Page 152 of Cold Curses

“Let him go,” I told Black, striding toward him. “This has nothing to do with the Pack.”

Black stepped forward and crossed his arms. “So, you acknowledge it has to do with us?”

“I acknowledge you wish it did,” I said. “Let him go.”

“Not until I get what I want.”

“Did you think Sorcha would have left something for you?” I asked. “Is that why you went looking for her, hoping she left you a balm to fix your magic?”

“So you can do research,” he said blandly.

The blast caught me unaware; I hadn’t even seen him flinch. The bolt of Black’s lightning hit me in the chest, shoved me backward like a fist. It took a light pole to stop me, and the force of my impact had metal groaning.

I hit the ground, bounced. And felt a trickle of blood on my lip, a little pain in my ribs from the contact. But otherwise, I felt okay. Good Sullivan genetics, I thought. No longer hidden by monster.

But ever the actress, I coughed and made a show of slowly climbing to my feet. “I guess that’s a sore spot,” I said, holding my ribs as I walked closer.

Brat,came Connor’s voice.

I’m fine,I said, not entirely sure if this connection worked both ways.Acting.

“Let him go,” I said again. “Or you die. The CPD is here, and the shifters are eager to get their hands on you.”

Black’s grin was feral. I didn’t know how much of that was his own self-involvement and how much was madness caused by the vast volume of magic he’d absorbed. He flung his head back toward Swift, and black flame burst from the silver chains. The shifter reared back and screamed in obvious agony.

The sound cut through me like a sword. I rushed toward him, but Black turned, grabbed me. His fingers were ice-cold on my arm. I jerked to get away, but didn’t put my full strength behind the movement. And that took effort. The corpselike temperature of his fingers was upsetting.

“He is immaterial,” Black said. “He’s only insurance. They take one step toward me, and he dies.”

It was going to have to be the magic, then.

“You can’t kill him,” I said, and worked a little panic into my voice. “He’s the nephew of the Apex of the Western Pack, next in line for the throne, and if he dies—”

“They’ll take it out on your boyfriend?” Black leaned closer, the demonic stink burning the air. “That’s what you get for lying with dogs.”

“What do you want?”

“Sorcha’s magic.”

“Why do you get it? She didn’t give it to you.”

Apparently tired of our discussion, brief as it had been, he gripped both my arms now and shoved magic into me.

The violation was profound. Worse than what he’d tried the last time, because his magic was corrupted now, splintered with rot and decay. The magic stabbed through my brain, and this time my scream was real. He pulled, tried to yank the magic from my body. I went limp, and that wasn’t acting—there was only my magic. Continuing to breathe through the pain was the only thing on my mind.

Black didn’t care about my health. He let go of one of my arms and allowed me slip to the ground. But he kept contact with the other one, and apparently that was enough to transmit his magic.

“Stop,” I managed, my head screaming.

And then the pain stopped. Not becausehe’dstopped, but because the Bell–Carmichael spell had kicked in. It wasn’t fighting Black’s magic, but easing it. Giving it something else to hold on to.

I wanted to lie there in that sudden bubble of bliss, pretend his magic had sent me into a stupor. But to make this believable, I still had pretending to do.

“Please,” I said, my wrist encircled by his fingers. “Let me go.”

“Not until I get…,” he said, then made a sound of pleasure that had me grimacing.

I risked a glance up. The sorcerers must have added some kind of mood enhancer to make Black feel like he was getting exactly what he deserved. His eyes rolled back as magic, bright and golden, floated above him, black wisps of smoke rising through it. The spell was working; he was losing the extra power.