Page 29

L uca’s head snapped up, the mixture in the cauldron momentarily forgotten in the face of the unexpected. The curse on Wyoming had been broken. A long string of vile oaths in every language he knew filled the air. How had the vampires managed it?

The witch, he thought. Of course. The black witch who had trapped him in that damn soul-catcher. He stared into the cauldron and swore again as he felt his outrage drain the magic from the spell he had been concocting. A month’s work ruined.

Rage rose within him. Lifting the cauldron, he hurled it across the room, swore again as the contents peeled the paint off the walls, set the throw rug on fire, and tainted the air with the stink of old blood and brimstone.

He had spent weeks searching occult and paranormal bookstores across the country searching for replacements for the books, ancient manuscripts, and magical implements he had lost when Kincaid destroyed the cellar in his old house.

Books that had taken him years to find. He had spent decades learning to master the knowledge and wisdom contained in those ancient tomes.

Starting over hadn’t been easy. True, some of his lesser magic was innate, but the more complicated spells and enchantments had taken an inordinate amount of time and practice to master.

He had needed a spell—a very particular spell—to settle his score with the vampires, and with the black witch, Izabela, who had trapped his soul in a box that had very nearly destroyed him. Now, in a moment of useless rage, he had destroyed it.