“It’s not that simple anymore,” he said. “It took me a day in the library, but I found precedence.” His precise accent became even more officious, and he put the back of his knuckles to his velvet green frock and quoted, “‘If said familiar is stationed at a beta site by way of loan or similar event, the master may seek the familiar out to perform duties.’You opened the door by tapping a line,” he added. “And since I have a task for you, I’m here until you finish it.”

I felt sick. “What do you want?” There was a spell pot on my counter full of an amber liquid smelling of geranium. I hadn’t counted on him bringing his work to me.

“What do you want—master,” Al prompted, smiling to show me his thick, blocky teeth.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I want you to get the hell out of my kitchen.”

His smile never flickered as, with a powerful motion, he backhanded me. I stifled a gasp, lurching for balance. Adrenaline surged as he gripped my shoulder, keeping me upright.

“Funny, funny girl,” he murmured, his British elegance chilling me and his beautiful chiseled looks turning harsh. “Say it.”

The sharp taste of blood edged my tongue. My back pressed into the counter painfully. “What do you want, oh gracious master from my ass.”

I didn’t have time to duck as the flat of his hand swung. Pain shocked through my cheek, and I hit the floor. Al’s silver-buckled boots edged my vision. He was wearing white stockings, and there was lace where they met the bottom of his trousers.

Nausea rose. I touched my cheek, feeling it burn and hating him. I tried to rise, unable to when he put a foot on my shoulder and forced me down. Hating him all the more, I tossed my hair aside so I could see him. What difference did it make? “What do you want, master?”

I felt like I was going to vomit.

His thin lips curled up in a smile. Tugging the lace from his sleeves, he bent to solicitously help me up. I refused, but he yanked me up so fast that I found myself pressed against him, breathing in the scent of crushed velvet and burnt amber. “I want this,” he whispered, running a hand up under my sweater, searching.

My heart raced. Stiffening, I clenched my teeth. I’ll kill him. Somehow, I’ll kill him.

“Such a touching conversation with your roommate,” he said, and I twitched, as his voice had shifted to Ivy’s. Ever-after zinged through me as his appearance shifted while still touching me. Red goat eyes stared at me from Ivy’s perfect face. Lean and tight, the image of her body wrapped in leather pressed against me, pinning me to the counter. The last time, he had bitten me. Oh, God. Not again.