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)
This was . . . a good point. Their parents were an example of how witches and warlocks could amplify each other’s abilities. In any Wiccan calculation, more magic was always better than less magic. “It’s just a casual date,” Poppy had assured everyone.
After the four sisters had taken bets that one of Rök’s lovers would hail him before the dinner concluded, Sage had summed up their thoughts: “Demons are like bulls: horned and raring to chase any old red cape.”
Ha! How wrong they’d been. I’m not any old red cape.
And this was not just a casual date; something was happening here.
Keeping up with the conversation, Poppy pointed out, “Bishop II’s offer to remove the alien from Ripley could have been real. Though I don’t think her character would ever accept that the alien inside her might live.”
“Exactly.” The gleam in Rök’s eyes made her feel praised. “Just like the priest who dove out of the window in The Exorcist. He couldn’t live with the idea that the demon might survive, which, by the way, stung a little.”
She chuckled at his aggrieved look. “So, what’s your best character sacrifice?”
He thought for a moment. “The dad in A Quiet Place. His chances before his death were better than nil, but he would do anything to save his beloved children.”
“You would’ve yelled and drawn the monster away from them?”
Rök held her gaze. “When you love something, you protect it.”
She swallowed, so caught up in this demon she could drown in him.
Caution warned, Just dip a toe.
Experience screamed, Do not head in deeper.
Desire whispered, Headfirst and make a splash.
Rök reached across the table and took her hand, leaning in to press his lips to the pulse point at her wrist.
“Player,” she murmured. “You’ve got your moves down, don’t you?”
He grinned against her skin. “And you keep calling me out on them. . . .” He trailed off, his body beginning to blur. “Poppy—”
Her name seemed to echo for a beat as he vanished, leaving her hand in midair and the chair across from her empty.
She straightened, collecting herself. He would return directly; he just needed to tell the summoner that he was on a date. Rök had warned her that he sometimes disappeared.
Still, she wondered what he’d find when he answered that call. A naked temptress already in the throes? Would a player resist?
Pouring herself more pricey wine, Poppy waited for him.
She waited.
She waited.
Her imagination went wild. She quaffed another glass and fielded commiserating looks from other female patrons.
After an hour passed, Poppy finally accepted that Rök was off screwing someone else while their entrees grew chilled and her wine bottle drained.
Had she actually thought something special was occurring between her and the demon? Her public humiliation in this upscale place didn’t touch her private humiliation. Her sisters had been right. For males like Rök, one woman was as good as another.
The eye-watering bill added salt to the wound. As Poppy dazedly meandered out of the restaurant and through that memorable parking lot, she felt a mix of grief and fury. Grury. Rök made her grurious.
She’d foolishly believed that he was the one for her.
The one.
Unfortunately, he considered her something else.
One of many.
FOUR
Rök glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a grateful witch following on his heels. “Poppy?” Out of habit, he tried to trace back to her, failed, then barged through the kitchen doors.
Surrounded by gremlin carnage, she narrowed her gaze at him.
“The hell, Red? This is where we leave. You said there’s going to be more.” Despite all his research—he’d gathered intel on her as if she were a mission—he’d uncovered no hint of this curse. His thoughts bounced to the night of their date; certain puzzle pieces were falling into place. “We need to get to a better battleground. So I say this in all seriousness: Come with me if you want to live.” He offered his hand.
The witch didn’t take it, but she did exit the reeking kitchen with him.
In the hallway, she stopped. “What’s your angle, demon?”
“What are you talking about?” His angle? Keeping this stubborn female alive. She was right; she was an anomaly in the Lore. The two of them had unfinished business to take care of.
“The visitors will stick close to me, so all you have to do is steer clear. Complete your job and minimize risks—those two things are pretty much all a merc focuses on.”
“I’m not going to abandon you.”
“No, you would never do that,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Oh, come on, Rök. We’re enemies.”
“Poppy, no.” How had they gotten so sideways on this? Because he’d been summoned during their date? He was a smoke demon; swimbos bloody happened.
“Do you know how many times I’ve almost collected the reward on your head?”
Rök had a few bounties on him, and maybe some orders to “terminate with extreme prejudice.” People thought two dimensions had issued them. Nonsense. Fifteen. He had a way of making dimensional warlords very unhappy—just because females preferred Rök. “For a bag of coin, you would turn me in to be executed?”