Gravebound (Magical Entanglements Book 1) Page 6
“But instead I broke up with you,” Cole said, filling in the last piece of the puzzle. The catalyst for Britta’s betrayal.
Delilah swooped to her feet. “And so you thought revenge was the next best course of action? Kill him without getting your hands dirty?”
Britta’s face turned white. “Wait. What?”
Delilah told Britta about the curse and as she uttered each word, Britta grew more and more worried, cupping her hand over her mouth. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I swear.”
Delilah didn’t believe her for a second. “Prove it. Give me your blood.” If it was Britta, her blood would lift the curse. And if it wasn’t, her blood would be useless.
Britta didn’t even hesitate. She walked to a drawer in a bureau and pulled out a sewing kit. She probably had sewing kits stashed in every room of her house, Delilah guessed. Britta muttered a quick incantation Delilah recognized as a sterilizing spell, and then pricked her finger. A bead of blood welled up, glistening in the overhead light. Britta held out her finger to Delilah with an expectant look.
I guess we’re doing this right now. “I need a pot, billing’s root, crow’s feathers, nightshade petals, and two percent reduced fat milk.”
Britta rushed into her kitchen, urging Delilah to follow her so Delilah could vouch for the validity of her blood. Britta nodded toward a cabinet and Delilah bent down to retrieve a pot. Britta shook her blood into the pot and then swooped around, gathering the rest of the ingredients while Delilah pricked Cole’s finger and added his blood into the mixture. She started speaking the beginning of the incantation to get the magic flowing, but the two blood drops wouldn’t respond. They sat in the pot, useless. Only Cole’s shook but Britta’s stayed still.
Delilah’s heart sank. “It’s not Britta,” she announced to Cole. “If it was, her blood would have responded to the incantation.”
Britta returned to the kitchen, her finger wrapped in a Band-Aid. “Like I said.”
Cole raked a hand over his hair. “Derek then?”
Britta pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. He’s pretty terrible at magic. A pure amateur. That’s why he needed me.”
Delilah tugged Cole to his feet. This avenue was a dead end. They needed to find Derek but more than that, Delilah needed to get Cole someplace safe. Somewhere he couldn’t leave for the night and rush toward the grave. She had more than one pair of handcuffs. If she could chain him up in his apartment for the night, then tomorrow, they could begin their search anew.
But as they stepped outside, dusk coated the sky, turning everything in sight into monochromatic blues. They’d stayed at Britta’s too long and now they were too late. Cold panic shot through Delilah’s veins a moment before a fierce pull coursed through her. The desire to help was overwhelming and she darted her head around at the empty houses, searching for a gut feeling. Something to give her purpose.
Delilah was nothing. She was worthless. Not unless she could help someone. Her skin crawled with desire, a thousand ants marching across her flesh, making her restless and itchy. At the same time, Cole let out an anguished cry and ripped the car keys from her palm. He took off at a fast clip toward the car, but they were still linked. Her feet lurched into motion, and she tripped after him. Her feet skidded across the gravel lot but her eyes had laser focus. The need to stop him, to save him, transformed all the thoughts in her mind to one purpose. Him. He was her responsibility now.
Delilah wrapped her arms around him and body checked him to the ground. He struggled against her but she tightened her hold. “Don’t you dare go to the grave.”
He blinked against her. “I—I don’t want to. But I can’t stop myself.” He pushed himself onto his elbow.
As she stared at him on the ground, breath ragged, an idea came to her. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
She knew why. Because she wasn’t a vigilante before. She had clear judgment before. Still, Delilah knew this would save him no matter the consequence and saving him was the only thing on her mind.
Delilah stood up. “I know how to rid you of the curse once and for all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
COLE
Cole couldn’t take his eyes off Delilah. She drove with a fierce look on her face, leaning forward, tongue sticking out of her mouth determinedly. Anytime he tried to interrupt her, she silenced him with a quick shush, as if she needed to listen to the air itself rather than his voice. All of a sudden, she swerved toward an exit so fast, the tires screeched.
