Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau 2)

Fascinatedwas a good word for my boundless curiosity when it came to him, but was it real? Had I been as intrigued by him as he appeared to be by me? Or were two sets of rogue daemon hormones at fault?

“There’s sympathetic magic between black witches and daemons. It’s how they can summon us.”

On our first case, he told me the pungent scent of my dark magic reminded him of home.

I just hadn’t realized at the time he meant it literally. Neither had he, if he hadn’t mentioned it sooner.

“You’re responding to me on a wholly different level than I anticipated.” Asa worried one of his earrings, a ruby teardrop. “I thought ours was simple compatibility, but it’s more.”

About to ask for a definition of more, I experienced an epiphany. “Clay knew.”

Asa opened his mouth, probably to defend his partner, but closed it just as fast. “It’s possible.”

Eager to get answers, I dialed Clay and asked him to step outside with us to avoid Colby overhearing.

“We need to eat.” Clay took the path at a clip. “Then we need to rest. The wendigo hunts at midnight. The witching hour, as they say.” His easy pace faltered when he noticed our expressions. “What did I miss?”

Not since the early days had I questioned Clay’s loyalty. It hurt to do so now. Much more than it did back then. He was my friend, but this was too much. “Why are you so against my fascination with Asa?”

“Really?” He thinned his lips. “You called me away from a Thanksgiving dessert competition for this?”

“Answer the question,” Asa said quietly, his burnt-crimson eyes dark and intense.

“I don’t take orders from you, Ace.” Clay rumbled, voice like gravel. “I’m the senior agent here.”

“I thought you were my friend.” I aimed straight for the heart. “I thought you cared about me.”

“I am, and I do.” His jaw flexed as he took in our united front. “What’s really going on here?”

“Asa removed the bracelet.” I watched Clay for his reaction. “It was…an unpleasant experience.”

The temptation to lie was written clear across his face. I knew him well enough to spot it. But right on its heels came a weary resignation that left my gut hollow.

“Rumors, Rue.” He dragged a hand down his face. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“I’ll take them.” I nudged him when he didn’t spit it out. “Tell me.”

“Your dad was too powerful, too clever, too cruel. His magic didn’t smell right. It was blacker than black. There was no spell he couldn’t cast, no taboo he wouldn’t break, no heart he couldn’t claim. There were whispers that the—” he bit off the title that would have told Asa exactly who my grandfather was when I wasn’t ready, “—that his father had struck a deal with the proverbial devil to make his son that potent.”

A deal with the devil could be construed as a daemon bargain. “Why did I never hear about this?”

“Your grandfather quashed the rumors and made the repercussions clear for repeating them.”

“You must have suspected,” Asa said quietly, “for you to warn us off each other.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past her grandfather.” Clay exhaled. “I wanted to protect her, and that meant it was in her best interest not to find out the hard way if the gossip was founded via a fucking mating bond to a half daemon in line for a fucking throne.”

“A mating what now?” I whipped my head between them. “I thought that wasn’t a thing.”

“Fated mates aren’t a thing,” Asa corrected me. “Daemon and fae can both form mate bonds.”

“Is that what’s wrong with me?” I eyed the bracelet with fresh suspicion. “Are we…mating?”

No amount of emotional laxative could get me over that hump. I wasn’t ready for that. At all.

“The bond is a choice.” Asa rubbed my back. “One we both get to make.”

“Okay.” The twist in my chest relaxed. “That’s good news then.”