stared at her.
I couldn’t do anything else.
Not for several minutes. Clayton was coming. Here. To see me. To get me. To make Belle pay and to force on me what he’d been unable to have with other women.
It felt like there was a fist around my heart, squeezing tight. I couldn’t seem to get enough air, and Daniela’s face swam in and out of focus.
Then something within me twisted, and a fiery strength rose—one that had been a part of me since before I was born, but had somehow awakened within this reservation. Calm descended. There could be no more running. Not now. This reservation was to be the final battleground, the place where my fate and my future would be decided, for good or for bad. But this was my home ground, not his. He might be more powerful than all of us combined, but was he stronger than the wild magic that now burned through me?
I guess we’d all find out soon enough.
Something flickered through Daniela’s gaze—an awareness of the power now burning within, perhaps. As much as I wished she hadn’t caught that surge, it really didn’t matter anymore. Her report would be sent, her recommendations would be made. The fate I’d spent twelve years running from was now in motion. There was nothing I could do to avoid it.
I could only wait and prepare.
“You’ve nothing to say?” Daniela said.
Nothing to admit, was what she was really asking.
I smiled, though it held little in the way of warmth or friendliness. “What do you expect me to say?”
“Nothing, I guess. But I find the fact you haven’t even asked who Clayton Marlowe is rather odd.”
“I simply gathered he is somehow related to the missing woman.”
“He’s her second cousin, and also her husband.”
“Was she abducted or something?”
“Or something.” Her smile was every bit as cool as my own. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Grace.”
She rose and left. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists against the scream that broke past the calm and threatened to erupt.
Damn her. Damn her to hell…
Hell is too damn good for her, came Belle’s comment.
A cup of coffee appeared in front of my nose. The rich scents that teased my nostrils suggested it was heavily laced with whiskey. I accepted it gratefully and took a sip. If I kept this up, I thought glumly, I’d be well on the way to becoming a lush.
Belle plonked down beside me. Monty took Daniela’s seat, his expression grim. “You could take this fight up to him, you know. You could approach the courts and ask for an annulment. The records might be hidden, but they do exist.”
“He won’t give me an annulment. He wants revenge. He wants what we’ve denied him for twelve years.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that Clayton can hold a grudge with the best of them, but I doubt even he would step beyond the boundaries of the law—”
“Except this is about more than the loss of face he suffered that night,” Belle cut in. “It’s about revenge. It’s about the fact he probably hasn’t been able to get an erection for the last twelve years thanks to a spell I might have cast in anger as we fled that night.”
Monty blinked, and then something close to awe entered his expression. “You did that? To a blueblood possessing ten times your power?”
“I was a little angry at the time.”
“Then I shall endeavor never to make you angry enough to cast such a spell my way.” His amusement fell away. “That does put a more dangerous spin on things, however.”
“Yes.” I drank some more coffee. “Both my father and he broke the law when they forced that marriage on me, Monty. What makes you think they won’t do so again to get me back?”
He grimaced. “That means it’s perhaps even more vital you take the fight to him. If knowledge of what happened that night becomes public—”
“It’s my word against two of the most powerful witches on the council,” I cut in. “Who do you think they’re going to believe?”
“Yes, but if the marriage at least became public knowledge, his actions over the last twelve years will come under some scrutiny. He’ll also have to watch what he says and does in regard to you.”
“I don’t think it’ll help—”
“But it can’t hurt,” Belle said. “Not now that the tracer’s report is about to be filed. The minute he sees us, he’ll know the truth of our identities. At least if the marriage