“One look and…?”

  Tynan shakes his head. “One taste. Kissing her lips, licking away her tears, laving away her sweat…lapping up her arousal—any will tell us if she’s destined to be ours. Making love to her only cements the belief.”

  “You’re saying that Ronan could snog me and determine if I was his…mate?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not using that word to mean a friend, I presume, but a wife?”

  Tynan hesitates. “Deeper. More permanent.”

  “What happens when a wizard mates with a woman?”

  “Well, he Calls to her. Meaning that he speaks ritual words offering his eternal vow. If she wishes to accept, she Binds to him by speaking ritual words in return. Once they’re mated, if she’s human, she assumes a magical lifespan equal to her mate’s, which can be up to a thousand years.”

  A whole millennium? I’d say that’s rubbish, but his face doesn’t show even a bit of mirth. “You’re serious. If a wizard mates, does he…love her?”

  “Always. Forever. Above everything and everyone else.”

  “Auropha was your⁠—”

  “Yes.” His face tightens with grief. “Or she would have been once she’d grown. Another decade, and I would have Called to her.”

  My heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry. How many years did you wait?”

  He flashes me a sad smile full of memories and regrets. “Fifteen. Since the day she was born. Damnedest thing. I kissed the tears from her infant face, and…suddenly she had my heart. I would have done anything to protect her.”

  “But you never touched her?”

  “Sexually, no. She was far too young. A child. But I knew. As Auropha grew up, she knew as well. We’d begun to talk about our lives together… We both looked forward to the day she was old enough to mate.”

  The poor man. He loved her deeply, and he never had the opportunity to make her his. “But you had to power your magic with others while⁠—”

  “Yes, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Of course. But wasn’t Auropha hurt by your infidelity?”

  “It’s not like that for magickind. Unless one is mated, powering up with varied partners is normal, encouraged even. For us, exchanging one lover for another is a bit like deciding to eat a sandwich one day and pizza the next.”

  If the energy derived from sex is life sustaining, I suppose that makes sense. But the concept is so foreign…

  “I’m sorry you and Auropha never got to… Is it possible you’ll find another mate someday?”

  “It’s not impossible, but highly unlikely.”

  “So…a mated wizard can find another woman, then choose her instead?”

  “Only in rare instances, mostly when the mating is motivated by something other than instinct, like a political match. In those circumstances, if a wizard meets his true, fated mate…it can happen. But if he’s following his heart when he enters the mate bond, he is hers forever.”

  “He can’t…cheat?”

  Tynan flashes me a rare smile. “Impossible.”

  I nearly sigh with relief, then catch myself. Ronan has never kissed me, and given the hundreds—maybe thousands—of women he’s shagged, if he hasn’t yet found his mate, he’s unlikely to press his lips to mine and decide I’m “the one.”

  “Interesting, but Ronan merely wants to make me one among his long list of conquests.”

  “I wouldn’t be too certain. I overheard him. Bits, mind you, but he favored you far above another perfectly acceptable female.”

  “Because I’ve said ‘no’ each time he’s tried to seduce me.”

  “I might have agreed, except he said you were like a fever to him.”

  “Lust.” I shrug.

  “That’s true for humans. But wizards often begin to sense their mates even before a taste. A fever is a good description.”

  My heart nearly stops. I grip the bar to steady myself. Ronan wasn’t feeding me a line? Is there any chance I could be more to him than a potential conquest? “Are you certain?”

  “Quite. I remember my fever for Auropha well.” Depositing a few bills on the bar, Tynan stands. “Good night.”

  Chapter

  Two

  Ronan

  Sunlight blasts my eyes like a nuclear flash. Slinging my arm over my face, I lick my desert-dry lips. Bloody hell, it feels as if my tongue has grown fur overnight.

  As I stretch, I encounter a soft, warm body. Peeling one eye open, I stare at the stranger sleeping on her stomach, face turned away.

