I wanted to mistrust this. I wanted to believe that it was a trap to further his own standing and perhaps find a way out of his servitude with Al, because with mistrust came distance, and my heart would be safe. But a small, wiser part of me knew that for all his dark power, for all the crap he had made of my life, Pierce was true to his beliefs and wouldn’t stoop that low. If he was trying to help, it was genuine. He had set his own desires aside to further mine, and the knowledge of that was scary. His sacrifice made it far too easy for me to put him in the position of hero, inviting me to turn a blind eye to the darker side of his psyche so I could feel the rush of falling in love again.

Not this time, I vowed, my hands in fists as I wiped off the lingering taste of redwood from my lips. He was a black witch who would use forbidden magic to kill those who threatened his life or the lives of those he cared about.

So was I, but that didn’t mean I had to love him for it.

Eighteen

I’d already used the glass-and-tile shower in the front bathroom, scrubbing my scalp until it hurt as I worked to get the last vestiges of the burnt-amber stink from my hair. The hotel shampoo smelled far too masculine for me, and I thought it irksome that the management assumed only men would be renting the top floor. But then again, they probably hadn’t expected Trent to blow into town with two women. Fortunately I had some of my own shampoo and detangler, and I was again smelling like strawberries and oranges.

I smiled, settling myself deeper into the bubbles. Yes, I had already showered, but there was nothing like a long soak to prepare oneself for a lynching. Especially when you could watch TV while doing it.

Clicking from the Weather Channel to the news, I set the remote next to my plate of crackers. A half-empty bottle of water stood beside it. The scent of coffee slipped in under the door, telling me that Ivy was up. I felt like a prisoner, even after having been a guest at Alcatraz and knowing what true incarceration felt like. Never again, I thought as I adjusted the towel wrapped around my hair. If I couldn’t beat this, I’d go live with Al.

But I didn’t want to.

My gaze drifted to my heavy-magic detector, the disk a flickering, sickly green. It wasn’t working well, and I couldn’t trust it. I felt like Jenks at five thousand feet. Ley-line magic, too, was messed up because of the ley lines, fractured and broken by the seismic activity. This was why the coven had their convention here. Unless you lived here, you were at a disadvantage and didn’t dare use your magic in a pique of anger or implied insult. Demon magic worked, though, I thought bittersweetly as I extended an arm up and looked at the lack of bruises. That curse Al had given me before sending me back had rubbed out every ache.