‘Damnation!’ she screamed, rushing for the pitcher of water next to a washstand by the bed. Sir Robin screeched in alarm, flapping his wings, feeding the flames with the wind he created as he flew over the burning silk and wooden frame, landing in a flutter of feathers on Thomas’ shoulder.
Clio tossed the pitcher onto the screen, muttering a spell to triple the water and douse the flames.
Thomas, seemingly unaware of the heavy raven perched on his shoulder, looked from Clio to the charred screen and back again.
Clio wiped a strand of hair from her forehead. ‘I?—’
‘What just happened?’ His voice was tightly controlled.
Clio’s belly flipped nervously. She wasnevernervous. But a host of thoughts were trapped in Thomas’ head, and she guessed several of them were about her. Likely, they were not good thoughts.
She had always been comfortable with who she was, what she wanted, and how she planned on getting it. If other people had opinions about her, she didn’t give a fig. Unless they were her family.
But now… she gave quite a few figs. An entire orchard’s worth, actually. Never had someone been a part of her magic outside of her coven. Until Thomas. And now she risked losing him.
In the most exposing, vulnerable, violating way possible, she had somehow pulled him into her sphere. He hadn’t given her permission to see his memories. He hadn’t asked to share in her abilities. But it had happened. And he was understandably upset. She couldn’t forget what she’d seen. Or how it felt to stand with him in his memory. It had brought a sense of comfort to know she wasn’t alone. Clio doubted it felt the same to him.
‘Thomas, I’m so sorry.’
He shook his head, his high cheekbones flushing with anger. ‘Save your sorrow. What happened, Clio? That was my past we just saw. My memories. How?’
She felt the sting of tears before a hot drop rolled down her cheek. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I have always been able to see the memories of those departed, but never the past of someone living. And no one has ever been in the vision with me.’
‘How, Clio?’ He was almost shouting now, and Clio was grateful they were the only two guests on this side of the manor.
She took a deep breath and tried to make sense of things. ‘It’s unheard of, unless you believe in the silly fantasy of spirit matches. A witch’s magic is hers alone. And I’ve only ever had visions of the dead until I met you and started seeing your memories.’
His head cocked to the side a second before she realised her mistake. He prowled towards her. ‘Memories? You’ve had other visions about me?’
Holy Hecate. I’ve really spilt the potion now.
But the least she could offer him was some truth. ‘Yes.’
Thomas strode to her in two powerful steps. Sir Robin flapped his wings to keep his perch on Thomas’ wide shoulder. He reached up and put his hand over her throat, his fingers gentle even when his gaze was fierce enough to shred her soul to ribbons. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed, but her voice remained steady. ‘The first time, I barely knew you. I could hardly tell you I saw your past. You would have thought me mad.’
‘What did you see, Clio?’ His words were dangerously soft.
Her mind worked furiously but she couldn’t focus as he stroked over her pulse point.
‘I fucked my way through half of London. Did you see that?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Just you and… her. Or you alone, but thinking about her.’
His brows raised. ‘You can hear my thoughts?’
‘No, not normally.’ She was quick to reassure him. That wasn’t her gift. It was Helena’s. Though it didn’t seem the time to talk about the powers of her coven. ‘But when I have my visions, it’s like I’m in your head. I hear your thoughts, feel your emotions.’
He leaned closer. ‘If only you could feel my emotions now, Clio. You would run from this place and never return.’ He drew his handdown her neck, over the hollow of her throat, down her chest to her sternum, before he stepped away.
‘What happened between the two of you, Thomas? I know you loved her very much. Why did you agree to seek your pleasure with other women?’
‘Haven’t you put the pieces together yet, my clever Clio?’
She swallowed and shook her head.
‘Still looking for all your precious evidence before you form a conclusion. All right. I shall give you some. When Lissa and I first married, it was a love match. We were mad for each other. Couldn’t keep ourselves from the bedroom. Lissa wanted children, and I was happy to oblige. But as the months passed, and her courses came without fail, our passion dwindled along with our hopes. We saw doctors. She worried that perhaps the injuries I sustained in the war damaged me. But all the doctors said the same thing. I could engage in sexual relations. So, the fault must lie with Lissa. She was devastated. Then she became angry. She insisted we seek out other bed partners.’
