My intuitions are like my magic. Spot on.”
“There’s a first time for everything, eh?” Her blatant confidence appealed to him. “But let’s get back to your tale about this soul in a tree.”
Rook’s memory flashed to the end of the sixteenth century, that fateful night he’d stood in the open field near the edge of the Bois de Boulogne, where he had made his home with Marianne. That cruel, dark night that the devil Himself had stood before him and presented an offer Rook had not refused.
“My soul was taken from me and buried in the ground,” he blurted out. “Very near the forest.”
“Hmm, that makes sense. If it was buried, a tree could have grown up through and around it, encompassing it in the core of its structure.”
A thick violet curl fell over Verity’s shoulder, and she cupped her hands around the teacup, lifting it just below her chin to inhale the spicy aroma.
“I couldn’t walk away from it,” she said, “so I dug out the core of the tree. Took me all day because I had but a small athame with me. Maman always berated me for carrying it around. One must revere instruments of magic,” she said in a haughty tone, obviously imitating her mother.
Rook chuckled, but he wanted her to continue, so he didn’t speak.
She set down the teacup. “The chunk I took away was about the size of a baby’s head.” She formed the shape with her hands. “I took it home and carved at it for months until I felt I’d carved to the essence of it. I made it into a heart shape about this size.”
She pinched her fingers together to represent something the size of a half golf ball.
“I polished it and strung it on a leather cord and have worn it around my neck ever since.”
Rook found words impossible. That she had done such a thing. Actually found his soul? It had to be his. The devil Himself had placed his soul in the ground, a wicked remuneration for the bargain they’d agreed to. A foul bargain that no sane man should have made.
What man could ask for such a thing?
He had. And he lived with regret even now. Never would he have forgiveness. Yet it was all he desired.
“So you have it?” he asked, tapping hope with his tone.
Verity took another sip of tea and looked aside, rubbing a hand along her sweater sleeve. She shook her head.
“You don’t have it? But you said you’ve worn it since. Protecting it?”
“I was wearing it last night. It must have fallen off during the struggle with the vampire. I went looking for it this afternoon, but…maybe I need to look once again.”
“Yes, you must. I’ll go with you.”
Rook stilled as she placed her hand over the back of his. Not clasping but simply calming his desperate need to rush into action. “How can you be sure it was yours?” she asked.
“How many times does a man have his soul stolen at the edge of the Bois de Boulogne and then watch it be buried? It can’t be anyone else’s soul. And like I said, I felt it when I touched you last night. It was a brief knowing.”
“Yes, I had a moment of knowing when you touched me, too. I think we’re connected, Rook.”
“Maybe.” He certainly felt some compulsion toward this beautiful woman. But it could simply be that she was gorgeous and appealed to his desires. “I’m sorry, but…could I touch you? Just to see if I can feel it again.”
“My boob?”
He chuckled. “I’d like to put my palm above your breast because that’s where I can feel your heartbeat. I, uh…can read people. Not like you claim to know things about people—I can actually see their truths.”
With a sigh, she turned on the chair to face him and propped her elbows on the wrought-iron chair back. “Fine. But don’t perv out on me.”
Much as he’d love to do that, he was a gentleman. Until he was not.
“Trust me, when I cop a feel, you’ll know it.”
Verity tugged the sweater open wider, and the soft T-shirt beneath revealed nipples so hard Rook could already feel them against his tongue.
Gentleman, remember?
He placed a palm above her breast, spread out his fingers over the shirt and closed his eyes. The heat of her was delicious; it spread up his fingers, up his arm and through his system like waves of rose blossoms shushed by a breeze.
At the sound of her sigh, he opened his eyes to see she had closed hers. Her lips were slightly parted. Long dark lashes dusted her cheeks. If they weren’t sitting out in the open with tourists and Parisians passing by, he’d kiss her.
“What do you feel?” she whispered in a breathy tone, eyes still closed.
Nothing.
Nothing?
Hell, he felt absolutely nothing. He couldn’t read her truths as he could do to any person or creature in this realm. It was an odd gift he’d had since the incorporeal demon had landed inside of him. Oz was a truth demon, after all.
Really? he asked inwardly.
A mystery, Oz answered. One you must explore further. I need you to get your soul back, my friend. My wife waits for me!
Yes, Oz’s faery wife, who was soon to give birth to their first child. He owed Oz his freedom. And there was only one way to do that—find and restore his soul.
Retracting his hand, Rook stared at his palm a few seconds before wiping it along his pants leg. Nothing. What was that about?
“That bad, huh?” she said, remarking on his actions.
“I didn’t get the same feeling as I did last night. But if you lost the necklace, then what I felt last night could have been true. And now with it missing, it makes sense I would not feel it.”
“I’m so sorry. I will find it. I’ve had it so long it’s become a part of me. And if it was your soul, well…”
“It’s not your problem anymore. I’ll track back to the site of the attack and have a look around. Your neck.” He gestured to the bite mark. “It’s healing? I did feel latent traces of vampire when I touched you.”
“Like the shimmer?”
The shimmer was the subtle vibration of connection vampires felt when they touched one another. It was the only way they had to know one another, unless, of course, fangs were down.
“A bit like the shimmer, but I’m not vampire. I just know that feeling.”
“You have been bitten?”
“Many times.” He wouldn’t tell her it had been voluntary. And that it always delivered erotic pleasure. That was another of those secrets he’d take to the grave. “Part of the profession. Like I said—”
“You can read people.”
“Except, apparently, you.”
Tilting her head down, she looked up through her lashes. “I’ve a bit of intuition about people.”
“Still never fathered a child.”
“Maybe. But I do sense something about you. Your touch is cool. I thought the knights in the Order were mortals?”
Oops. “They are.”
“You’re not mortal, Rook. Especially because you seem to recall the bohemian period at the beginning of last century. What are you? There’s…something inside you.”
Her intuition was surprisingly on the mark.
“What are you that you can read me so well?” he countered.
She