He clenched his hands at his side, his fangs lengthening.
He vividly remembered going to the dungeons with a dinner tray. He’d entered the cell and tried to convince Sally to confess the truth of Gaius’s strange new talents.
And then . . .
And then he’d been overwhelmed by a potent desire to do whatever was necessary to protect the woman who was his sole reason for living.
Goddammit.
The bitch had hit him with a spell.
There could be no other explanation.
Why else would he have suddenly been filled with an unshakable conviction she was his? Not just a pretty female he desired. But his. On a most primitive level.
Hell, even now he could . . . feel her. As if their very souls were entwined.
And worse, she had forced him to sacrifice everything, even loyalty to his people, to keep her safe.
Of all things, that was the one act he could never, ever forgive or forget.
He’d taken a vow when he became clan chief that he would always put his people first. How could he offer them anything less? The previous chief had nearly destroyed them all by his obsession with a female who’d demanded he pamper her every whim.
Now he’d been forced to follow in the footsteps of the man he’d hated.
She was going to pay for that.
With a roar that shattered the nearby window, he returned to the back bedroom where the trapdoor was hidden in the closet. Dropping into the lower tunnel, he landed lightly on the balls of his feet and stormed toward the female who was deeply asleep, curled on her side on the floor.
He was so angry the walls trembled from the force of his temper and the air was frigid enough to form ice crystals. But, as he squatted down to grab Sally and shake her awake, he hesitated.
Christ, she looked so tiny. And exhausted. The fragile features were more pale than usual, with bruised shadows beneath the thick crescents of her lowered lashes. Her autumn hair was splayed over the dirt, and her lips slightly parted, as if inviting a prince to kiss her awake.
Unfortunately for her, he was no prince, Roke bleakly reminded himself. And he’d returned to discover just what nasty spell she’d cast on him, not because of worry that she had pushed herself too hard.
Dammit.
Her magic had to be screwing with his head.
Not to mention his renegade body, he conceded, abruptly shifting his fingers to her shoulder rather than brushing over her cheek as they started to do.
“Sally.” He gave her a small shake. “Wake up.”
Her brow furrowed as she struggled to lift her lashes, the rich brown eyes dazed as she tried to focus on him.
“Roke?” She blinked in confusion. “I can’t . . . tired . . .”
He leaned down so he could grasp her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position with far greater care than she deserved. “Wake up,” he commanded, not for the first time irritated that it was impossible to enthrall a witch. It would have saved them all one hell of a lot of trouble.
She groaned, her head tilting back to smack against the wall of the tunnel. “What?” she demanded in thick tones. “What’s happened?”
“That’s what you’re about to explain, little witch,” he snarled. “Just what the hell did you do to me?”
“Do?”
His threatening growl echoed through the tunnel. “Don’t even try to deny you put a spell on me.”
“Oh.” He could hear her heartbeat quicken, her muscles clenching beneath his fingers. “I didn’t.”
He ignored her ridiculous denial. “Is it black magic?”
“No.” Her words remained slurred with exhaustion. “I swear.”
“Like I would take your word.”
“How could I?” She licked her lips and Roke swallowed a choked curse. Was it deliberate? Did she know the small provocation sent a jolt of hunger through his body? “The dungeons are hexed to prevent magic.”
“You obviously found a way to get around Styx’s protection.” His lips twisted. “Unless you expect me to believe I took one look at you and tumbled head over heels in love?”
She flinched at his cruel mockery, but the foolish female didn’t back down. “It wasn’t a spell. It was . . .”
“I’m listening.”
There was a long pause before she heaved a weary sigh. “My natural powers.”
“Natural?” he scoffed. “Humans have no powers.”
Her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes. “Then the logical answer is that I’m not entirely human,” she murmured.
His brows snapped together. It was the logical answer. The hexes would have prevented any spell cast by a witch. Even the most powerful witch.
But how could he have missed the fact that she was a mongrel?
Did the fact she was a witch conceal her demon blood?
“What are you?”
Her eyes remained closed as she shook her head. “I don’t know.”
His fingers dug into her shoulders. “Tell me.”
“I . . . can’t.”
With a tiny sound of distress her head flopped forward and Roke sensed her consciousness slip away.