Chapter Two
Dailey found it challenging to believe Payton wasn’t aware of the curse despite her protests.
The worst part was being ordered by Elara to go away and feeling like he had no control over his actions.
He’d been nothing more than a marionette at the end of her puppet-master strings. That, he couldn’t forgive.
His mother had been correct about one thing: the Hawthornes were no good.
Not because they’d come from the “wrong side of the tracks,” as she so often said, but because they were selfish, uncaring about anyone else.
After pocketing Payton’s keys and retrieving his cuffs, Dailey climbed into his cruiser and sped off. Yes, he could circle back, and likely should, but for now, he’d let her go. It wasn’t as if Witchmere was a bustling metropolis, making it difficult to find a criminal.
And his intent wasn’t to take her to jail.
No, when he found her again, he would take her to his cabin.
There, they’d have a long-overdue discussion about her stunted emotional growth and inability to love.
Then, once he’d read her the riot act and given her time to process the deep shit she was in, he’d offer an out: in exchange for removing the hex, she was free to depart his town and never return.
He paused, waiting for the familiar pang he’d always experienced whenever he thought of her leaving forever.
Nothing.
Good.
Maybe the curse wasn’t so terrible after all.
An unexpected image of her on their last night together formed in his mind. She’d been troubled when he arrived home, but quickly masked it with a cheerful facade. If he’d pressed harder instead of letting her convince him it was no big deal, they might still be together.
But did he want a woman who hated everything about him?
One who mocked what he stood for? She was a virtual child in a pornstar’s body, never forced to grow up.
In fairness, her parents had deserted her at a formative age.
But Elara managed to do just fine, aside from her impulsive spellcasting and her random dodging into alleys to avoid people.
Although he’d considered using her tactic a time or two.
Throughout the evening, Dailey contemplated his next move.
Coldly.
Calculatingly.
He could stake out Elara’s old apartment on the off chance Payton hadn’t returned to the engagement party. Or perhaps he’d wake her at the ass-crack of dawn when she was suffering the hangover from hell.
He refused to question why he didn’t simply confront Elara instead of Payton. Maybe because his ex-fiancée’s betrayal was much more personal, considering everything they’d shared.
By the Gods, he’d loved her. Obsessively, to his mother’s way of thinking and probably Payton’s, too.
Had he unintentionally smothered her in his need to keep her close?
If he were being honest with himself, he’d have to admit it was probable.
His childhood had been void of baser emotions, mainly because Mother found outbursts and spontaneity distasteful.
No child of hers would become a needy hooligan ruled by their feelings—her words, not his.
Mayor Mary-Alice Cobb had an image to uphold, and she’d never let her children forget it.
Perhaps his sister, Sloane, had the right idea when she escaped.
Although the way she’d done it wasn’t the wisest. Marrying Bradford, the “Bougie Biscuit” as she called him, had been an epic mistake on her part.
It seemed neither Dailey nor his sister possessed the best taste when selecting life partners.
In Sloane’s case, their mother adored Bradford and despised her daughter.
In Dailey’s, she loathed Payton and doted on him, much to his embarrassment and detriment.
Their brother, Harrison, had mostly flown under the radar and seemed to be the only well-adjusted of the three.
But then again, he’d chosen psychology as a major.
Maybe he’d gained insight into how to survive their domineering parent.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered.
Another tingle coursed through him, and he frowned. Either he was experiencing a magical disruption, or his nerve endings were on the fritz.
His radio crackled.
“Chief?”
Dailey sighed. Why the hell did he feel older than his forty-two years? It didn’t bode well for him that warlocks lived longer than the average bear.
“Yeah, Junior, what is it?” he asked tiredly.
“Chief, we have a problem.”
When no further explanation followed, he counted to ten. “It would be helpful if you spit it out, kid.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
Dailey pressed his thumb between his brows and exhaled heavily.
Junior Jenkins was twenty-one and still green.
The guy believed everything was an emergency when it wasn’t, could barely reason his way out of a paper bag, and didn’t understand nuances like sarcasm.
