Page 218 of Cursed Evermore

“But what?”

“The heart rememberseverything.”

My breath caught at this possibility. “How?”

“The curse is of the mind, not the heart.” He sat straighter. “For instance, you think you feel safe with your family with every reset because you know them. But that's not the only reason. They are always in your heart, so you trust them easier than you would anyone else.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“It is true. And that is how you'll remember me.” His dark gaze pinned me in place.

A flutter of nerves rippled in my gut. Still, I smiled, pretending he was wrong. “I may be your prisoner, but what makes you think you have my heart,Lord Nightblade?”

He leaned in, closer than before. “What makes you think I don't?”

Every nerve in my body ignited at his candor. I had to calm my breathing to focus. “Maybe because I say so.”

“You say a lot of things, mage.” He took a swig of his drink. “Things a male isn't likely to forget.”

He was talking about last night again. All the embarrassing parts about my drunken confession. And there was no point denying anything because every word spoken had been true.

“At least I'm not a closed book.”

“And who is?” he contested, as if he didn't know.

“You. I know so little about you it's next to nothing.”

He inched back and gave me a knowing stare. “You know enough not to hate that you like me.”

I chuckled at first, then felt exposed under that pondering look. Instead of shying away, I decided to go with it. “I want to know more about you. Maybe... I want to like more, too.” I couldn't believe I just said that. Those few words were possibly the most forward I'd ever been—when not drunk.

Wolfe watched me intently, as if trying to read my soul. “There's not a lot to like about me, Ziyka.”

“Why don't you tell me, and I'll decide?”

His eyes darkened as he considered my request. Then his gaze shifted, slow, deliberate, scanning the tavern until it landed on a group of boisterous Fae males near the hearth. They were hunched over a wide, rune-carved board, the surface glowing faintly in the firelight. One of them slammed a cluster of shimmering stones down with a victorious shout, shaking the table and earning a round of groans from the others.

Wolfe looked back at me, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Why don't we play a game?”

“That game?” I gestured toward the table. He nodded. “I don't know how to play. You'd win.”

His fingers traced the rim of his mug like he was already picturing his prize. “It's called Wyrdstones. It's a chance game, so we both have the same odds. How about we do five rounds? If you win, I'll answer three questions. No evading. No lies.”

My spirits lifted. “Really? Three questions with one win? In one go?”

“Yes.”

“And I get to ask youanything?”

“Anything. But if I win...” He let the moment hang in the air, taunting and teasing. “You'll give me something I want.”

What would he want from me? That was so vague, but damn did I ever want to find out, and that made his offer seem fair.

“Okay,” I agreed carefully. “How do we play?”

“The stones are imbued with magic. You need to roll three and try to match the colors. If you do, you win.”

“That's it?”