Then whipped around to stare in his direction. “Alasdair? What—”
“Your useless helper sent me back here,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for this.”
She jerked to her feet and moved around the desk to stand in front of him, tipping her chin up. A glance showed him her shoes were off. Again.
Why am I noticing that right now?
She tracked his glance, spotted her bare feet as well, and went back around her desk to slip her shoes on.
“What is it with you and shoes?” The demand slipped from him. The fact that he asked annoyed him even more.
“Bare feet are more comfortable,” she said, coming back around to face him. “But not exactly professional.”
Shock skittered through him that she’d answered at all. “Professional is the last thing you need to worry about with me.”
“No. With you, I need the added height.”
Added height? “What?”
“You’re very tall.” Now she was speaking through stiff lips, as though reluctant to reveal this.
“And that bothers you? Are you a height-ist? Short people unite?”
“I need any advantage I can get around you.” The way she huffed as soon as the words were spoken told him she hadn’t meant to reveal that much.
The fact was that those words sent a buzz through him of—what? Not power. More like satisfaction. Which was bad, because his focus should be on his more immediate problem.
“I’m leaving now,” he said. “But next time, I promise not to intimidate you if you leave them off.”
Earning an annoyed little growl. “You don’t intimidate me, jackass.”
He struggled to shift with the roller coaster of emotions yanking him around. From protective, to frustrated, to turned-on as hell, to closed down, to pissed, to curious, to amused. “What do I do to you then?”
Damned if he didn’t suddenly want the answer to have nothing to do with intimidation. Blood surged south as he waited for the words.
Fuck. What was he doing? “Forget it,” he muttered. “Don’t answer that.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but he ignored her. With jerking motions, Alasdair pulled his cell phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and dialed.
“Aluron,” Micah answered after one ring.
“I hit a dead end here,” he jumped straight into it.
Delilah, meanwhile, was studying him with an impatient frown. Let her wait. She’d wasted his time today. See how she liked it.
He continued issuing his orders. “Convene the Syndicate. See if they can get the demon inside Agnes to talk. Also, have them bring in Rowan Masters. The woman was raised by a demon. Maybe she’ll have something. We need information and a plan quickly.”
“Understood,” Micah said in his ear. No hesitation in his guard’s voice. One of his better qualities. “What should I tell your sister?”
“Nothing. Hestia will figure it out when she’s called in with the rest of the council members.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I leave here.” On that note, he disconnected the call.
“What did Hazah say?” Delilah asked impatiently.
“That only you could help me. Before I could explain that you’d refused, she said something that sounded like a spell, tapped me on the chest, and—”
Shock immobilized his tongue and the rest of him when Delilah reached up with almost frantic fingers and started undoing the buttons of his shirt.
She had three freed before he came back to his senses and brushed her hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Did she leave a mark?”
A mark? He had no idea why he wasn’t simply walking out of here. He needed to get home, to his people who didn’t know yet what kind of terrible danger they were in. Maybe the urgency in her eyes as she waited for an answer got to him.
Rather than simply leave, he lifted his hands and undid the rest, drawing back his custom-tailored shirt and vest. Sure enough, a small, star-shaped mark, glowing faintly pink, marred the skin over his heart.
“What the devil?” he muttered.
“This can’t be right,” Delilah whispered. She lifted her hand and brushed a single finger over the spot.
Instantly, darkness closed in on him. Only he was still lucid. Still aware of his body…and Delilah’s. Her touch branding him with unwanted heat that swept through his blood and gathered in his rapidly hardening traitor of a cock. He wrapped a hand around her wrist to tug her off and caught the sound of her gasp in the darkness.
Only he couldn’t step away or shake off her hand. As though compelled to keep her touch on him.
“What’s happening?” he demanded.
“Damn—”
As fast as the darkness overcame him, it cleared. He blinked in the suddenly harsh light of day. Only, instead of late morning sun, it appeared to be watery light of an overcast afternoon sky, snow drifting down over a forested landscape outside. Instead of Delilah’s office with its glassed-in view of the Rocky Mountain peaks behind the downtown Denver skyline, he was standing in what appeared to be a bedroom in a medieval castle—stone walls with thick wood beams, fancy furniture including a massive wood-canopied bed and a carved chest at the foot. Animal-skin rugs of a certain exoticness told him this was a wealthy home.
“Fuck me,” Delilah muttered.
The curse on her lips was about the sexiest damn thing he’d ever heard, sending a pulse through his already throbbing dick, a reaction that served only to piss him off more. He glanced down to find he still held her hand against his bare chest.
She noticed at the same time, and slowly stepped away, giving her wrist a tug when he didn’t immediately let go.
“Is it me, or are we trapped in some kind of Dr. Who alternate universe kind of thing?” he asked. “Or maybe I’m going to wake up and this is a terrible dream.”
Delilah did a rapid blink but didn’t answer. Instead, holding his gaze, she opened her mouth and called loudly, “Hazah? What in the seven hells are you doing?”
Immediately, Hazah appeared in the room with them.
Determined to send himself home, over whatever game was being played here, Alasdair flicked his hands open wide, only the magical electricity that was his to command at will didn’t condense in his palm like it should. In fact, nothing happened at all. He flicked his hands again. Nothing. A whispered spell resulted in fuck all.
“What have you done?” Alasdair snarled at Hazah, trying not to panic. She’d taken his magic? How was that possible? How was he supposed to protect his people without it?