Love is perfect, but does not require perfection.
Read this three times in a row without ceasing.
That which you project shall come back unto you.
Regard a cherished object as you wish to be regarded. Cradle upon the palm as you wish to be held. Embrace to your bosom that which is inanimate and feel for it as you wish to be felt for.
The choice of object is critical. The more meaningful, the better outcome.
When the connection is made, the window will open and your desire shall appear. Grasp he who shall be revealed, pull him forth, and be united.
A moment of love is free to you as a sentient being. All who exist are deserving of love.
But if you seek an eternity, you must sacrifice that which you seek.
A true love must die for yours to survive.
Balance in all things.
Balance in all things, she thought. That was some Scribe Virgin shit.
Just for good measure, she ran through the lines two more times in the same fashion, setting each of the words to memory. It was strange. She’d missed a lot of them, even though she’d assumed she’d read every letter of every syllable.
Then she put her hand on the page, splaying out her fingers. A sudden warmth suffused her palm, and as you would a dog, she petted the parchment. Old Devina—the Devina who had existed two and a half minutes ago—would have stomped and yelled and then run off into chaos. New Devina was not going to do that.
A true love must die for yours to survive.
How had she missed that part before? Especially when the shit had gone disco and all the lines had lit up like a rainbow? Why hadn’t she seen this?
But like that mattered. What was important was that she needed to follow directions—sure, she’d done the first part just fine, but there was a second step here.
And if the Book’s spell required her to ruin true love to get the job done with her lover? Fine. She was going to enjoy the moment that that blond Adonis with the Omega in his DNA came crawling back to her, brought to heel by the prescription laid out by the spell.
Retracting her hand, she considered her options.
Then she started to smile.
Well, she knew just where to go with this, didn’t she.
* * *
As Balz stared down into the glowing eyes of a human female who he’d give anything and everything to if he could, he wanted to deny what she’d said. He wanted to tell her that, actually, there already was a homicide detective in his world—and other humans, too. Manny Manello, for example. And Doc Jane. And Sarah. And Mary.
But as soon as he generated the list, the primary fault in the argument became readily apparent: Each one of those people had given up their human identity and existence. So it wasn’t so much that humans couldn’t be in his world. It was that they had to pick.
Butch O’Neal had left homicide even before he’d learned who he really was.
The others had given up their lives on the human side when they chose to be with their vampire mates. Doc Jane was dead as far as the humans in her life knew. Sarah had pulled out of her scientific work. Mary and Manny had functionally disappeared.
“I’m not going to want to leave you,” he said roughly.
“And I’m not going to want you to go.” She ran her hand up his arm. “You make me feel alive and I didn’t know how much I needed that until I met you.”
He lowered himself back to her lips. “It’s the same for me.”
This time, when he kissed her, it was gently, reverently. And even when he deepened things, he took his time, savoring her lips against his own and the slickness of her tongue.
Easing back, he said, “Can I touch you? I don’t have to… see you.”
There was a pause. And then she whispered, “I’m sorry—”
“No, you don’t apologize. Ever. But I would like to… touch you.”
“I’ll explain, later. I just don’t want to ruin things. If they haven’t already been—”
“Not ruined. Not at all.”
She nodded, but he could sense the tension in her.
“Can I kiss you some more?” he asked.
“Oh, God, yes.”
Dropping his head down once again, he stroked her mouth with his own. And licked his way inside. And waited until her arousal was back… before he put his palm onto her shoulder… and moved it down to her arm… and over to her waist.
When he hesitated, she shifted and he felt her hand on top of his own. She was the one who brought him to her breast—
The groan she let out was hot as hell, but he reined in his lust. Which was easy to do as he learned her contours, the t-shirt so thin, the soft fabric a second skin. As he cupped her, he circled her nipple with his thumb, and she was both tender and taut under his touch, the weight of her tantalizing, that arousal of hers ramping up as he caressed her… and then he couldn’t wait anymore. He had to explore with his mouth. Moving down onto her neck, he gritted his molars to keep from raking his fangs across her jugular on his way to where he wanted to be.