Cole gripped the door handle for dear life. “Where are we going? Your house is back that way.”
Delilah ignored him as she pressed her foot on the gas and zoomed into a convenience store parking lot. She didn’t bother with the parking spaces, just stopped the car directly in front of the entrance. Cole jerked forward from the abrupt halt.
Before Cole even asked why they’d stopped here, of all places, Delilah unclasped their cuffs, unbuckled her seatbelt, and left the car. Cole jiggled the door handle, but it was no use. It wouldn’t budge.
Delilah stomped into the brightly lit store with a sense of purpose. Cole squinted at the other patrons inside, then gasped. A man wearing a facemask held a gun to the head of the cashier, who lifted his trembling arms into the air. When Delilah waltzed in, the gunman trained the weapon on her.
Cole’s stomach lurched and he wrenched at the door. She was going to get herself killed. He had to stop her.
But with a flick of her wrist, the gunman dropped the gun. He glanced at his hand as if confused to no longer be holding it. The gun skidded across the floor ten feet to where Delilah stood. She picked it up, gave it a disgusted glance, and then made it disappear into thin air. A moment later, she twirled her finger and ropes wound around the gunman, knotted with pure magic. The cashier put down his arms and picked up the phone.
Delilah wiped her hands clean and strutted out of the store. “Sorry about that,” she said when she plopped back down in the driver’s seat.
Cole blinked at her, sputtering out his words. “What? How?” He had so many questions but those two words seemed to encompass them all.
“Magic,” was all she replied and it seemed to answer everything. Magic was how she knew the robbery was taking place. And magic was how she disarmed the gunman without so much as breaking a nail.
And magic was how Cole felt when he was around her.
Taped to Delilah’s front door was a note…addressed to Cole. That would have seemed weird if not for everything else that happened today. His fingers shook as he ripped it off the door. Only a few people knew he was here and most of them he didn’t trust.
Dear Asshole,
Your car’s still at D’s office so you must be with her. Maybe this will help you remember who the fuck I am. And how you fucked me over.
Attached to the note was a computer printout of an image. Avery’s cheek was smushed against Cole’s as they posed for a joint selfie. His eyelids drooped from too much alcohol and her boobs drooped from too much cleavage. The smile on her face stretched ear to ear while he looked like he was going to puke. She wore a tiara with tassels, emblazoned with last year’s digits to celebrate the New Year.
It all came roaring back to Cole. He’d interviewed Avery earlier that day for a nanny position to care for Jewel’s kids. But he’d been in a shit state after the death of his brother-in-law and had already been sloshed. He vaguely remembered promising this woman the job, then inviting her out for New Year’s shenanigans where he drowned his sorrows in drink after drink. He grew sadder and sadder while she continued to celebrate her new job.
Except he never called her back the next day. He was too embarrassed.
If Cole survived tonight, he made a vow to himself to send her flowers. And an apology.
He showed Delilah the note.
She wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I hired Avery right after New Year’s.”
“Do you think we should check her out?” Cole asked. She had motive and means.
Delilah shook her head. “No, I told you. I have a better idea.”
Thirty minutes later, a ring of candles carved Delilah’s living room into geometric shapes. The flames danced in the dark night, reflecting off the glass windows to light the entire room. Four large mirrors stood at the edges of the circle, facing each other, positioned at north, south, east, and west. The flames multiplied in view of the mirrors, creating an infinite echo. Delilah flitted around her house, gathering ingredients and adding them to a simmering pot bubbling on a hot plate. A spicy herbal scent wafted from the pot. She seemed equally excited and terrified, letting out a little shout of glee each time she added something.
The grave pulsed so deeply in Cole’s brain it was a miracle he was sitting on this couch instead of leaving her in the dust. Well, a miracle and the pair of handcuffs keeping him rooted in place. His arms rose toward the ceiling where his cuffs hooked to steel chains, blood draining from his forearms. The only thing stopping him from trying to break his wrist and free himself was the glistening sweat lining Delilah’s bare shoulder as she pounded herbs with a mortar and pestle. Little grunts escaped her mouth in the sexiest way. She pushed back her tank top strap onto her shoulder from where it had fallen, robbing him the view of the clean curve of her shoulder.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Cole’s voice came out light despite the strain hidden behind it. If he focused on her, he could fight the animal raging inside him.
