Magic Undying (Dragon's Gift: The Seeker #1)(32)

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” His voice was gruff.

Hmmm. Doubtful. He’d expended a lot of magical energy creating the Underpath entrance—I’d felt it. If I had to bet, he’d weakened himself temporarily.

All supernaturals, except for my deirfiúr Cass, had a limited amount of magical power. Some had more than others, and I’d bet Roarke had a lot, but once it was used up, even he would likely have to wait a while for it to regenerate. The waiting time was different for everyone depending on their strength. That must be why he went through Mad Mordecai’s—to preserve his power for whatever battle waited on the other end of the Underpath.

By the time we made it to the car, I was dragging too. This had been a long day.

It didn’t take long to drive back to Factory Row, and we made it in silence.

When I climbed out of the car, Roarke grabbed a small duffle bag from the back and followed.

“You’re just walking me to my door, right?” Like this had been some weird, violent date?

“Something like that.”

Hmmm. I reached the green door, withdrew the key from my pocket, then let myself in. I turned to say goodbye to Roarke, but he stepped through the door, crowding me.

“Um, goodbye,” I said.

“No.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m staying. No way I’m letting you out of my sight.”

“I promised to help you tomorrow. You’re not coming up.”

“We aren’t partners, Del.” His voice was firm. “You’re still a fugitive. I’ve put that on hold so that we can catch the Ubilaz demon, but once we have, you’re coming back to the Underworld with me. I’ve never let a fugitive escape, and I’m not about to start now.”

My heart thundered. “I don’t belong there.”

“Then how did you end up there? There’s only one way to get to the Underworld, and that’s death.”

My brain stutter-stepped. I didn’t have an answer that would convince him to let me stay free, so I said, “Fine. But you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He nodded, satisfied for now. But as I climbed the stairs, my skin chilled. I’d started to like him. To think that maybe he liked me, too, and that he wouldn’t make me go back to the Underworld.

Apparently I’d been wrong.





Chapter Seven





I let myself into my apartment, then held open the door to Roarke. I couldn’t help but scowl as he entered. He just grinned.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” I wearily dragged a hand through my hair.

He grinned wider, then winced when his side nudged the doorknob.

“How’s the wound in your side?” I asked.

“Delightful. But really, I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to take a shower.” I nodded toward the kitchen. “Food’s in there. Help yourself. Don’t go in the bedroom.”

He nodded, then headed toward the kitchen, looking far too big in my tiny apartment. I watched him disappear into the small space, then turned and headed toward the bathroom. On my way there, I pulled the bedroom door shut. He wouldn’t be able to find my trove because there was no visible door, but no reason to invite his curiosity.

I flinched at the sight of myself in the mirror. Burns on my neck and the side of my face stood out starkly against my pale skin. Fortunately, they looked to be just first degree. They’d fade soon enough. The rest of me was filthy. Dirt in my hair and all over my clothes. Demon blood speckled over my shirt and jacket and a bit on my neck.

Ew.

At least my face was mostly clean. And it really had been a good thing that pub in Dartmoor had been run by supernaturals. Walking into a human pub like this wouldn’t have gone well for me.

As I turned toward the shower, I caught sight of a weird lump on my head right under my hair. I reached up and poked it, then almost yelped.

A horn.

I was starting to grow horns. And my face wasn’t just pale from exhaustion. It was turning slightly gray.

My stomach dropped to the floor and a cold sweat broke out over my skin. No, no, no, no, no.

My heart started to thud, pounding in my ears like drums. With a shaking hand, I dug into my pocket for one of the vials of potion that Connor had given me. The one I pulled out was dark green, but I squinted at the tiny, handwritten label to make sure.

Temp. Ubilaz Antidote.

Bottoms up.

I knocked on my head, avoiding my horns, and drank the foul-tasting stuff. Please work, please work, please work.

I stared hard at myself in the mirror, almost collapsing with relief when the bumps on my head receded. I poked them, grateful to find only my normal scalp. My skin even looked a tiny bit pink.

Oh, thank fates. A reprieve.

My muscles were shaky as I turned on the water to the shower. I made quick work of cleaning up, because frankly, it felt like hell. Hot water was too warm on my burns, and cold just felt miserable on the rest of me. By the time I made it out of the shower, I was aching and starving.

With the towel wrapped around me, I darted from the bathroom to the bedroom and changed into PJs decorated with penguins, then made my way to the kitchen.

The sight inside made my jaw drop.

Roarke stood in front of the stove, a spatula in his hand, looking as domestic as June Cleaver.