Page 49 of Curses & Keys (Curses & Gods #1)
PHAEDRA
S leek, sophisticated décor and a wall of glass windows are the first things I see but it’s Jamison’s tired face and steel-blue eyes that capture my attention.
“Your friend Greta patched you up.”
I glance down and lift the light blue blanket, skipping past my black bra to the bandage on my lower right. Memories of the airport and the mage who stabbed me filter through the haze in my mind.
Parched, I swallow a few times and slide back the bandage. Red and full of pus, the wound is angry and gross. “Usually, a knife doesn’t do that much damage.”
“Poison,” he says, holding a glass of cool water to my dry lips. “Anise oil, I think she said. It’s something mages use to paralyze their enemies. Did a mage do this?” I nod, and his hand clenches. “I knew I should have gone after the weapon. Damn it.”
“He made a fatal mistake,” I croak. “He reached for the weapon. The tip caught him, and he jerked back, but it was too late.” I lift my head. “Where is the blade?”
He waves a hand to a chair in the corner. “There. I haven’t had time to look at it. I’ve been busy calling Gatlin and the rest to let them know we’ll be late to the meeting point.”
My body feels heavy, but I push myself up. “I’m awake. We should go.”
He gently pushes me back down on the sofa. “You’re healing, but not as fast as I’d like.” He rubs a hand across the scruff on his granite jaw. “When your eyes closed, I…” He swallows. “Are you immortal?”
“Sort of,” I reply. His brows draw together. “I die, but I come back. Depending on the wound, it can take a minute or a day.”
He picks up my fingers and plays lightly with them. “Does it hurt?”
“It isn’t pleasant,” I reply with a grimace, not wanting to think about it. “Where am I? A condo?”
He nods. “It is. We use this as a safe house. Do you want something to eat?”
I shake my head and try to sit up. “I need to use the restroom.” Stitches pull at my side, and I flinch.
He leans down, picks me up, and sets me down inside the restroom. “Call me when you’re ready. I’m going to grab you some crackers.”
When I finish, he’s standing outside the door. He carries me back to the living room. “Sorry. This is the only furniture in this place. We don’t stay here often.” He grimaces. “Your shirt was bloody. I didn’t want to leave it on.”
“This is fine for now.” I reach up and trace the lines of worry around his firm mouth. “As much as I love having you all to myself, I think you should help me heal this wound so we can get back to the others.” When he gives me a puzzled look, I wink at him. “Magic helps me heal.”
He carefully sets me on the sofa and lays the crackers on the side table. “Greta mentioned something about that, but I wasn’t sure what she meant.”
“Whether it’s curses or spells, my body absorbs magic. Thrives on it,” I reveal in a low voice, hoping the gods don’t hear me. They know I can regenerate, because they gave me that ability, but not the other. “Tell me. What was the first magic you learned?”
“Fire,” he says with a grin. “I was utterly fascinated by it. Had flames dancing above my cot before I could walk.”
“Show me,” I urge him, settling against the armrest.
He flicks a finger, and little flames appear.
Dancing above me, they flicker and bend, and shine brightly.
One flame turns into a tiger and pounces on a nearby lion.
A giraffe eats from a tree where a monkey sits.
Animals turn into soldiers marching in formation.
Battleships form and sail across a sea of fire.
I laugh, delighted by his creativeness. Something I never expected from Mr. I-Need-To-Be-In-Control. “This is wonderful!” I think about how much power this must have taken as a child. “Your parents must have been freaked out by the level of magic you wielded at such a young age.”
The flames die, and I’m sad to see them go.
“My mother left right after I was born, and I didn’t see my father on a regular basis until I was ten years old.” His voice is matter of fact, but I can hear a sliver of loneliness in his tone. An emotion I know too well.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Was your childhood lonely?”
His laugh is harsh. “Once my father saw my powers and my rebellious ways, he immediately enrolled me in military school. Power is controlled by discipline and intent, he would say. He was right. It did me good.”
He never answered my question. “Although I’m not sure I like his methods, you turned out to be an incredible man,” I say teasingly. “A little bossy. Broody too. Reluctantly charming.” I lean closer. “Plus, you smell divine.” The unique combination has driven me crazy since we met.
He chokes. “I’ll own the bossy but broody?” With a roll of his eyes, he turns the tables. “What about your childhood? Were you happy?”
