The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance) (11 page)

He
closed his eyes to hide the blistering determination mixed with rage and regret
roiling in his gaze.  “Someday, Clare, I swear it.  I’ll find a
way. 
Someday
.”

NINE

Staring
into the bathroom mirror, Yiorgos slipped off the signet ring and watched his
face rot.  Crevices in his face ate all the way down to the bone,
stretching along his neck, across his shoulder, and down his arm, radiating
from that cursed ring.

Clare’s
ring.

It
wasn’t just an illusion he saw with his eyes, because he could feel the craters
pitting across his flesh with his fingers.  His body felt stiff and
brittle.  It wouldn’t surprise him at some point if he simply fractured
into a thousand pieces into a pile of dust and bits of bone.

What
a dilemma he found himself in.  After years of careless, emotionless
relationships, he found someone who incensed him, whether with passion or anger
or amusement.  He had a feeling he would never completely know her inside
and out.  She had too many complexities.  But that was definitely
part of her appeal.

Only
part, because he loved how she felt in his arms.  He’d never known a woman
so passionate… yet reserved.  One innocent touch and she trembled and
sighed with pleasure.  He could only imagine how sweet her cries would be
in his bed.  Knowing she was a virgin only made her passion all the more
intoxicating.  He’d relish making love to a woman who loved sex and knew
exactly what she wanted.

His
fearless little witch would all too easily stand toe to toe with him and demand
exactly which pleasure she desired.

His
blackened lip curled with revulsion.  How could he even think to subject
her to
this
?  He didn’t want her to see this horror, let alone be
faced with the reality indefinitely.  His only choice was to break the
curse.

To
do so, he needed Clare to retain her full power.  If it came down to a
certain spell that would only work if she possessed the ring, he’d have to give
it to her.  But that would be the worst-case scenario.

I’d
rather remain a zombie than allow her to see me like this.

When
he finally made it to
Remy’s
, he found Clare busy as usual in the
kitchen.  However, she wasn’t her normal chipper self.  Her eyes were
bleary and bloodshot as though she hadn’t slept, either.  Instead of
simply saying hello as she usually did, she followed him into the office.

“I
went through everything I could find at home. His papers, books, notes, scraps
of paper he saved, his recipes, everything.”  Weariness lined her face,
although he suspected it wasn’t the long night wearing on her, but grief at
going through her father’s things. 

Gratitude
washed over him.  She’d relived her father’s illness and death for him.

“I
found recipes he’d jotted down but never tried.  His most secret ones he
saved for special occasions.  Even a stack of letters and papers he’d
saved from his parents.  But I couldn’t find a single clue about this
curse.”

He
fought for an even tone of voice despite his disappointment.  “I suppose
it would be too easy to find a sealed letter addressed to you, hidden away
where only you could find it, detailing exactly how to break the curse.”

“Wrong
fairytale.”  She laughed softly, but it was a sad, heartbreaking sound
that tugged at his heart.  “What’s strange is that I did find a letter
he’d written to me before he died.  He said how proud he was…”  She
paused a moment, swallowing the lump that must be choking her.  “And how
much he loved me.  But he didn’t say a single word about the ring,
Remy’s
or a curse.  The more I think about it, the more I don’t think it’s
something Daddy would do.”

He
twisted the ring on his finger, fighting to keep his face from twisting into
the perpetual snarl he’d worn ever since he noticed the rot spreading through
his body.  “It’s definitely a very personal attack, Clare.”

“What
did he do to you, Yiorgos?”

He
closed his eyes, fighting the urge to slide the ring off and let her see,
coerced by the sweet sound of his name on her lips.  “I don’t want you to
see me like this.  I’d rather die.”

She
touched his arm lightly and he jumped but didn’t open his eyes.  “May I
try to sense what’s wrong?  I’m not a healer, but as odd as it may sound,
I feel a surge in my magic when I touch you.  Perhaps there’s some secret
there I need to unlock first.”

He
sat on the edge of the heavy oak desk and widened his thighs, encouraging her
to come up as close and personal to him as she dared.  Stepping closer—but
not quite taking his blatant invitation—she placed both hands on his
chest.  So serious, his little witch.  The furrow between her eyes
deepened and she tipped her head slightly, as though straining to hear some
faint strand of music from afar. 

Lightly,
she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms.  Resting her
hands on his forearms, she listened again.  Her big brown eyes were solemn
when she gazed up into his face.  “I don’t feel anything.  Not like
before.”

He
raised his hands slightly, spreading his fingers.  “Try skin on skin.”

She
threaded her fingers through his, clasping palms.  Her eyes fluttered shut
and she bit her lip.  If he wasn’t mistaken, she shivered, too, as though
he’d just breathed in her ear.

Watching
her reaction to such an innocent touch made his blood thicken like molten lava
in his veins.  Was that flutter across his skin just attraction?  Or
magic?  He couldn’t tell.  “Well?”

“Definitely…something.” 
A delicate rose bloomed on her cheeks.  “I need to touch you more to be
sure.”

To
lighten the desire burning in him, he gave a wicked smile.  “Sure, that’s
what all the ladies say.  Help yourself, sweetheart.”

He
made no move to help her decide where or how to touch him.  Not that she
needed any assistance.  She unbuttoned his shirt just one notch below his
tie.  Peeking up through her lashes, she gauged his reaction, which he
kept tightly under wraps.  They’d already established the impossibility of
intimacy until the curse was broken, so whatever she did, however far she took
it, they couldn’t cross the line.

Her
fingertips brushed his skin and they both sucked in a deep breath. 
Electric shocks zinged through his skin from that subtle stroke.  Shaking,
she hurried to undo another button so she could spread her palm out on his
chest.  His heart thudded, heavy and ponderous, each beat reverberating
through his skull.