  Dark hair tangles across her naked shoulders. Vaguely, I remember feeling my way down her sleek back, palming her small waist, and groping her firm backside. I don’t recall her name. In fact, I don’t recall much after leaving the Witch’s Brew except consuming a half bottle of scotch and insisting the woman dim the lights so I could pretend I held Kari.

  This morning, I have no illusions. The brunette beside me isn’t the woman I want. And fantasizing that I made love to Kari didn’t sate my ache.

  Lately, I’ve repeated this pattern. Every night, a different woman in a different bed. Still, my need for Kari keeps growing.

  There must be more to life than shagging random females. What is the point of living for centuries if they’re full of empty embraces and quiet misery?

  Sitting up, I scrub my hands across my face. Time to leave, before this stranger wakes. Where the hell are my clothes?

  Ignoring my pounding head, I slide off the edge of the bed and scan the shadowy room. The November chill needles my skin as I pluck my discarded garments from among the woman’s. Her bra tangles with my socks. Her dress sits under my pants. Her knickers lay atop my shirt.

  “Going somewhere?” the woman rolls over and asks in a sleep-rough voice.

  She has lovely brown eyes with thick lashes, flushed cheeks, and lushly swollen lips. Abrasions from my stubble redden her jaw and breasts. I’m betting her thighs, too. I did that. While thinking of another woman. It isn’t fair to her. Or to me.

  Though I have nothing against whatever her name is, I can’t look at her anymore. She provided a distraction last night, and in turn, I gave her pleasure. Now I merely want a drama-free farewell.

  I do my best not to wince as I spew my usual lie. “I’ve got a busy morning. Running late, in fact.”

  She hums a noncommittal reply. I don’t know whether she believes me or not.

  Shoving down guilt, I grab my clothes and yank them on. I’d use my magic, but last night, Raiden chose two very human ladies.

  The brunette tugs on the sheet self-consciously, covering everything below her neck. It’s a relief, really. She’s attractive, but I can’t deny my disinterest in the harsh light of day.

  “Cuppa?” she offers.

  I’d love some caffeine, but… “Don’t trouble yourself. Do you know where my brother has gone?”

  “With Lily. Two doors down, corner unit.”

  Splendid. With Raiden elsewhere, I can teleport home without a dressing-down from my twin. What I’ll do then… No idea. Part of me wants to drown my sorrows in more scotch, but drinking before eight a.m. seems a bit irresponsible, even for a Wolvsey.

  Once I finish donning my clothes, I nod her way. “Right. Goodbye, then.”

  “Before you go…”

  “Yes?” I pray she won’t ask me to fix some bit of plumbing for her or, worse, climb back into her bed.

  “Let’s not see each other again.”

  Perhaps I should care that she’s insulted my masculinity or my prowess or some such. But I only feel relief. “Agreed.”

  With a sharp nod, I exit, jogging down the hall and bypassing Lily’s flat, where my brother is presumably sleeping. Or shagging. Raiden is a grown wizard who knows his way home. The sooner I leave here, the better.

  I race down the stairs. Once in the building’s empty lobby, I tuck myself into a dark corner and picture the manor I share just outside London with the other Wolvsey wizards. Then I dissipate from the spot before materializing back home.

  I crave a shower to erase the scent of the stranger. And a steaming cup of coffee. I hate that it’s impossible to have both at once, but my hangover wins. I head first for the kitchen, only to realize I’m not alone.

  “Early morning or late night?” my father quips.

  “Both.”

  He grins, revealing a row of white teeth and subtle laugh lines. His short, dark hair is lightly peppered with gray. At nearly seven hundred, Nathanial Wolvsey looks barely forty in human years.

  “Me, too,” he confides.

  Looking at my sire is like looking into my future. Same build, same features, same eyes. Same life of excess, alcohol, and one-night stands. Same lack of anything meaningful in life.

  “You’re frowning. Wake up beside an ugly one?”

  Quite the opposite. But I didn’t wake up beside Kari. Uttering such a sentiment would only incite howling laughter. But I’m not certain I can hold it in. My fever for Kari still rages, and I need answers. My father is, unfortunately, my best source of information.