“I enjoy helping people,” she said, but this time he caught the strain in her voice. She was bound too, but in a less physical way than him.
She added the herbs to the sizzling pot. Steam billowing in a cloud of smoke and carrying the scent of rosemary and other fall herbs. Crushed flowers joined the mixture. Delilah opened a packet of brown incense sticks and set them in holders surrounding the circle. Small curls of smoke whirled into the air, changing the herbal scent into a sharp smoky one.
“What are those for?” Cole knew the answer would have something to do with breaking the curse, but he hoped she’d say the incense were for romantic ambiance and she planned to seduce him momentarily.
“They’re uncrossing incense. They remove sin brought on by your curse.”
That didn’t exactly explain anything to Cole.
“And what’s in the pot?” He jutted his chin toward it. If he was going to be drinking this crap, he had to know the ingredients. He prayed she wouldn’t mention any eye of newt.
“Salt, hyssop, basil, mug-wort, patchouli, vetiver, wormwood, sage, rose petals, and purified water.” She gave the pot a heavy stir.
“Mmm, sounds delicious,” Cole joked. Patchouli was for guys who liked too much cologne. “Care to add some bourbon in it? You know, for taste.”
“This isn’t for drinking. It’s for bathing.” She pursed her lips. “Or well, I don’t have enough for a full bath so it’s for sponge bathing, I guess.”
He raised a brow at her as desire welled in his belly. “Are you going to be administering the sponge?”
She blushed. “Yes, but you can keep your boxers on.”
Do I have to? he thought. She’d already stripped down to a tank top and tiny biker shorts thanks to all the heat and smoke in the room. What were a few more layers? Fire tore through his abdomen at that fantasy.
“And on that note, I think we’re ready to get started.”
“If you want me to strip down to my boxers, I might need a little help.” Cole lifted his eyes to his bound hands. He couldn’t exactly pull off his pants…or his shirt without use of them.
“Oh, right.” She glanced away for a moment, biting her lip. Finally, she straightened. “It’s not you I don’t trust,” she said after grabbing a sharp silver dagger with an intricate vine pattern etched into the hilt. “It’s the curse.” She held it parallel to her chest, both hands gripping the hilt, as she came toward him. Her mouth moved in a silent incantation.
Cole swallowed hard. “And so you’re going to…stab me?”
“Do you trust me?” she whispered when she stopped right in front of him. Her warm breath coated his skin, hotter than the flames dancing right next to him.
His jaw clenched as light glinted off the sharp edge of the dagger. Pulse pounding, he met her eyes. They swam back and forth, a kindness hidden inside her brown irises. The dagger said no, her eyes said yes, and there was a third voice screaming inside him in the voice of the curse. That voice didn’t care. If she planned to kill him with the dagger, then he’d reach his goal. The grave would be his.
Cole nodded because she was right. He trusted her, not the curse.
She gave him a small smile as she pressed the heel of her palm against his chest. Warmth radiated from her touch, spreading across his breastbone. His heart pumped raggedly, his gaze fixated on hers. A swift flash of silver sliced across his peripheral vision before Delilah stabbed the bottom of his shirt with the sharp point of the dagger. Cole gasped, expecting her to rip a hole in his gut as part of the puncture, but instead she pulled the fabric until the shirt tore down the center. Her fingers scrambled upward to rip against the collar and sleeves until the shirt fell into rags at his feet. His stomach pumped hard, in league with the pulse of his heart beneath his chest. “That was…an interesting way to go about removing my shirt.”
Her gaze was fierce and wild. Animalistic. “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to rip it off all night,” she said. “I couldn’t waste the opportunity.”
Cole laughed. “Maybe go the traditional route for the pants. I don’t want any accidental casualties.”
