How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days (14 page)

“I know what you went through to acquire it. I expect it to be pricey.”

It would be interesting to know just how far Roderick would go for the Shale Creek Hand, as it had come to be known after the war.

“Now what would Roderick Snow consider pricey, hmm? What can you give me that I don’t already have?”

“All of Snow holdings. Snow Manor. All yours.”

“And?” Dred rolled his eyes.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t want the Manor. There are magicks hidden throughout, some dating back to the Crusades, some to before the Christians and their Christ. There are many more caches like the one you found here as a boy, Mordred.”

“How many?” Dred asked, showing a bit of interest now.

“It’s unknown, but there is a map.” A dark twinkle lit up Roderick’s eyes as he felt the conversation turning his way.

If Roderick gave up his holdings, what would he have to offer his little mistress? Dred wondered. This was proving to be more enlightening that he’d first thought. Roderick must have some side investments.

What was he going to do with the Hand if he was willing to trade Snow Manor? It had been the first stronghold for the Snow family all of those years ago. It was said the first Snow bride had been a frost fairy, and all Snows would always have great magick, as long as Snow Manor remained in their keeping.

“Uncle, all of your holdings revert to me upon your death anyway. I’m the only heir.”

“Can’t bribe you with your own money, can I, boy?”

Roderick was fairly jovial and leaned into the space between them. “What about a seat on the council? You could be Chancellor Shadowins.”

“What makes you think I want a seat on the Warlock’s Council?”

“Because you don’t have one. And you can’t buy it.”

“Who says I can’t? It’s for sale by your own admission. How do you know I still have the Hand?”

“I suppose I don’t. Then again, what could anyone else offer you that you don’t have or can’t buy?” Roderick threw his own words back at him.

“I don’t know, perhaps I should think on it.” The corner of Dred’s mouth curved up in the beginning of a malicious smile.

Roderick sighed. “Play coy if you like, dearest nephew. I’m in no hurry. In the end, you’ll give me what I want. One way or another.”

“Now it’s threats as well as promises. You’re in more of a hurry than you’d like me to believe.”

“I just know what I want.”

Dred stood now and he towered over Roderick. “Want in one hand,
dearest uncle
.” He shrugged as if Roderick’s response meant nothing.

“Yes, Mordred. Want in one hand and take with the other. I’ll give you a week.” Roderick turned on his finely cobbled heel to leave.

“I thought you said you had time? A week is hardly reasonable, even at a dark table.”

“One week, Mordred. Just one.”

“Is that when your lamia walks?” Fuck it. Roderick had already threatened him.

Roderick spun around like a loose figure on a carousel.

His stone features blanched a brighter white and his brows drew together like two caterpillars. “Is that why you think I want it?”

“What else are you going to do with a Hand of Glory?” Dred demanded. He’d only ever heard of one use for the thing, to tear open a hole to the Abyss and drag the dark things forth with those burning fingers.

“It’s for Barista’s skin cream.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Dark objects are the best, most effective way to stay young. You don’t believe all that drivel she spouts to the witches’ magazines, do you? This is the last potion though.

With the Hand of Glory, we’ll keep our youth until we decide to go through the veil.”

“Why didn’t Barista just ask me for it?”

“Pride.”

Dred felt as bright as a gaggle of water-headed goblins flinging their own poo at each other in the display case at Magickal Menagerie. “So, during the war. My capture . . .”

“You thought I did that? Why?” Roderick was aghast.

“Because I stole your dark object stash and—”

“That was you? We fired Barista’s beauty consultant. We thought that she did it. She’s currently scrubbing floors at Banshee’s Bawl. After Barista fired her, no one else would have her.”

“Fuck.”

“Precisely. Now, about that Hand . . .”

“Show me the rituals for the cream and prepare some for my mother and you can have it.”

“I can
have
it?” Roderick’s eyes narrowed. “And you don’t want anything for it? You will give me the Hand of Glory? Just like that?”

“Why not?”

“You’re an odd warlock, Mordred. I think we should really get to know one another after this house party. I can’t believe you’d think I would betray you.”

