Soon it would end. Today, he would hunt her down and demand answers, even if he had to wring them from her pretty neck. He was unsure where to begin the search, but somehow he knew this feeling, her looming presence, would guide him.

Prying his gaze from the carving, he turned to the door. “Fifteen minutes. No more.”

“Smashing. But until you give me the Doomsday Diary…” Bram grinned, “I’m your new best friend.”

As soon as Bram parked three blocks off of Oxford Street, Marrok bolted from the hated automobile’s small confines. Warriors did not travel in motorized death traps, by God.

They trekked through the gloom of London’s gray morning to a narrow little shop, where a purple sign flashed A Touch of Magic. With a cynical grunt, Marrok stared through the picture window. A clay rendering of Pegasus took up most of the display space. He studied the piece critically. The sculpture had symmetry, but lacked life and movement.

As Bram opened the door, an electronic chime heralded their arrival. Two steps later, a wave of musky incense slammed his senses. That and the strains of a passionate ballad surged through him. Across his skin awarness burned and tingled.

A woman had recently stood here. An enticing mix of light perfume over natural scent told him thus. He inhaled peaches and vanilla.

The clatter of beads in a doorway at the back of the store brought his gaze across the room. A woman emerged, carrying an armload of boxes. He caught a glimpse of windswept dark hair and a fragile profile before she turned to deposit the load on the counter along the back wall.

Familiar movements seized his breath.

Marrok willed the woman to face him. Instead, she unpacked, swaying in time with the Celtic tune piping through the room. A dangerous slash of desire sliced his gut.

“Olivia?” Bram called above the music.

She turned and smiled at the wizard.

The sight was an invisible fist slamming into Marrok.

“Bram, thanks for coming by.” Her distinctly American voice rang in Marrok’s head as she shut off the music. “I know you’re busy. Did you get my message last week?”

“I did. Sorry. I haven’t heard anything more about your father. I’ll ask again. Nothing new from the investigator?”

Her shoulders slumped. “No, just an address for a crazy man who claims to be nearly five hundred years old. I’ll keep looking. I moved here to find him, and I’m not giving up.”

As if just realizing they weren’t alone, Olivia peeked around Bram at Marrok. The welcome on her face faltered, fell. She covered lush lips with her hand and stared as if the sight of him shocked her.

He could hardly be more shocked himself. Delicate cheeks, a slightly pointed chin, and those bloody haunting eyes.

Morganna’s eyes in the face from this morning’s dream. Recognition jolted his every nerve.

She looked back at Bram. “Is this…?”

“Of course. I told you I’d deliver.”

Bram shoved him toward her. Normally, he’d growl at the wizard for touching him. Today, his attention was fixed on Olivia.

Or rather, Morganna. The one woman who could end his curse.

He had not believed she could make herself as beautiful as the woman in his dream. He had underestimated his opponent. That alone made her more deadly, to say nothing of the power she had surely gathered over the centuries. She looked so young, barely twenty. Though her youth was an illusion, she made him feel ancient.

Bram turned to him. “Marrok, this is Olivia Gray.”

She paused. Her hand dropped from her mouth, and she bit her bottom lip. For such calculated hesitation, the gesture looked natural. But Morganna never displayed vulnerability without a trap looming close behind.

Finally, she extended her hand to him. Marrok stared, wanting nothing less than to touch her—and nothing more. A film of sweat broke out across his skin. Oh, how she must be laughing.

But the centuries had taught Marrok to play her game.

Pasting on a shark’s smile, he enfolded her hand in his. Electricity shot across his palm, up his arm, rocking him to his soul. In that instant, his cock hardened. Blast it all, with one small touch she bewitched him, exactly like his dream…

Only stronger.

Olivia’s eyes widened. Grim satisfaction seeped through him.

“Ms. Gray.”

She quickly withdrew her hand. “I—it’s nice to meet you. Bram has told me about you. Actually, about your talent,” she clarified. “The pictures I’ve seen are very impressive.”

Morganna had never cared about his carving, only for his reputation on the battlefield and in the bedroom. This pretense of interest infuriated him. What game did the witch play?

Looking flustered, she glanced Bram’s way.

“Where is that piece you brought?” Bram asked him.

He’d been so focused on Morganna, he had forgotten it. “In your car.”

Bram’s gaze bounced from Marrok to Olivia, then back again.

“Well, then, I’ll…go get it. You two get acquainted.”

The door chime signaling Bram’s departure sounded loudly in the room’s silence. But Olivia never looked away from Marrok. Her heart zoomed into hyperspeed.

He stared as if he knew her, could see inside her. As if he were utterly aware that, just that morning, she had dreamed of being naked and wet for him, begging for his touch.

When his sharp perusal swept down her body, she had the distinct impression Marrok knew he’d starred in her erotic fantasy. His scrutiny didn’t seem sexual…exactly. Still, she flushed and tingled in some interesting places.

He didn’t return the interest, of course. Most men weren’t aroused by an odd-looking woman with nearly-black hair and purple eyes who resembled an extra from an Elvira Halloween spectacular. Doutful that a prime male like Marrok would be enticed by her.

He stood at least six feet four. His door-frame-wide shoulders bulged, straining the seams of his black T-shirt. The fists bunched at his sides were huge. A shaggy mane of dark hair framed his haunted, hollow-cheeked face, accented by a neatly-trimmed goatee and unfathomable blue-gray eyes. His mouth twisted in a mysterious smile, as if he knew he made her nervous.

Olivia restrained the urge to toy with the bangles on her wrist. Marrok was a temperamental artist. Period. She owned an art gallery, her dream since she’d been a moody teenager living a nomadic life with her cold, overprotective mother. If she wanted to keep this place afloat, she’d better stop mooning and do business.