  “Are you quite certain our family is cursed?”

  My father sets down his steaming mug with a scowl. “You doubt it?”

  “Has any Wolvsey ever tried to mate?”

  Nathanial recoils. “Good Lord, why would you want to?”

  “I don’t know that I do.” Liar.

  “Without the instinct, we could taste a million women and never know if any was our fated one. That curse is to blame. So why risk a life of abject unhappiness?”

  Because I’m already miserable.

  “If it’s children you want, be patient. Your uncles and I have proven that conceiving them is possible. Outside the mate bond, that requires a great deal of diligent effort, but I’m sure you won’t mind.” My father winks. “In fact, Raiden informed me yesterday that a little witch he shagged last month is expecting. His first. Right proud, he was. So you see…”

  I freeze. My twin is having a youngling with a witch he barely knows and might never see again. And he’s proud? I don’t understand, but I have to press on. “Remind me how the curse began.”

  Maybe if I hear the story again, I can discern some way to sense whether Kari is my mate.

  Nathanial shrugs. “My great-grandfather married a Councilman’s daughter. Ugly thing, but a powerful family. He had no instinct for her, but such are political matches among magickind. Not long after, he met a beautiful human. He burned for her, but confessed that he was… What is the human word? Married. Yes. The woman cried. He kissed away her tears and discovered she was destined to be his. When he tried to break his bond with his current mate, the witch screamed and cursed the family—she swore no Wolvsey mating would ever last. My great-grandfather paid her no heed, broke their bond, and mated with the human. She delivered him a healthy son. Then she died, as have all Wolvsey mates since. We’re not fit for one woman, son.”

  So I’ve heard—over and over. “When was the last time a Wolvsey mated?”

  My father strokes his chin with a frown. “Your great-uncle Martin, I think. He Called to this tall, exotic witch. I was a lad, but I recall her beauty. Shortly after their pairing, a freak accident separated her head from her body.”

  My great-uncle Martin, hundreds of years ago. I’ve never even met the wizard. “No one has tried since?”

  “Of course not.” My father peers with concern and drifts closer. “Our mates all die, and the wizards are miserable for centuries. Are you daft enough to think of tempting fate?”

  “Precisely what I want to know.”

  I jump at the sudden boom of the voice behind me. Raiden. Damn it all. Shit is going to hit the fan.

  As I turn to my twin, I can’t think of a single reply. I know better than to ask whether he’s tired of shagging a different woman every night. I would lay money that Raiden is living his dream.

  My twin and I used to be identical—except Raiden has a golden mane of hair to my dark. But lately, our ideas and attitudes have diverged more each day.

  “I’m merely asking a few questions about the family curse.”

  Raiden raises a golden brow. “For the same reason you screamed Kari’s name last night while you shagged Sophia?”

  So that was the brunette’s name? Wait. I screamed Kari’s name? “I don’t remember that. Shit.”

  “After you dashed away, Sophia, full of tears, visited her best friend, Lily. You cheated me out of a very promising morning. I had to assure her that you were far too inebriated to remember your own name, much less hers. Both friends decided we’re womanizing prats, so there ends my association with Lily.”

  I refrain from pointing out that Raiden would never have darkened Lily’s doorstep again anyway. He rarely spends the night with the same woman twice, but my twin wouldn’t welcome the observation just now.

  “Congratulations on the impending birth of your first youngling.” I change the subject.

  Unfortunately, Raiden isn’t diverted. “You’ve lost the plot. Since our transition into magic, we’ve frequented pubs and shagged countless females. We’ve never failed to secure a night with the women we most want because we function well as a team…until recently. Last night, I had to work damn hard to talk Sophia into inviting you home because you were busy mooning over Kari. It’s making my evenings more difficult, and it’s going to stop.”

  Doesn’t my brother realize I’ve tried not to think about the woman I can’t have? Probably not. Until two years ago, Raiden’s perspective was mine, too.

