A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Who knew fried asparagus could be so sexy?

Farrell drank the rest of his vodka and signaled for another. It arrived with the rest of their meal: a salmon roll, seared scallop nigiri, and sea urchin sashimi. Crys busied herself with unwrapping her chopsticks and mixing a concoction of soy sauce and wasabi into a thin greenish paste. He did the same before he ate a piece of the salmon roll with mock enthusiasm.

He hated sushi.

“We were talking about magic the other night,” he said.

“We were.”

“Such an interesting subject, isn’t it? I’d love to know more about your personal experiences with it.”

She traced her finger along the edge of her square-shaped plate. “Have you ever heard of Obsidia?”

He blinked. “Obsidia?”

“Apparently, it’s a magic language.”

“Can’t say I have.”

She continued on eating and chatting as if they were having a normal dinner conversation, but Farrell leaned in with perked-up ears, regarding her with increased interest.

She’d finally said something important.

Something Markus would want to know. Perhaps this was why he’d been concerned about this girl who was, otherwise, as ordinary as they came.

Satisfaction swelled within him. It wouldn’t be long before he’d earn his third mark.

“This language is found only one place on record,” she continued.

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

“In a very special book,” she said without more than a moment’s hesitation. “If you know how to read the language, it sounds like you’d be able to channel the magic from the book to use however you like.”

“That is fascinating.” He was entranced now with every word she spoke.

“Fascinating?” she repeated. “I suppose. But it sounds scary, too. All that power up for grabs, and this book is just out there somewhere, waiting to be used. Who knows what kind of monster could get their hands on it?”

He’d never heard of Obsidia before, but it sounded like something Markus would be incredibly interested in.

Farrell reached across the table and took her hand in his. He met her gaze and held on to it. “Don’t be scared,” he told her. “This book does sound dangerous, but don’t give it another thought, okay? I swear, just like with my brother, I would protect you from anything that tries to hurt you.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Really.”

Damn, he was good. This kind of talk would have most girls on his lap by now. She didn’t pull away from him, so he kept going, not wanting to miss this opportunity to draw her even closer and gain every last shred of her trust.

He slid his thumb over her hand. Her short nails were painted bright purple and she wore a silver ring with a rose on it. “That’s a beautiful ring,” he said.

She glanced down at it. “My sister and I exchanged rose jewelry a few years ago. One of our favorite books has a girl named Rose in it. Princess Rose. She saved her own kingdom, by herself, without any help from knights in shining armor.”

“Sounds like a good book.” Or a piece of feminist trash. He continued to caress her hand, turning it over so he could trace the lines on her palm. He smiled inwardly when she drew in a shaky breath.

You are so easy to manipulate, Crystal Hatcher.

“I have to admit something,” he said. “And this might change things between us.”

She hesitated, then answered softly. “What?”

“When I said I wanted to be platonic friends with you . . .”

“Yes?”

“That was actually a pretty shameless lie. There’s something about you, Crys. You’re so different from the others girls I meet. You . . . you do something to me. Of course, I want you to want to be my friend, but I don’t think I want you to be my platonic friend.”

Cue the blonde melting into a romantic puddle in three, two, one. . . .

“Farrell . . . you’re different from any guy I’ve ever known, too.” She slid her hand against his, her fingernails lightly tracing his skin. A shiver went through him. The unpleasant scent of their dinner faded away, leaving only the sweetness of strawberries.

The din of the restaurant grew fainter as their body language officially entered into the realm of public displays of affection. He allowed her to trace her fingers up his arm and watched as she bit her lush bottom lip. And now his own heartbeat was speeding up.

He wanted her.

One night with her would likely get her out of his system, after she’d given him—and thus Markus, too—every last piece of information about this magic book. Then he was sure he’d be fine never seeing her again.

Those fingers were doing things to his arm that made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. And those lips . . . he wanted to explore them for hours.

“I saw you yesterday,” she said, her voice smoky and throaty.