And the ink on the parchment glowed again, so vividly, it was like getting hit in the face with the sun itself.
Devina frowned and tilted in so she could read the page once more. None of the text was a news flash—
One part had an iridescent, rainbow sheen to it, the words standing apart from the rest as if highlighted with all the colors on the color wheel.
Devina read the passage yet again, her eyes bouncing around even with the glowing—or maybe because of it. Rubbing her face, she wondered why this all had to be so hard, and with an exhausted exhale, she thought about walking away from this bullshit.
Then she pictured that erection. He’d still had it as he’d left. And he better not be using it on anyone else—
The words of the spell glowed even more brightly. Then they started to blink as if they were a sign in a bar window.
“I don’t know what the hell you want me to do,” she muttered.
The illumination faded, the text returning to the matte brown cursive of the rest of the letters. Then the page curled up—and unfurled.
Like the Book was washing its hands of the whole thing, having met its responsibility.
Devina glanced at the door. Then she walked over and put her hand on the solid steel. She could feel a vibration in the metal, remnants of the power the male had used to walk away.
Narrowing her eyes, she glanced back at the Book. “Who is he really?”
She didn’t expect a response. But she got one.
On the white walling above where the Book had perched itself in thin air, a pattern appeared, the glow of it not that different from what had just highlighted parts of the spell. As her eyes adjusted, she tried to figure out what the vertical line with the three horizontal ones coming off of it was—
“Do we have to play games,” she muttered. “Just come out with…”
Her voice drifted off as a second symbol manifested by its side on the left: Four angled lines that formed two points—and now, a third image, a little farther out from the two that were together… a tent shape—
Letters.
The Book was spelling something for her—and it wasn’t until the final symbol in the sequence, all the way to the left… the first one, actually, in the word… that she saw…
The name.
OMEGA.
“Holy… fuck,” she breathed.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Whereupon things took an unexpected turn.
As Erika sat on her bed and listened to the sound of the shower in the guest room across the hall, that was the thought that kept cruising around the track in her head, an omniscient narrator with a British accent. Balthazar had been in there under the water for a while now, more than long enough for her to have had her own shower. Then again, she was efficient with the shampoo and soap routine. Always had been.
And God knew, he had more surface area to cover. That body of his was—
Behind the guest room door, the spray was cut off and she heard the shower curtain get pulled back. Then there was dripping. Followed by the sounds of a towel flapping around.
OMG, she was stalking him with her ears. And wow, that was a mental picture, him all naked and damp, his body gleaming from—
The image was just too damned hot, so she busied herself plumping pillows. Then she got to her feet and fussed with the duvet. On or off with the overhead light? Glancing at herself, she pulled her t-shirt down farther over the flannel boxers she had on.
Definitely off. The bedside lamp with its low glow was more than enough. In fact, pitch black was preferable, except for the fact that she wouldn’t be able to see him that way.
Tiptoeing across the area rug to the light switch, she was nervous, but not because she was thinking of turning back from this. No, she was nervous because she knew she wasn’t going to stop things, and one-night stands had never been something she’d done before. She was all for sexual expression; she just had had trouble opening up… given all her baggage.
Click.
As she hit the switch and things got dimmer, she looked through her open door to the stairwell. In an instant, she was back in that dream, hearing noises, going downstairs… seeing that shadow behind her in the mirror—
A huge shape stepped into her field of vision, and she started to yell. But Balthazar’s voice cut through the panic.
“Erika! What’s wrong?”
She was so relieved it was him that she reached out and grabbed his forearms. Then, before she looked like a fool, she pulled herself together.
“Sorry. Sorry—I’m sorry…” Babble, babble. “I don’t know what my problem is.”
“Oh really?” he said softly. “Then I’ve got a helluva list to show you.”
She laughed a little. And then she wasn’t smiling, although not because her mind was trying to scare itself.