  The more I’m with Kari, the more that changes.

  “Son,” Nathanial interjects. “You should know better than to mate. It’s no state for a Wolvsey.”

  Especially if it means Kari’s death.

  I should walk away, never return to the Witch’s Brew or set eyes on her again. But she’s a fever in my blood that I can’t cure—at least until I know if the curse is real. And I can only know that if I touch her…

  Chapter

  Three

  Kari

  Sunday night at the Witch’s Brew is quieter than the rest of the week, but the early snow on top of leftover slush from another recent cold snap has made roads unbearable.

  A few customers sit in dark corners of the pub. Tynan has already come and gone. Auropha died a month ago today, and his grief is still so raw.

  The usual collection of rowdy wizards remains in the back with their billiard sticks and ales. A smattering of people collects around the room, some magical, some not. I don’t always know the difference.

  In truth, I’m too busy watching the door. Nearly ten o’clock, minutes until closing. I should face facts; Ronan isn’t coming. Likely, he’s already procured a woman for the night and he’s pleasing her with those deft hands and his sinful mouth…

  I shouldn’t care. After Edward, I swore off men, particularly gorgeous ones who only want one thing.

  But I can’t stop fixating on Ronan.

  Suddenly, the bell chimes, and the door sweeps open, bringing a dusting of snow on a pair of black combat boots. Long legs in black jeans, a heavy charcoal duster, long hair the color of midnight, and piercing green eyes bulldoze my defenses.

  Ronan. And he’s alone.

  My breath catches.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he shuts the door and sheds his duster, revealing a tight black T-shirt that clings to the flexing, rolling muscles of his chest.

  He strides straight toward me. My heart starts banging against my chest.

  “Ronan.” I do my best to keep my voice even. “Scotch?”

  “Double, no rocks.”

  I know. I’ve memorized everything I can about the man. The dark tumble of his hair. The devil-may-care glitter of his eyes. His sharp jaw. The slight cleft of his chin. The sexual curl of his lips. And don’t get me started on his body…

  Quickly, I pour his drink, then set it in front of him. Before I can retreat, he plunks his money down and grabs my wrist. “I came to talk to you.”

  I know what he wants. And I’m far too tempted. If I have sex with him, he’ll only find someone else—probably in my pub—to grace his bed tomorrow.

  And I’ll be gutted.

  Over the past two years, I’ve come to know Ronan. At first as a gorgeous customer with a quick wit and an even quicker mind. He chatted, told jokes, and made me laugh. When I sprained my ankle last spring, he volunteered to clean up the pub and close. He brought me soup and checked in while I recovered. He made me feel important.

  My cat went missing a few months later. He helped me search for Misty and held my hand while I worried. He rejoiced with me when she finally wandered home a week later. He even brought me a bottle of my favorite wine to celebrate.

  My desire for him deepened, especially when he started flirting, asking about me, and staring as if no other woman existed. Before long, he cajoled me into divulging confidences, like the fact that I bought this pub because I hated my desk job, and my father’s sudden passing made me realize that life is too short to spend it miserable. Instead of tuning out like most men, Ronan listened. He cared about my grief, my plans, even my feelings in a way Edward never did.

  When I admitted that I missed having a mother growing up, Ronan empathized, since his mother abandoned him and his twin at birth. From there, we connected on a level that felt far more than physical. I began fantasizing about him.

  But he left every night with another woman, so I resigned myself to Ronan never being more than a friend.

  Until recently, when he abandoned flirting and started trying to seduce me.

  Telling him no night after night physically hurts. I want him that badly. The more I resist, the more I ache. The more insistent he becomes. Possessive, too. He clearly dislikes Tynan, and I’ve let Ronan think we’re more than friends because if I give into him, I’m not sure I’ll recover when he shags someone else.

  “Let me go.” I tug against Ronan’s hold.

  Reluctantly, he does, then downs his scotch in three long swallows. My desire sparks as I watch his Adam’s apple bob in the strong column of his neck.