When her fingers grazed his bulging crotch as she worked against the button and then the fly, he let out a small moan. Her own breath came heavy, and she pushed his pants off his legs, exposing his boxer briefs. Her gaze lingered for only a moment before she picked up the dagger again. “This time,” she said, “I’m really going to stab you. Try not to flinch.”
Cole opened his mouth to flirt back but apparently she wasn’t joking. She dragged the point of the dagger over his index finger, pricking his skin. He tensed as a bead of blood rose like a dome on the tip of his finger. Swiftly, Delilah captured the blood drop into a glass vial. She wiped off the blade, sanitized it in a flame, and then pricked her own finger in the same manner, adding the blood to the same vial. She smeared the mixture onto the edge of a smudging stick and lit the end. Delilah brushed a swipe of mixed blood on each of the mirror’s surfaces.
Her mouth moved the whole time in a silent incantation.
It was strangely sexy and disturbing.
“What are you saying?” Cole asked.
Her voice rose in volume. “This agreement releases Promisor from all terms in this contract, including but not limited to liability due to acts of God, war, strikes, injury, death, or any other force majeure event. Terms here within shall become the sole property of Promisee and Promisor will assign and make over all claims to Promisee, without any further obligation.”
Cole had expected some voodoo mumbo jumbo. Not legalese.
She dumped the last contents of the blood vile into the pot, and Cole realized this contract did not require a pen but rather their DNA. Like before.
Delilah dipped a white towel into the now cooled pot and carried it over to him. “And now to purify you.” Gently, she placed the towel at the crook of his neck, letting the lukewarm liquid soak in for a moment before she dragged the towel down. The towel and her fingers skidded over his pecs, releasing tingles in their wake. Cole’s mouth parted as she continued to work, dipping the towel into the water and coating every inch of his skin with the protection liquid. Her fingers lingered on some areas more than others, tracing small circles over his belly button, along his thighs, on the hot spot at the back of his neck that always drove him insane when women kissed there.
His erection grew harder and all thoughts of the grave vanished as she washed him of evil. Cole’s eyelashes fluttered closed, the strain forming in the back of his throat from her touch and not from th
e desire to head to the cemetery. There was only one thing he desired now. Her kiss.
And so when she reached his face and her delicate fingers trailed the water over his eyelids, cheeks, and lips, Cole tilted up to kiss her. Their lips met, locking in place in a way that seemed to make the universe balance out. This was where he needed to be. In her arms. She kissed him back, her mouth opening for his. Energy crackled between them, the kiss as warm and wonderful as his latent desires. Her hands reached up, trailing along his forearms, until she released him from the cuffs. His arms dropped down to encircle her, pulling her desperately to his chest. Just as he was about to deepen the kiss, she pulled away. Her face turned dark as she uttered, “Thus, this agreement has been executed by both the Parties in duplicate on this signing date.”
And then she collapsed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DELILAH
Delilah woke to a throbbing skull and an equally throbbing libido. Memories of her fingers running over Cole’s glorious pecs burst a smile on her lips before she could even coax her eyes to open. His glistening skin gliding beneath her fingernails. The way his stomach pumped as she dragged the wet cloth over him. The kiss, so deep and exhilarating, igniting all her fantasies. A small murmur escaped her lips as she shifted in her bed.
Only it wasn’t her bed. Her neck rolled over something lumpy. Cold wetness dripped down her cheeks. With a start, her eyes popped open.
Shadows from candlelight danced on the ceiling until Cole’s face leaned into her view, upside down. For a moment his frown looked like a smile. Delilah blinked and realized her head was resting in his lap. He pulled off the wet washcloth covering her forehead and her skin instantly froze.
“Are you okay?” He sounded panicked.
She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure what the correct answer was so she went with the good old staple: “Yes.” She tried to sit up, a task that was usually pretty simple, but this one required great effort. Cole scooted a few inches to give her space. Her pounding skull tried to thwart her attempt to move but she fought through it, squinting against the darkness. “How long was I out?”