“Is
it always like this?”  She whispered, stepping closer to lay her cheek
against his.  “So… volatile?”

“No,”
he whispered hoarsely.  “It’s never been like this for me.”

“It
must be the magic.”

His
heart thudded heavier, as though it were going to try and crawl up his
throat. 
No, sweetheart
, he thought, sliding his hands around her
waist. 
The magic is you.  And I can’t have it.

“Do
you feel any better?  Like it’s healing you?”

He
had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from scaring her with the intensity surely
blazing in his eyes.  Better, yes, like he’d never held anything better,
sweeter, more real in his entire life than her.  Healing, absolutely, if
he considered only his jaded, cynical heart.

But
he was terribly afraid the curse still blackened his soul.

Her
hair smelled like that damned cake, rich layers he wanted to dissect at his
leisure.  She trailed frantic little kisses down his jaw toward his
throat, only to growl out loud when his tie and collar interfered.

“I
want to feel your skin against mine,” she whispered in his ear.  Not racy
as far as some of the sexual innuendoes he’d received, but her words had him
rock-hard and aching.  “With nothing in the way, not even the Remy ring.”

He
crushed her against him, closing his thighs about her hips so he could keep her
from fleeing.  No prudish gasping or shock, no.  His little witch
might be a virgin but she arched into his arms and lifted her mouth to
his.  She shoved her hand deeper into his shirt, impatient and hungry as
her mouth.  Heat rose between them in a shimmering wave.  She warmed
him, inside and out, reaching into him, somehow, as her hand reached into his
shirt.

So
strange that it took one untouched, innocent witch to make him feel so alive
and passionate.  It was all he could do not to whirl around and deposit
her on the desk so he could slake this hunger raging inside him.

He
pushed his tongue into her mouth, promising what he’d do to her body if given
the chance.  She welcomed him in, her tongue tangling with his.  Her
hand pressed hot against his back, holding him close.  Her other hand…

His
eyes flew open and he jerked backward, but it was too late.  She slipped
the ring off his finger.

She
stared at him, growing horror darkening her eyes.  Her full, lush lips
trembled as though she were going to start crying.  She didn’t turn away
in revulsion, he’d give her that.  But the horror and pity in her eyes
burned like acid. 

Stomach
churning, he gripped her arm and hauled her up closer, leaning down so the full
nightmare loomed in her face.  “Happy, witch?  Why don’t you kiss me
now?”

Clare
couldn’t get her breath.  Her entire midriff ached as though a mule had
kicked her.

“See
what your precious father did to me?”

The
voice was Yiorgos’s, but twisted, different, like his face.  He looked
like he’d just walked off a horror movie set.

Darkened,
grayish skin peeled back to reveal dried tendons and muscles, even glimpses of
bone.  The entire right side of his body was dead, rotting to the
bone. 

Fighting
back tears, she stretched up her hand and cupped the dead side of his
face.  He flinched as though she’d slapped him, pulling back from her
caress, but she wouldn’t release him.  He might have thought he was being
seductive to open up his body to her like this, but she had him pinned against
the desk.  He could get up, certainly, but only if he knocked her down
first.

She
was hoping he’d be too much of a gentleman to knock her sprawling on her
backside.

“Don’t
touch me.  Don’t see me.  I can’t bear it, Clare.”

“Hush,”
she scolded.  Her voice wavered as badly as her stomach, so she forced a
little more oomph into her voice and stiffened her trembling spine.  “I
can’t bear to see you suffering like this.  I have to see what he did if I
have any hope of breaking the curse.”

Beneath
her fingers, he truly felt like a corpse, at least what she’d expect a dead
person to feel like.  His flesh was cold and stiff, not pliable and warm
like living tissue.  Dry, brittle, like a body left out in the desert sun
until it turned to leather.  The scent of cinnamon and cloves was still
there—and nothing worse, thank God—but he smelled old and musty, like spices
forgotten in the back cupboard for years.

Worse,
the more she touched him, the colder her fingers felt.  Where stroking his
bare flesh before made her fingers sing with magic, now they felt numb, as
though her magic had died along with his flesh.

“When
did this happen?”

“It
started as soon as I put on the damned ring.”

She
stroked her hand down his neck, feeling the break in his flesh from dead to
living.  The left side of his body felt fine, but the spark of her magic
was gone.  She didn’t feel anything touching him, now, other than shame at
what had been done to this man with magic.

But
was it Remy magic? 

“It’s
gotten worse every day.”  His voice sounded dryer, harsher, as though the
vocal chords in his throat were dead too.  “At first it was just my hand,
but it’s crawling up and down my body, spreading like a disease.”

“Who
else knows?”

“Dmitri
and Ms. Kettlewich.”

Surprise
flickered into a bit of suspicion.  Helga knew about the severity of this
curse and yet hadn’t mentioned the personal nature of it at all.  This man
was stiffening into a walking zombie day by day and her mentor hadn’t seen fit
to tell her? 

But
what could she have done?  If the most famous healer in the New World
couldn’t help him, who could?

“She
said you were my only hope, Clare.  You have to break the curse, or I’m
going to continue to rot.” 

She
gazed steadily into his eyes.  “Do you trust me?  I mean really trust
me not to take what I want and abandon you?” 

His
jaw tightened, the dried tendons stretching and clicking horribly as he
nodded. 

Holding
her breath, she slipped her father’s signet ring on her hand.  Braced for
a magical release, angels singing, perhaps even her father’s voice from beyond…

Nothing. 
Not even a tickle of magic.  The ring was as dead as the zombie Yiorgos
was becoming.  Tears pooled in her eyes.  She tried not to blink, not
to let them fall at all, but her shoulders slumped and she couldn’t help
it.  All she had left of her father’s legacy was the restaurant and the
ring.