“I’d like to carry your carvings here,” she said. “I think you have a great deal of talent. I could help you make a tidy sum.”

He raised a dark, disquieting brow. “Money does not interest me.”

Really? “Prestige, then? Recognition. Is that what you want?”

He stepped closer, loomed above her. If his aim was to intimidate her with his sheer size…score. One of his biceps was as thick as her thigh.

“I do not seek recognition.” His tone was dangerous and rough.

She’d never been so aware of being alone with a man. Of course, she’d never dreamed of being naked and aching for a major hunk, then meeting him in the flesh. But they were here for business; she had to concentrate.

Suppressing a shiver, she squared her shoulders. “You must want something in exchange for your work. Tell me what, and I’ll—”

“You know what I want.”

He clamped large, heated fingers around her hips. An unexpected rush of energy burst through her, like she’d been jolted with a live wire. Scary. Sexual. He couldn’t mean it to be.

Her head snapped back. Those pale eyes, framed by thick black lashes, drew her without mercy. His scent, woodsy and wild, went straight to her knees.

Damn it, she didn’t know him, and he was touching her. Why wasn’t she afraid? Or at least annoyed by the one-sided lust she felt?

“No, I don’t.”

“You lie.”

His fingers tightened, and he brought her closer. Their bodies brushed, his heat crashing into her. Was he…? Yes, erect. Oh God.

Maybe the lust wasn’t one-sided…Shocked to her toes, she raised a shaking hand to his chest to ward him off. He was like living, breathing stone. Everywhere.

“Stop,” she breathed.

His mouth sharpened into a dangerous slash. “Stop what?”

“Touching me.” Confusing me. “Don’t.”

Marrok released her. Almost magically, the spell over her senses lifted. Energy seeped from her body in a rush. Common sense and anger returned.

“We’re discussing business.” She tried for hard-nosed professional, not trembling virgin. “I’m offering to sell your work and give you half the profits. But that does not give you the right to put your hands on me.”

Frankly, she was stunned that he wanted to.

Crossing his arms over his massive chest, Marrok sent her a contemplative stare. “Touching you was a mistake.”

Of course it had been.

The door chime sounded, startling Olivia. She jerked her gaze around as Bram entered, silently damning the fact he’d returned sixty seconds too late.

“Found the carving,” Bram called victoriously, gripping a wooden statue Olivia couldn’t see around his big hands. “Looked all over the car, forgetting we’d stashed it in the boot.”

Neither responded to Bram. Olivia knew she should reach for the carving, but she watched Marrok warily. His eyes were riveted on her, blazing. Anger, and something else—lust?—bled from him. The combination was bleak, powerful, inexplicable, impossible…She stepped back.

“Now that you’ve heard my offer, shall we do business?” Olivia asked.

Marrok leaned close once more. “I would rather bed down with the devil. I trust him more.”

Turning on one heel, he crossed the room and flung the door open. The chime sounded, drowned out by the door crashing against the wall. Olivia jumped as Marrok stalked outside.

She frowned. Had he been shafted by a gallery owner before? Or did he resent the fact that, for a moment he’d found the unusal woman arousing? That possibility shouldn’t hurt anymore…but it did.

“That’s bloody odd,” Bram exclaimed. “What did you argue about?”

“I don’t know.”

Bram frowned, handing her the carving. “Here, take this. I’ll have a chat with him. No worries.”

Olivia started to tell Bram not to bother. Then she looked at the carving in her hand. A fawn. She could swear that, at any moment, she would see its legs wobble as it learned to walk. Its soulful eyes amazed her. Marrok’s talent…wow. And this was just a tiny slice of it. She closed her mouth.

He would thrill art lovers. It didn’t matter if she disquieted him. Thankfully, she was used to artists’ quirks. She’d place his work on her shelves…or her business would soon go under. She needed that money to stay in England, to pay the detective and find the father she’d never met. Once she discovered what motivated Marrok, she’d work with him—no matter how difficult.

“Perfect. I want to see him again, as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT THE HELL is the matter with you?” Bram barked, chasing at Marrok’s heels.

Marrok turned on him. Where was his damn sword when he needed to skewer a devious wizard?

“You knew. You bloody knew.”

“That Olivia is a le Fay? Yes.”

“Not just any le Fay. Morganna in a different package.”

Bram paused. “That, I can’t say. Morganna predated me, so I’ve no idea what she looked like. At the moment, Olivia’s magical signature tells me only her bloodline.”

“Magical signature?”

“It’s like…her aura, but specific to her magic. Most fully transitioned witches and wizards can see them. Olivia’s signature is weak. She looks under twenty-five, the age a witch comes into her power. If that’s the case, I can’t read what I normally would.”

“Pry into her mind as you did mine. Learn who she is.”

Bram shook his head. “With that method, I can read only her passing thoughts. Unless she happens to be thinking about the fact she isn’t Morganna, it would do no good. I could only read deeper if I were…intimately touching her.”

“Meaning?”

“The deeper the touch, the deeper I can delve into her mind.”

In other words, if Bram was buried to the hilt in a woman, he could discern her life story. It should have been tempting to let Bram tumble with evil. Instead, the thought made him want to smash the wizard’s face. Though Marrok hated Morganna in her new form, he couldn’t lie; he wanted her all for himself.

“Do not lay a finger on her,” Marrok growled.

“I hadn’t planned to. Lovely girl…not interested. But if I pry into a woman’s mind, I can also read the means to unravel her, sexually speaking.”

Was he serious? He could figure out how to persuade any woman into carnal surrender? No wonder he was the Lothario of the magical world.