“It was the best,” I say with a soft smile. “My sister and I were close, always playing and causing chaos. Our parents were secretly amused at their little princesses, but as royals, they rarely showed emotions.”
“Hawthorne told us you were a princess.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I say with a huge sigh. When he laughs, I shrug. “What can I say? It was exceedingly boring. If it weren’t for P… my sister, I would have run away.” Damn, that was close. I’m too comfortable around him.
Time to change the subject. I reach down and peel back the tape covering the wound. Light pink and no sign of infection. “See. It’s working.”
A relieved expression crosses his face. “Hmm. Does it matter what kind of magic?” He looks over at the weapon on the chair.
“Magic isn’t good or bad. It just is,” I remind him.
He walks over and picks up the weapon. Holding it aloft, the cloth protecting him from its deadly magic, he examines it closely. “Mage magic.” His brow furrows.
“Surprisingly, not my father’s. I don’t know whose it is, but they’re powerful. There are at least a dozen spells on it. Complex ones.”
“Bring it over here.”
He steps close to the bed, and the magic calls to me. I reach out a finger and slide it down the blue blade. Jerking the weapon away, he glares at me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Testing a theory,” I say innocently. “Like with curses, I can see the spells on it. If I remove the most dangerous one, I’m curious to see if the knife will remain a threat.”
“There’s more than one lethal spell on this knife,” he states confidently. “And you’re still healing from the last encounter.”
He tucks the cloth around the knife and places it back on the chair in the corner. Stalking back to me, he lightly presses his finger on my lips to stop my words. “You might be used to calling the shots, but I hated seeing you hurt. Give me a minute to recover.”
“I’m healed,” I protest, drawing his eyes down to my wound. “See.” Not a single blemish remains. Little black suture threads lie on the smooth surface of my skin, and I brush them away, only to encounter sticky residue from Greta’s medicine.
He reaches over and brushes his thumb against the wound.
A shiver runs across my body, but I’m distracted by the dried bits of blood I see. “I need a shower.”
“The bathroom is fully stocked,” he informs me. “I’ll let everyone know you’re healed, but we’ll be awhile. Take your time.” He pulls me up until I’m standing steady.
“Thank you for taking care of me. It’s been a long time since someone cared whether I lived or died.” The words emerge from somewhere down deep where I tend to shove all my emotions. Coated in gratitude and a lot of feelings I don’t want to examine too closely.
His brows draw together, and he lifts my chin, steel-blue eyes locking with mine. “Scared the hell out of me, to be honest. Seeing you like that…” He clears his throat. “Go take a shower. I’ll be here when you get out.”
With a hard swallow, I escape into the bathroom. The shower has everything I could need, including a luxurious body wash. I sniff the masculine scent and smile. It smells like Mathias. I quickly wash up and shampoo my hair to erase the smell of medicine.
Clean, I step out into the steam-filled room and wrap a towel around me, then comb through my wet hair. Conscious of time, I don’t bother to blow dry it, but I do grab a new toothbrush and toothpaste from the drawer and brush my teeth.
Finishing up, I bend down and pick up my clothes and wrinkle my nose at the medicinal smell and flecks of blood on them. Maybe Jamison or one of the others has stocked some clothes here. Padding out of the bathroom, I find Jamison standing by the window, talking on the phone.
As if sensing me, he turns and falls silent. His gaze travels down my body, and his knuckles whiten. “I’ll call when we’re ready to leave.” He pockets the phone.
“Do you happen to have a fully stocked closet too?” The husky tone of my voice a reflection of the thoughts running through my head.
He reaches up and begins to unbutton his shirt, and all my attention shifts to his fingers as I watch every button slip through its hole. Jamison pulls it off, revealing a white t-shirt underneath, then walks over and holds it out for me to take.
His unique scent hits me the second I take it from him and the intoxicating notes remind me of when we first met.
This attraction has been simmering between us in every encounter since then, waiting for one of us to make a move, but this is the first time we’ve truly been alone.
I lick my lips and take a deep breath, then drop his shirt along with the towel I’m wearing.
Cool air drifts across my breasts, making my nipples tighten, and I lift my chin.
He inhales sharply. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. Sitting at the bar, the slit of your golden dress framing one deliciously long leg, one dark eyebrow raised in challenge, and an amused gleam in the depths of your bright blue eyes. If you want to walk away, do it now.”