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He slides a hand between my legs, and I return the favour. I don’t mess about waiting for him to bring me off with his surprisingly skilful fingers. I grab some protection from the bedside drawer and jump on top.

My arousal is building, but then I look down at him. There’s something in his ordinary, friendly face that suddenly bores me almost to the point of disgust. I’m seeing those flame-red eyes again. Dirty-blond waves in place of Chris’ short brown hair. Dangerously sharp cheekbones in place of his soft facial features. And that evil, alluring smirk in place of Chris’ wholesome smile.

Don’t do this, brain. For once, stay in the moment. Appreciate the perfectly pleasant, perfectly attractive man in front of you.

But it’s too late. I close my eyes, and my unconscious mind is running my favourite fantasy again. I come with my sweetly bland date’s hands all over my body, but my utmost enemy’s face and voice all over my brain.

* * *

Once we wake from a brief, post-coital nap, Christopher smiles and attempts to pull me into an embrace. “That was amazing. Do you want to curl up together, or shall we get dressed, order that food we skipped, and then do it all again?”

I prop myself up and look down at him. He’s cute naked, and while he’s no doubt influenced by the sex, he’s gazing at me as if he really likes me. He seems like a nice guy. I could try to be nice back.

I give an exaggerated yawn. “It was lovely to meet you. But I’m super tired, and I’ve got to do some prep on a case for tomorrow. Let me fix you another gin and tonic, then I’ll order you a taxi.”

He stands up on autopilot. “Really? Are you sure you don’t want me to stay the night? I can head off early?”

My smile is becoming stiffer by the minute. “Maybe next time.”

I head across the landing to the open-plan kitchen before he can debate the matter further, and pour us both a strong drink. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, I take the time to add ice and a slice of lime. Neglecting that step is practically heresy. I drain mine before he manages to throw on his clothes and join me.

He takes a tentative sip of his drink then perches on my breakfast-bar stool. “There’s something I need to say before I go.”

I tense. I’ve never had a date refuse to leave before. I do my due diligence, I pay attention to my intuition, and it all works out. Maybe he’s just a little overenthusiastic and not great at social cues. But maybe he’s someone who doesn’t deal well with rejection and can’t take no for an answer.

A little twinge of that primordial panic that all women know far too well hits me, despite the fact that, if push really came to shove, I could incinerate him with a thought. But I really do try so hard not to do that sort of thing.

“I’d like you to leave now, please.” For the moment, I cling to politeness and pray he’ll respond in kind.

He holds out his hands. “Sadie, I’m not some creep, I swear. I need to deliver a message, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

“You’ve got five minutes. Then creep or otherwise, I need to get on with my case prep.”

“I’m an associate of the London Coven. They were tasked with tracking you down, and I was selected to be the one who made contact.”

I take a hurried step back, then raise my arms and throw up my shields before he can say anything more. A simple touch of defensive magic shouldn’t be enough to trigger the lien mark, and even if it were, it feels like the lesser of two evils for once.

I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting any members of the London Coven face to face. But my dad had dealings with them when he was younger, and he’s told me enough stories. I’m powerful enough and have a strong enough pedigree that they’d probably welcome me with open arms if I still performed magic. But I don’t, so despite the fact I’ve lived in their city for six years, I’ve stayed out of their way and they’ve stayed out of mine. Chris didn’t seem to be a practitioner. How the hell could I have missed the signs?

Chris doesn’t respond to the appearance of my shield—a translucent, red-tinged bubble visible to all those with the power to see it. Nor does he raise a shield of his own or prepare any kind of attack. I glance at his eyes. Still blue. Pupils still circular, irises still normally sized.

“You’re not a practitioner, are you?” I stutter out after a moment. My body’s rigid, poised to take more dramatic steps if I need to.

“No.” There’s awe in his voice at the very idea. “But they’ve promised to teach me their magic if I spend a few years working for them on the side.”

I laugh incredulously, even as I keep my shield firm. “Lavinia and her cronies would never teach a human. Besides, it’s barely possible, even if they were willing to put their prejudices aside. They could show you a few cheap party tricks at best.”

He shrugs as though he doesn’t care, though the question of whether he’s being used must haunt him.

“Lavinia trusted me enough to carry out this mission on behalf of one of her closest allies. A bit of research suggested I’m broadly your type. Or, at least, what you try to convince yourself is your type, nowadays.”

I barely hear the end of his self-congratulatory little speech. I make it as far as “closest allies” before my heartbeat starts to drown out all other sounds.

“I need to take you back to Mannith,” he continues.

I close the distance between us and take a firm grip of his arms with my suddenly clammy hands. “If you try, I’ll kill you. And failing that, I’ll kill myself. You won’t take me to him.” My voice is so high-pitched it could be heard by bats. I sound hysterical. I couldn’t care less.

Burn him, my mind screams.Mesmerise him. Break his will or break his body or bend his mind. Do something. Anything.