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 was killing too many of us.”
His arrogance grates on my last nerve, and I’m not even sure how to respond to anything he just said. “Who are you, and what do you want?” I snap.
He leans back in the obsidian velvet wingback chair that my Grammy used to love. I try not to give into the anger that surges in me as he makes himself comfortable in it, and focus on what to do about him.
There are rules about familiars, and this guy just admitted to breaking most of them. If I could just find a member of the Order and report him, I should be good. They would know what to do, how to fix this. The only problem with that is, I have no idea how to find one. I don’t have the foggiest clue how any of this really works, because I’ve been a damn Osteomancer for less than a day.
“My name is Rogan Kendrick,” he starts, pulling me from my powerless thoughts. “I’m sorry to do what I did to you, but you need protection, and I need your help. We’re running out of time.”
I cross my arms over my chest and cock an eyebrow, silently saying go on.
“A week and a half ago, my brother disappeared. I’m trying to find who took him, and for that, I need your help.”
Empathy swells in my chest, but I remind it that this guy just broke magical law and bound us together without my consent, so it can just fuck off. “What is it that you think I can do?” I snap, half irritated with him and half irritated with how quickly I felt bad for him despite what he’s just done to me.
“For starters, you can tell me what you get from this,” he explains, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small plastic bag, containing what looks to be a light gray powder.
“And it never occurred to you to just ask me to help you with that?” I demand, pointing to the bag in his hand and trying really hard not to punch him again.
“That’s initially what I hoped Ruby would do. That’s why I came out here. But when you said that she had died, I worried that they had gotten to her somehow and that you would be next,” he defends, and my brow furrows with confusion.
“Who is they?”
Rogan pushes out of my grandmother’s chair and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure,” he confesses, deflating slightly, and alarm bells go off in my head.
This dude is mental. I’ve been attacked and bound to a man that is certifiable. Oh goody.
I take a step back, and his eyes narrow. Of course he has gorgeous long black eyelashes framing his already captivating green eyes. He’s the most dangerous lure I’ve ever seen: mouthwatering on the outside with a crunchy batshit-crazy center.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he growls.
“Excuse me? You waltzed into my shop, magicked me, and dropped your crazy right on the ground for all to see. I’ll look at you any damn way I want to.”
“I’m not crazy, and I’m not wrong. Something is going on in the magical community. Someone is taking our kind. There are four Osteomancers on the northern continent—know how many of them are missing?”
I gape at him, not sure what to say.
“All of them except you.”
“You’re an Osteomancer?” I ask, surprised by the discovery. I figured we’d give each other the tingles or there’d be a knowing sensation that would come over me when I was near another witch.
“No. I’m a Hemamancer, my brother is the Bone Witch in the family.”
It takes me a moment to mentally flip through my lessons as a kid and figure out what that means.
He’s a Blood Witch.
I guess that explains what he did earlier when he knocked me out. “Wait, you can have more than one kind of magic in a blood line?” I ask, shocked.
He gives me an incredulous look, like he thinks my question is somehow mocking him. “Did your grandmother not teach you about our world?” Moss-green eyes take me in with concern, and there’s a definitive spark of judgment in his gaze.