If Dailey hadn’t promised the kid’s mom he’d look after him, he’d have cut him loose five minutes after Junior started his internship.
“Are you going to tell me anytime tonight, Junior, or am I supposed to guess?”
“Sorry, sir. But Payton—”
“I’ll be right there.” Dailey did a sharp U-turn in the center of town and headed for the station. Once there, he took the steps two at a time and jerked the door open, stopping short when he saw Tripp Nightshade.
He was leaning back in Dailey’s chair with his feet on the desk. Dressed in all his finery with black, shoulder-length hair and a chiseled jawline that the faces of Mount Rushmore would envy, the demigod appeared out of place but commanding despite the fact.
Fuck.
Tripp’s black brow lifted in amusement. “Expecting someone else?”
“What do you want, Nightshade?” Dailey asked evenly, keeping it together and refusing to rise to the bait.
“Payton’s keys, for a start.”
“Sorry, but she’ll have to pick those up herself.” He crossed his arms, making it clear he wasn’t budging.
“Junior, find something else to do,” Tripp said, with a casual flick of his hand in the young man’s direction.
With eyes glazed over, Junior obediently walked away like a spell-snatched sheep.
“I’d appreciate it if you and your new fiancée would stop throwing out the mind-altering incantations. They’re not beads at a Mardi Gras parade.” Dailey dropped his arms and stalked forward. “Your lack of consequence is a real issue, Nightshade.”
“Elara didn’t understand the power those boots contained, Cobb. Hermes has indicated your curse will wear off when the timing is right.”
Dailey shoved Tripp’s designer-clad feet off his desk. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, ‘when the timing is right?’ I want it gone now.”
As if on cue, Hermes strolled through the double doors. “It’s not within his ability, Constable Curseday. It was the result of Titan magic mixed with Trickster magic. Unbreakable until it plays out.”
Hermes bore a striking resemblance to his cousin, Tripp, but where Nightshade’s eyes were obsidian and cool, the Trickster’s were a bold emerald and contained a perpetual devilish twinkle, indicating he was rarely serious.
“Bullshit.” Dailey didn’t believe for one second that the god couldn’t reverse the curse. The asshole simply didn’t want to.
Hermes grinned, and he never wanted to taser a person more.
“I’m going to bring Payton in, and when I do, the three of you will work out how to remove whatever fuckery has numbed my emotions. Got it?”
With narrowed eyes, the Trickster studied him. “I’m not certain what difference it makes whether your feelings were numbed or not. You’ve clearly been emotionally stunted since birth.”
Because it was too close to the truth, Dailey didn’t respond.
Only with Payton had he felt alive, and there were days he missed the sensation.
Missed the laughter. What he didn’t miss was the pain of their arguments or the disappointment he experienced whenever she was unhappy.
And he certainly didn’t want to relive the soul-crushing agony of her running away on their wedding day.
“Clear out. I have work to do.” And a brother to call. Perhaps Harrison, with all his therapeutic wisdom, could coach him on how to cope. Dailey’s liver wasn’t happy with his drinking himself into a whiskey-induced coma every night.
Tripp climbed to his feet, pausing beside him on his way to the exit.
“Consider this, Cobb. Payton had nothing to do with your curse. She didn’t know Elara’s amped-up spell took hold until tonight.
” He gave Dailey’s shoulder a quick squeeze.
“The woman I’ve come to know would never do anything to hurt you. ”
The tingling started again, and with its return, Dailey’s chest ached.
“That’s rich, and a damned lie,” he snapped. “She ripped my fucking heart out when she turned tail and ran, not caring about the destruction she left in her wake. If you believe she wouldn’t do it again, you’re a fool.”
Although he frowned, Tripp didn’t reply right away. Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry you suffered, Dailey. But it was years ago.”
“Time may weather the stone, but the carvings remain, Nightshade. Remember that.” He turned away, desperate to escape their oppressive power lingering in the air.
And maybe a small part of him understood how overwhelming it had been for Payton to deal with two powerful beings in one room when she didn’t have magic of her own.
It was worth considering.
“Get Junior back on duty.”