That’s what she wants to ask me about? “It’s just a light pendant. I was scared of the dark when I was a boy. The person that gave this to me bespelled it so it’d light up whenever there was darkness.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine. “Did Dru make this for you?”
“No. And I don’t want to talk about it.” Because I don’t like to think about who did make it for me.
That steely expression crosses her face. “Tell me about your parents, Ben. They made you that amulet, didn’t they?”
I glare at her. “Reggie, I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“And I”—she grinds down against me suggestively, riding me—“want my answers in exchange for my kiss. Or should I get off you and we end this?”
“Unfair,” I rasp, torn. She rocks her hips over my aching cock again, and I am utterly aware of just how little separates our bodies. I could shove open her robe and mine, and then she’d be rocking against my shaft directly, rubbing her slick pussy up and down my length. Instead, she wants to talk about my parents. “Besides, I thought you had all the answers. I’m a murderer, remember?”
Reggie leans forward and brushes a kiss over my mouth, her hand trailing inside the front of my robe to my chest hair. “It doesn’t fit you, Ben,” she says softly. “It scared me at first, because I didn’t know what to think. But you’re so patient and kind with Dru. And with me. You never lose your temper, unless one of us is trapped inside a well.” She gives me an impish look and then leans in and presses her lips to my jaw. “But I know you. You’re like me. I know you could never kill your parents, or anyone else, in cold blood. That’s not who you are. You might practice magic and do things that some people frown on, but you’re never cruel. So I want you to tell me the real story behind it.” She lifts her lips and gazes up at me with those big, dark eyes. “Please?”
There’s an enormous knot in my throat. A knot that feels as if it’s been there hundreds of years. “You truly think I’m not a murderer?”
“I know you’re not.” She takes my hand in hers and raises it to her cheek, all gentleness. “Like I said, you’re like me. And whenever I mention my parents, you have this look on your face that I recognize so much. It’s the look that tells me you know just what I’m going through when they hurt me. You know what it’s like to feel that ache.” She nips gently at my thumb. “So I want you to tell me your story.”
My jaw works as I’m overcome with emotion. How many hundreds of years have I had the worst reputation of any warlock? How long have I brought down House Magnus with my actions? And yet this simple, beautiful woman believes the best of me. Believes there’s more to the story.
It’s humbling and it makes me love her all the more.
Love.
I’m in love with Reggie Johnson.
30
REGGIE
Ben looks as if I’ve asked him to describe his own funeral. There’s so much blatant emotion on his face, and I know this is something that hurts him. So I keep petting him and touching him, letting him know that I’m here for him, that I believe in him. I don’t think many people do. There’s something in him so very raw and full of hurt, and it needs to come to the surface between us if we ever hope to get past it.
Because I don’t believe that he’s a cold-blooded murderer. He wouldn’t look so wounded and shut down every time a parent is brought up if he truly was.
It occurs to me that I’m manipulating him, just a little, with kisses and cuddles. But the way I see it, Ben’s not good at sharing, and he likes my kisses. This makes it easier for both of us. I’m not going to use him like Gwen did, either. This thing between us, this connection, it’s real and I intend to pursue it. But I need answers first.
Ben’s mouth works for a moment, as if he wants to swallow back any words that threaten to escape. “What have I told you about my past?”
“Just that you were born in England about five hundred years ago?”
He nods, his expression growing distant. “Henry the Eighth’s reign. My mother was a courtier of his. She loved political games and intrigue. And clothes.” He thinks for a moment. “My father was a warlock who she’d been obsessed with for centuries. My mother was nearly a thousand years old when she had me and very set in her ways. She was a beautiful, bright thing but very selfish. I think she had me to keep my father anchored to her side. They stayed together after I was born, but they fought a lot. And neither one of them wanted anything in particular to do with a child, so I was left alone at the country manor while they were at court. I’d see them maybe once, twice a year, and never for very long. I bothered them.” His mouth twists. “Imagine that, a child wanting to spend time with his parents.”
“It sounds lonely,” I say softly.
“It was.” His expression is shuttered. “Aunt Drusilla would come around when she could, but my mother didn’t like her much, so she tried to keep Dru away from me. She was very angry when I apprenticed with Dru. Said that I had betrayed her. Never mind that I offered to apprentice with her or my father first. They had no time for that.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I grew up and became a warlock of my own power.” Ben gets thoughtful. “And then 1665 happened.”
“What happened in 1665?”
“A lot of things. But mostly, the bubonic plague broke out again. That was entirely due to my mother.”
I gasp. “What?”
Ben nods. “It was a curse gone wrong. She visited some little hamlet outside of London—the name escapes me—and felt that the local shopkeepers didn’t pay her the proper deference or some bullshit. She ended up cursing the local butcher with plague, but he gave it to his family, and then some of the people in town fled to London, and from there, it became a full-blown pandemic.” He shakes his head. “My parents were not good people. My mother was very selfish and cruel and didn’t care about anyone other than herself. Word had gotten out that my mother had started the plague and refused to put an end to it. It went on for over a year and a hundred thousand people died, and my mother still didn’t care. The council decided that since my mother—and my father with her—would accept no responsibility, that they would take them out for the good of mankind.” His mouth curves in a faint smile. “Even though my parents were terrible people, I still loved them. Still sought their approval. I found out what was going to happen, and I approached them in London, determined to make them see the error of their ways. It turned out that my father had just contracted the plague and was dying, and my mother still didn’t believe it was a problem.” He shakes his head. “When they wouldn’t listen to reason, I had to take them out myself.”
I gasp, aching for him. “You had to?”
He nods, emotion stark on his face. “If I hadn’t, they would have met a worse fate. The plan was to point out that my parents were witches and let an angry mob take care of them. After they’d have been tortured, they would have been burned at the stake. I poisoned them.” His throat works. “It seemed . . . easier.”
“Oh, Ben.” I’m horrified at the trauma he’s gone through. I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight. His arms are like a vise around me, and he holds me like a man drowning. I let him, because I understand. I can’t imagine being in the same place and having my parents do such awful things. Having to take action like that. “And because you tried to give them a kinder way out, now everyone thinks you’re a murderer?”
“For a long time, it was good for my reputation,” he says, voice low. “I let it carry on, because why not? But now I’m the monster everyone tells their children to hide from. I’m tired of it. I just want to be left alone.”
I press my nose against the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. “Should I leave you alone, too, then?”
“Gods, no.” He holds me tighter. “You stay. Stay forever.”