Page 25 of Soulbound

"But you're not certain." His face turned cruel. "No, he's not certain, or he would have had you by now. He'd be the one dancing here in your arms, drawn by my siren call. But he's not. And you're in my arms. He's a fool."

"I didn't mean to offend you."

Malachi slowed almost to a halt, his voice turning hard. "Who are you?"

"I think I quite enjoy keeping you in the dark," she said with a faint laugh. His attentions—as superficial as they seemed—were somewhat enjoyable, flattering. "You wouldn't be half as interested in me were you to know all of my secrets, would you? That's the game."

"And do you have many secrets?"

Cleo's voice dropped to a whisper. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Flashes of other women in his arms, other men, cascaded through her mind every time she touched him. It was the closest she'd come to falling into a Vision since she'd lost the ability.

If she could just focus....

His mouth brushed against her cheek, and Cleo jolted. Her head was swimming again. "You could stay here with me," he whispered. "Leave your companions behind. Perhaps we could both find what we're looking for in each other?"

The smoky trail of his magic caressed her skin. Want surged through her. Need. But with it came the memory of Sebastian's hands upon her skin the night he'd helped unbutton her wedding gown. The gentle touch of his hands upon her back had stoked a fire this stranger's magic could not compare to. Malachi's magic was hungry and overwhelming, but it felt like a flame that would only burn too swiftly, leaving her unfulfilled. Sebastian's touch made her heart ache with a desire she couldn't even name, and she knew she would never forget that touch, never want another man, if only he'd give in to the temptation....

"It's tempting," she countered, and her smile softened a little. "But we'd be lying to each other. And to ourselves." Malachi turned her, and Cleo came up abruptly against that hard chest. Their eyes met. "Despite your magic, you're not the man I want. And I—I am not the woman you want."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I can feel it radiating off you, the same way I can feel your allure tempting me." Cleo reached up, pressing a hand to his cheek in an attempt to stir those flashes of Vision to life. They hammered through her, quicksilver darts of color, but nothing fully fleshed. Nothing like they'd once been.

A clock. A woman's laugh. The scent of lavender. The image of Malachi Gray standing alone in a hallway, his fist curling over a lady's glove as he looked down at it with an expression of such despair that her breath caught, and something began to suck her into the next image....

"No woman has ever captured my heart," he countered, but the words sounded very faraway.

"Lie," Cleo countered hollowly.

The garden faded, the touch of his arms vanishing. Light began to glow in front of her. A candelabra swam out of the darkness as Malachi lifted a candle from its brass stem and used it to light another. Cleo blinked, and then he was circling a small room, lighting candle after candle.

"You should never be left alone in the dark," he whispered, and Cleo began to make out the tomb-like structure he was circling.

A coffin made of glass, with something within it.

Someone.

A woman lay in serene repose, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow she rested upon. Malachi lit the last candle, his face implacable, but his eyes filled with a certain kind of desperation as he splayed one hand against the glass, reaching for his sleeping beauty, but never quite—

"What did you just say?" Malachi demanded, and his voice snapped her out of the memory—for that was what it was, she realized.

Then his face was in front of her, his skin paling even as she sucked in a sharp breath. What had she said?

"You should never be left alone in the dark...," Cleo repeated softly, her heart filled with sympathy. The Malachi Gray from her vision was not the one who stood before her now, his eyebrows narrowing tightly, and fury flaring in the green depths of his irises.

"Who are you?" he demanded in a hoarse voice. "What are you?"

"Are we bargaining again?" she asked lightly, but the spell was clearly broken, for his fingers locked around her wrist, and she realized they'd stopped dead in the center of the circle of dancers.

"Who sent you?" His grip tightened, and the pain swept from his eyes, replaced by a fury so intense it almost burned her. "Someone sent you, didn't they? Do you think this is a game you can win? You making vague comments that mean nothing, as if you know anything about me."

Sudden desire washed over her, swamping her in waves of pleasure. Cleo clung to his coat, her knees going weak and heat washing through her womb. She wanted to crush her mouth to his all of a sudden, to beg him for a kiss, just one kiss....

This was what Remington had warned her about.

Cleo dragged her hand to her mouth and bit into her knuckles, trying to break the lure of his magic. Sebastian. Sebastian.... But the thought of him only made her ache harder. "I know enough."