Kat had no idea what happened. Julius’ face had gone blank. He’d jerked into a standing position. Then he’d fallen over like a cut tree. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist, but he was far too heavy. They both tumbled to the ground. His top half hit the arm of the couch, protecting her from his full weight and keeping him from going face first into the brick fireplace. Still, she cringed when he bounced off and hit his head on the ledge. She squirmed out from under him.

His whole body shook. Eyes open. Features slack. Arms akimbo near his chest. All his muscles and veins stood out in harsh relief under his skin. She hesitated for a second or two as she assessed the situation. Seizure? She grabbed a pillow off the couch and tucked it under his head. She rolled him to his side.

“Jules?”

Nothing. She pulled off her sweater, shoving it between him and the coffee table where his leg kept hitting the wood. Could vampires have seizures? They were immortal . . . they couldn’t catch colds . . . but seizures were related to the brain, not a bug. No. Vampires didn’t have internal organs. This wasn’t biological.

Oscar, one of her other patients, had been behaving himself quite well, staying out of the way. Now he decided he wanted to check out their new guest and get in on the action. He hopped down from the bookshelf, knocking over a figurine of a porcupine and slunk closer.

“Leave him be,” she whisper-shouted the demand. She didn’t want to let go of Julius even long enough to push Oscar away. If Julius rolled onto his back, he could choke on his saliva.

Oscar stuck out his face and sniffed Julius’ hand. Despite the shaking, the ocelot head-butted him in the chest and began to purr.

With her luck, her mate would be deathly allergic to cats. “Go away, you silly thing.” She waved him off. Oscar swatted her hand.

When Julius stilled, she rolled him onto his back. His skin had taken on an ashen tone. She adjusted the pillow and wiped the saliva from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. What had happened? Could it be stress? Was his body having difficulty adjusting to not being possessed? She had no idea.

“When you don’t know where to start, always begin with the aura.” She tucked her legs under her, shut her eyes, and grounded her energy. “Okay, Gaia, help me out here.” When she opened her eyes, she focused on the colors of his aura—muddy greens, browns, and dark blues. He wasn’t well. All daemons had darker colors than humans, but most still had a full spectrum of clear colors. She set to work sweeping her hands through his energy field, removing the muddiness and replacing it with fresh energy. Slowly, his colors showed signs of revitalization. They brightened. Cleared.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

She jumped, staring at her mate. His speech wasn’t slurred. That was good.

“Nothing.”

“You were making a breeze while doing nothing.”

He moaned. Touched his stomach, his arm, and his face, as if taking inventory.

“How do you feel?”

“Weird. Sore. How did I end up—?” His mouth snapped shut. The colors of his aura dimmed. He didn’t trust her. Somehow, she needed to change that.

“You had a seizure.”

He sat up, clutching his head. “I don’t have seiz— I’m a bloody vampire.”

Most of the time, his accent was so slight, so Americanized, she didn’t notice it. Right now, the Brit in him came through loud and clear.

“I know. Still, you had one.”

“Maybe you should stay out of my head before you really screw something up.”

Was that it? Had she caused this with her truth spell? Her mother had used it on her many times before she’d been old enough to fight back. There had never been any adverse effects . . . at least not physical ones.

“I didn’t want to cast over you, but I do need to know if any of your enemies are nearby.” She got to her feet, leaned down and took his hand. “Come on, the couch is right here. You’ll be more comfortable.”

While he did allow her to help him up, he kept himself as far from her as he could, turning his face and body away.

By trying to force the truth out of him, she’d taken twenty steps backward. Before he hadn’t been sure about her, now he didn’t trust her at all. He sat on the couch, but didn’t lean back. His feet remained flat on the floor. His knuckles whitened from his grip on the armrest.

Poor male, he’d been in a state of hyper-awareness since he’d come downstairs. She was still trying to decide if it was due to the situation—waking blind in an unfamiliar place—or if there was a deeper-seated issue. She was beginning to believe it was the latter. His muscles hadn’t relaxed since she’d first seen him—he was ready to bolt. He was having tremors—at first she’d thought he was cold after being cocooned in her bed, but his hands still shook. Combined with the hyperawareness it could be linked to an anxiety disorder or PTSD, either of which would be understandable under the circumstances.

The thing that bothered her were the voices. Auditory hallucinations could indicate a major psychosis—a total break from reality. The seizure was a wild card. It didn’t fit with any of his other symptoms.

She moved some books out of the way and sat on the coffee table across from him. “I promise, I’m going to do my best to make sure you heal. I need you to be honest with me, though, because if I don’t know what I’m doing, if I have to guess at what’s wrong . . . .” She sighed. “Can you be honest with me, Jules?”

He gave her the slightest of nods.

Progress. Not much—he still refused to turn his head toward her, but he was communicating. Her gaze dropped to his leg where one of his hands traced his scars. He ran his nail over the seam of each once before moving on to the next. Then he stopped. His hand hovered for a moment and started over near his knee. She sighed. He may have some obsessive-compulsive issues as well . . . or he could be trying to have a sense of control over something . . . anything.