“Look at the facts. They all point to you.”

“All the facts say that you’re the Butcher of Shale Creek and I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Okay, so I’m an asshole.” Dred shrugged.

“That I
can
believe.” Roderick rolled his eyes.

“I still want proof of the rituals.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Roderick shook his head and left.

Dred was only alone for a few moments when he heard the irritating baritone of Tristan Belledare and the sweet tones of Dred’s own lovely “intended.”

The door was pushed open and Middy was shoved through like some unwanted sack of meal. “You need to listen to me, Midnight.”

“I would listen to you, if you’d stop putting your hands on me.”

“You don’t seem to listen otherwise.”

“Look, Belledare. You lay hands on me once more and I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Tattle to your dark warlock? I thought we were past all that? I remember back at the Academy, you hated him. He hated you. What was the problem with the status quo?”

Middy made a face like she’d licked the wrong end of a swamp frog. “We fell in love. That changes the status quo.

It’s not like you were doing anything about your”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“feelings.” This last came out with a sneer.

“Middy, I told you at the Masque, but—”

“But? What’s done is done, Tristan. You’ve got to stop this.”

“Me?” Tristan whirled on her in a feminine sort of fury.

At least, that’s how Dred would have described it, eyes flashing, face flushed, his fists clenched. . . . Dred had to bite his lip not to laugh out loud. So far, they hadn’t noticed him. He was sure that the dragon muck would hit the fan when they did, but how was it his fault that they hadn’t checked to see if the room was occupied before allowing their little drama to ensue?

He was tempted to slip beneath the desk, but was sure that any movement would alert them to his presence. Ah, but not if he used an invisibility charm. Dred didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it either.

Dred suspected that his affianced was not safe in Tristan’s company; therefore, the only chivalrous thing to do was to observe. For Middy’s protection, of course. At least that was what he was going to tell her when she found out he was there and turned that intriguing shade of pink. Of course, it might be more like red, depending on what happened next.

Tristan produced a copy of
Weekly Warlock
and flung it to the table in disgust. “I have to stop? What about you? What is this?”

“Where did you get this?” Midnight demanded, that sweet pink infusing her pale skin as her temper bloomed.

“Your living room.”

Middy let out a high-pitched sound that could have been a battle cry. She launched herself at him like a swarm of angry bees. She would have proceeded to sting him in places that Tristan didn’t know he had if the magazine hadn’t fallen open to the Warlock of the Month.

The program activated.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bookgasm

It was no surprise that the Warlock of the Month was Dred Shadowins. The surprise was when the centerfold Dred appeared wearing nothing but a white loincloth and angel wings. His platinum hair was more of a honey color and he was bearing a flaming sword.

Centerfold Dred raised a pale brow in blatant displeasure.

“Are you serious?”

But he wasn’t talking to Middy.

He was talking to Tristan.

It was
his
fantasy that had activated the centerfold.

The Dred-toy turned and looked at Middy. “I would have expected this from you. But him? Really?”

Tristan stuttered, “I— it’s not me!”

“Let’s get this over with,” the centerfold said.

“What over with?” Tristan was horrified.

“What do you think?” The Dred rolled his eyes.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Middy tried to squeeze past Tristan and the Dred-toy to make it to the door.

She didn’t dare let the centerfold get too close to her.

She’d have an orgasm with Tristan looking right at her. Of course, from the look of things, it seemed as if he’d be having his own. She smirked. Then she frowned. Middy had no desire to have that sort of knowledge of Tristan Belledare.

Technically, it could be considered breaking her agree-ment with Dred. The real, in the flesh Dred. They’d both promised no one else and Middy was pretty damn sure that sharing an orgasm, even if it wasn’t . . . well, like that . . .had to count.

“Don’t leave me alone with this thing!” Tristan demanded.

“Why not, it’s yours, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s . . . I was trying to make a point.”

“Well, you’ve made it with that flaming sword.” Middy gestured to the magazine.

“No! Something saved me at Shale Creek. It was an angel. I can’t stop thinking about it. She’s always on my mind.”

