, “Is she a witch?”
Pete hesitated. “No.”
Martar barked a laugh. “Of course she’s a witch.”
“No, she’s not. I would have sensed it.” Just as Zarek could sense the magick of others in this realm.
“Also, Miss Duboise doesn’t believe in magic.” Pete tugged at his bow tie. “She said it as if she were offended by the idea.”
Zarek arched an eyebrow at the professor. “She doesn’t believe?” Now, that was ridiculous.
“And yet she remembered you.” Martar’s annoying grin widened. “And she smelled you. And she made the professor here almost choke on his own oath.”
Pete winced. “I did not choke.”
“I bet you begged her to stop,” Martar said cheerfully.
Pete’s ears reddened. “I… asked her. Yes.”
Zarek didn’t share Martar’s amusement. As none of this sat right in his bones. He’d gone back to check on her, as duty required, to make sure the mortal had forgotten their encounter. He had only intended to clean up a loose thread.
Instead, the thread, that female annoyance, had tugged back.
Pete shifted in his seat, his tone cautious now. “I learned what I could after she left.”
Zarek’s gaze cut to him. “Speak.”
“Her name is Angela Duboise.”
Angela. Finally, he had a name. He’d spent way too many hours trying to guess, and now he had the simple, unassuming human name: Angela.
It suited her perfectly.
“She was raised by her aunt, Claudine Deveraux. They run the bookstore together. It belonged to Angela’s mother, who was a herbalist, which is why it’s part apothecary.
It’s got a great reputation for unusual books and for restoring them too.
I believe Claudine is a white witch. No powers, of course.
But she’s very knowledgeable and has quite a collection in her store for esoteric supplies. All ethically sourced, too.”
Angela was educated in esoterica. Which explained why she hadn’t screamed in Zarek’s face during the Black Cloak confrontation in the alley.
Martar leaned forward. “And the father?”
Pete exhaled slowly. “No father’s name was found on Angela’s birth certificate.”
“That’s not possible.” Martar sat up with his brow shifting. “In Paradox, lineage is never unknown. Power follows blood. Even when names are concealed, they are recorded.” His gaze flickered to Zarek. “The Continuum Council would never allow a blank space on such a document as the record of birth.”
“There is no federal requirement to name a father on the birth certificate, as some children may be conceived by donors.” Again, Pete tugged on his bow tie as he cleared his throat. “But Angela’s certificate has nothing. No omission marks or amendments. Just… absence.”
Zarek’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table. In his world, bloodlines were carefully charted maps that were fiercely protected as proof of origin and authority. In Paradox, a missing title to parentage violated the laws of lineage.
“What else did you learn about her?” Zarek had employed the professor for answers, not more questions.
“Miss Duboise has a degree and is licensed to practice law—but doesn’t anymore, from what I could tell. Not sure why. But what that tells me is that she’s smart and did mention stalking laws…”
It took everything for Zarek to not drop his head in shame.
“… But she is rather practical, as a part bookshop owner. And, well…” Pete nervously licked his lower lip. “Miss Duboise is rather angry with you.”
“Good,” Zarek muttered, then immediately hated that he’d said it.
Martar’s eyebrows shot up. “Good?”
Zarek started pacing again, fighting the urge to do something physical that he’d regret later.
What annoyed him was that he couldn’t go to the bookshop. Its protective wards had teeth stopping him from crossing the threshold. And then there were the Accords…
He hated all those limitations, when they’d never bothered him before.
“Now that she’s baited you, I could go ask this female myself,” Martar said, savoring it.
Zarek shot him a look. “Stop enjoying this.”
“I’m more than enjoying this, brother.” Martar, the well-known charmer of women, chuckled. “I’m cherishing it.”
Zarek returned his attention to the professor. “What else did she say?”
“Miss Duboise said if you want answers, you can ask her to her face.”
Zarek’s mouth tightened. It wasn’t fear that prickled under his skin.
It was worse.
He’d been challenged.
Normally, he lived for challenges, and the chance to strike down an opponent—but not ones like this. And he wasn’t used to mortals talking to him like he was someone who could be dared.
“Did this mortal female ask what we are?” Martar asked.
