need your help, and you don’t know it yet, but you need mine,” he tells me, his deep voice a hint more nasal.
That probably has something to do with the blood I see seeping through his fingers. Good. Hope I broke his too perfect nose. At that thought, he reaches out to me with a bloody hand and smears crimson ichor down my chest.
“What the fu—” I bellow at the same time he growls, “Seno.”
And then, just like that, I feel consciousness drain away, and everything goes black.
4
My head aches and I feel like I’ve been sucking on dry cotton balls. “I Put a Spell on You” starts playing quietly, and I’m too befuddled to figure out why it’s playing or where it’s coming from. I peel my eyes open, confused. Dark purple walls and familiar smells offer comfort and reassurance as I take in my surroundings, and then my eyes land on him.
I should feel relieved at the fact that I’m still in Grammy Ruby’s—I mean, my—shop and not in some dank basement, chained to a wall, but all I can feel right now is pissed. Well, that and like I just went ten rounds with a grizzly bear.
Ugh. What did he do to me?
I let out an irritated groan and try to sit up as the song ends. I notice that the soul thief is currently holding Hoot and scratching him behind the ears. Hoot—being the traitor that he is—is loving it. My growl sounds more akin to a groan as I push up from the onyx table that my ancestors have used for their readings for longer than anyone knows.
“Put him down,” I order, glad that I sound more annoyed than pained.
Rogan studies me for a moment, and I can’t discern if he’s checking that I’m okay or looking for weaknesses. He pulls Hoot up to his face and kisses the top of his head and inhales deeply.
“Did you just get a bath, little buddy? You smell so good, you handsome little tater tot,” he coos at him.
I bite back a scoff as I watch Rogan kiss him again. Hoot rubbed himself all over my dirty underwear while I was in the shower this morning. The only thing he smells like is eau de mon vagina. Rogan’s eyes never leave mine as he gives Hoot one last rub down and then sets him on the ground. Hoot snorts and trots out of the room, and I feel some of my worry and tension drain as my familiar moves far away from this man.
“So I guess the what happens to my bones happens to yours is a load of crap since you don’t look like someone just knocked you out,” I grumble as I try to talk my muscles into helping me move.
“I said what happens to my bones happens to yours, not the other way around. I bound you to me, not me to you. That’s how a familiar bond works.”
“I thought you couldn’t do that with humans?” I growl as fury rocks through me. I use it to fuel my movement.
I scoot off the ebony table, feeling a little too virgin sacrifice perched atop it to find out what the hell is going on. Rogan’s moss-green eyes watch me intensely as I get to my feet. I take a second to test my weight to ensure my legs don’t crumble beneath me, and just when I’m sure that I’m good and ready to ball my fist and take another swing at his too handsome face, his smooth voice stops me.
“I’ll put you out and wait for you to wake up as many times as I need in order for you to hear me,” he threatens, but he says it in such a silky assured way that it takes my mind a moment to get past his tone and focus on the context of his words.
Tensing, I narrow my gaze at him and contemplate if I can run out the door and get into my car before this big asshole can catch me.
He tsks at me as though he can see my thoughts painted in the air clear as day.
“Can you read my mind?” I demand, frustration and helplessness overflowing in my veins.
“No, but I can read your face. And yes, you can create a familiar bond with humans and, like in this case, with other witches. It takes a level of power most magic users don’t possess anymore, which is why they’ve outlawed the practice. It