“Then why does it look like my fiancé?” Middy shot back as she pushed past him.

Tristan grabbed her and held her between himself and the centerfold.

“I don’t know. I never saw its face. But it couldn’t be Dred. I have no thoughts of . . .” Tristan shifted to the left, and when the Dred shifted to the left as well, Tristan pulled Middy with them.

This continued for a few minutes until Middy put her hand on the centerfold’s chest. “Hold on.”

“To what, darling?”

“Me,” she said, taking pity on Belledare. The Dred-bot put his hands on Middy’s hips and Middy turned to face Tristan.

“Maybe you did see its face and it was Dred that saved you.”

“No, he tried to push me into the vortex. He would have sacrificed me like everyone else at Shale Creek for that Hand of Glory.” He darted to the side again and the Dred-bot laughed.

“Which would be the more comfortable answer, Tristan? That Dred saved you and so his image has been burned into your brain, or that you want him to ride you like Pegasus?”

“Why are you so sure I’d be the catcher, Middy?” Tristan whined.

“Because he’s Dred Shadowins,” Middy replied as if Tristan were the slowest bipedal creature she’d ever encountered.

“And I’m just the hero. Nice warlocks always finish last.”

“You got that right, boy-o!” Dred-bot offered.

“How would you know, Tristan? You’re not a nice guy,” Middy snapped.

“I’m trying to save you—”

“I don’t want to be saved! I’ve made my choice. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Because I
don’t
understand it,” Tristan snapped back.

“Neither do I, really.” The centerfold shrugged.

“No one was talking to you!” Tristan growled.

“Your mouth might not be, but the rest of you is saying something. Why else would I be standing here looking like a horny cherub?”

“I thought you wouldn’t do anything that Dred wouldn’t do?” Middy demanded. “I’m pretty sure Dred wouldn’t prance around in that getup for Tristan Belledare.”

“He might if it amused him,” the centerfold replied.

“Close the magazine,” Middy commanded.

“I can’t reach it.”

“For Morrigan’s sake, Tristan!” Tally shrieked as she barreled through the door.

“What are you doing here?” Middy squealed. What was Tally doing there? She hadn’t said anything about coming with Martin after the shopping expedition. Not even when she’d helped bundle her off in Dred’s broom sleigh. Very strange.

It was almost as if she’d been outside the door listening, but that would be creepy and not like Tally at all. Although, Tally had been doing a lot of things that weren’t like her lately.

“Getting this douche bag out of your way is what I’m doing. You owe me.” Tally grabbed hold of Tristan’s sleeve.

“Dred Shadowins would roast you alive if he knew you were chasing his fiancée like a bitch in heat.”

“You’re the one chasing me!” Tristan tried to pull away from her.

“No, I’m here as someone’s guest. Someone who is not you. How did I get in otherwise?” Tally turned to Middy.

“Look, it was a last-minute thing, with you know who. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Seeing her friend smile so happily made her regret her earlier thoughts. Of course, she was acting differently. Tally was happy. She’d never been this happy before.

“There aren’t any reporters to save your ass here like there were at the Masque,” Middy snapped at Tristan. Maybe if she acted like a harpy, he’d leave her alone.

“And I don’t see your doting affianced anywhere, do you?” Tristan asked snidely.

Tally growled and jerked Tristan so hard, he practically flew out of the room with her. She must have been taking out her frustration at the gym because Tristan was not a small warlock. In fact, he was almost Dred-sized. Nowhere near as intriguing, but large and muscle-bound nonetheless.

“I guess that just leaves us, hot stuff.”

“You’re not my program. My centerfold would never refer to me as ‘hot stuff.’ ” Middy chided.

“Then he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Because you are definitely hot stuff.” The Dred-bot winked at her.

“So, are you Tristan’s?”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. He stole me from your house.”

He edged closer to her and she stepped back.

“You don’t act like any of the editions I have at my house.”

“That’s because I was a gift. Someone left me for you.”

“Why would they do that?” Middy asked, suddenly breathless. She had to keep distance between them. This wasn’t Dred and it wasn’t her safe little program.