“Not directly. She asked if you were good or bad.”
Zarek stopped pacing.
“And?” Martar prompted.
Pete’s lips twitched. “As part of my oath to protect the Paradox Accords, you know I couldn’t answer that. So, I asked her what she thought.”
Zarek’s eyes arrowed at the professor. “And her response?”
Pete looked down at his hands. “She said you were powerful. Controlled. Dangerous. And that she could feel when you were near. But she wasn’t happy with me either.”
Heat moved through Zarek’s chest, irrationally fast and entirely unwelcome.
Across the room, the fire crackled, a clock ticked, and for a brief second Zarek could taste the memory of her voice saying his name as if it belonged in her mouth.
He shoved the thought aside so hard his temples ached. Yet the echo of it lingered anyway.
“Why was she unhappy with you?” Zarek demanded. Anger was cleaner than this. Obedience was easier than her.
Pete nervously swallowed. “Well, Miss Duboise left before I could talk to her, but she accepted my apology. Before that I tried to… smooth things over with her aunt.”
“You attempted a glamour spell,” Zarek said flatly.
Pete flinched. “To make her forget I was there.”
“And it failed,” Martar said, delighted again.
“It didn’t fail,” Pete protested. “It just—”
“It failed,” Zarek repeated, colder now. “Because that apothecary is heavily protected with wards against all magic.”
Pete sighed heavily. “Yes. It seems so.”
Zarek turned toward the window, staring out into the darkness that wasn’t quite dark because of the light pollution. Yet he looked anyway as if distance could help him organize the problem.
A mortal who not only remembered him but could sense his presence. One with a missing paternal record, who worked in a protected environment where even he could not cross the threshold.
And then there was the worst detail of all: she’d told him to come himself. Her kind were never meant to know he existed.
Behind him, Pete cleared his throat. “May I ask, my Lord—”
“You can’t visit Paradox, Professor. It’s against the Accords, so stop asking.” Martar sighed as if bored.
Pete’s face fell. “I know it’s a folly, but one day I’d love to visit and study your realm. But that was not what I was going to say.”
Zarek kept his back to the room. “Go on.”
“I’d like to talk with Miss Duboise again. I-I believe I can help her. Not with answers that may breach my oath. But more to help her cope. You see, her aunt mentioned that Angela is having nightmares. I think it might be a result from her confrontation with the Black Cloaks.”
“I know.” Zarek didn’t mean to let it slip, like a sigh that made his head fall to his chest. He’d felt both the pain and fear in her too. It’s why he wanted her to forget, only to fail. And it had been a long time since he’d failed at anything.
“I think she’s trying to pretend that everything is normal,” Pete said. “Maybe I can help her.”
Zarek’s hands flexed at his sides as the frown grew at the idea of any male near her—human or otherwise—without his presence.
The instinct was primitive.
Mine! The thought rose so fast it shocked him, that his spine went rigid.
Martar’s amusement vanished in an instant, his posture straightening as if he’d sensed the shift without understanding it.
Zarek forced the word down into the dark place where unwanted impulses went to die, and only then did he slowly turn back, keeping his expression controlled.
“You have permission,” Zarek said pronouncing every syllable, “to answer what she asks you, within reason.”
Pete’s shoulders eased, relief flickering across his features.
“But,” Zarek continued, stepping closer until Pete had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. The air pressure spiked, as heat coiled beneath Zarek’s skin like a slumbering beast that was awakening.
“Zarek…” Martar was on his feet now.
Zarek’s focus never left the professor. “Be warned. If you frighten her, if you dare try to manipulate her, or touch her without consent…” A hungry heat surged inside his chest like a caged dragon clawing for release. Zarek clenched his jaw to contain it. “You will answer to me.”
Pete went pale and broke eye contact.
No one held Zarek’s gaze for long. Looking too deeply carried consequences.
Normally, Zarek could read minds. Edit them. Strip memories away as cleanly as breath. Except hers.
And touch? Touch was worse. His kind were not made for mortal skin. His power scorched. Burned. Ended things.
No. It was best he stayed away from Angela Duboise. Not because he wanted to, but because one mistake from him would destroy her. And that was a line he would never cross.