“Now let’s see if we can figure out what happened. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Even though he couldn’t see, he kept his face averted as if he feared a full-on attack. “You accused me of shock-and-awe tactics.”

She smiled. “Okay. That’s not too bad.” Sometimes after a seizure, patients would report missing hours or days’ worth of memories. “You’re missing a few minutes.” She reached over to pat his knee.

“Don’t.”

Her hand froze millimeters from his skin. It was a testament to his hyperawareness that he could do that without seeing. She straightened. Baby steps.

His hand went back to his knee, restarting his efforts to trace each scar. That bothered her. Had he been dressed and his eyes not maimed, he would look the epitome of strength. Young—he’d been in his mid-twenties maybe when transformed—handsome, fit. She nodded. Yes, if the scars had been buried beneath his clothing, the sole clue to any trauma would be the slight tremor in his hands.

“So after that you told me about the voice, I asked how long you’d been hearing it and if you’d heard it while possessed by the Watcher—”

He seized again. Thank Gaia he’d been sitting. His whole frame went as rigid as a two-by-four and he shook himself right off the couch.

The whole room spun for a second. “I think I know what this is.” She pushed the coffee table out of her way, knelt next to him and got him rolled onto his side again with a pillow under his head to support his neck.

She needed her Grimoire to confirm her suspicions. Preferably before he came to his senses and decided to ash her.

“It’s almost over, baby.” She rubbed her hand over his chest, trying to soothe him. Kissed his shoulder. Why, she couldn’t say. He was out of it—couldn’t hear or feel her—but she needed the contact and she hoped, even if on an energetic level, he’d know she was here for him.

Oscar appeared out of nowhere, sitting on the warm spot Julius vacated. He reached one paw out and batted her mate’s hair. “Leave him be.”

This seizure lasted longer than the other. That was worrisome, but could also support her theory. She leaned down, pressed her face to his, and whispered, “You’re going to be okay. This won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”

When his body stilled, she eased him onto his back and wiped the drool from his mouth. He’d be mortified if he knew and she couldn’t allow that. He had enough to deal with.

Now for the book. She stood, stepped over Julius, around a stack of books, and over a laundry basket. She needed to tidy up; he would never be able to navigate her living room. The rest of the house was tidy, but she always kept the living room and dining room a mess—Mother hadn’t liked the mess, which meant she hadn’t visited often.

She grabbed her Grimoire off its stand. The book was larger than most. She’d wanted long pages so she’d have space to diagram human anatomy and list out stones, oils, and potions that would benefit ailments to specific body parts. Always ambitious, when she’d made the Grimoire at thirteen, she’d decided on 14x11”-sized paper. She flipped the book toward the middle—where she had a section on curses and how to reverse them.

There. Memoria damndum. The memory curse. She’d drawn a red line down the outside of the page which indicated it wasn’t a curable curse. Darn.

Her gaze shifted to check on Julius before reading her notes.

Patients can experience blackouts, seizures, or narcolepsy. The following behaviors are known to induce symptoms: Using words similar to those the curser wants the victim to forget, trying to force their memories to return, seeing photographs of the event or person, hearing words, smells, or sounds related to the event or person. Trying to heal the mind may cause permanent memory loss. Memory curses are short-lived—no more than 5 to 7 days. Rest and relaxation aid recovery.

She snorted. If the last hour was any indication, her mate didn’t know how to relax.

“Five days would be okay.” They’d be cutting it close. That would leave them two days to find a way to keep him from a death sentence. “But if this lasts seven, we’re in big trouble.”

Lilith and Trina had agreed to help if she could prove he was sane and on their side.

Gaia, who was she kidding. He heard voices. If Lilith and Trina found out, they’d be convinced he was insane. In all honesty, it wouldn’t take much. If he continued to behave as he was now—

Something rammed against her and dragged her to the floor. Julius. The book flew out of her hands. He controlled her fall but she ended up flat on her back, her mate’s weight pressing down on her.

“What the hell are you doing to me?”

His mouth curled into that familiar sneer; she should be terrified. But lines creased his forehead, his skin was pale, sweaty, and his whole body trembled. This wasn’t good for him. He might reopen his wounds.

“Do you have a fever?” She put her hand to his forehead.

“Vampires don’t get fevers. Answer my question.” He shifted his weight, pinning her arms to the ground.

Now what? If he passed out on top of her, she’d have a heck of a time getting up. On the other hand, he wasn’t well, not in mind or body—he could hurt her if he continued to see her as a threat.

“It’s not me, it’s a curse. Every time I say Wa—” Shoot! She needed to watch what she said or he’d have another one. “Words associated with the memories you’ve been cursed to forget . . . you have a seizure.”

“Why? What could I know that’s worth all the trouble? Why not kill me?”

A darn good question. Why hadn’t the Watcher killed him? After the coven finished the exorcism, the Watcher had picked him up. She’d stood on the ground staring, while Julius had shot straight up in the air in the grasp of the invisible being. Maybe the Watcher had planned to kill him . . . and she’d saved him when she’d spell-traveled him here right out of the Watcher’s hand.

Watchers could see and hear everything everywhere, but none of them could’ve known she’d planned to help Julius. She’d spoken about her plan with Lilith and Trina. It had been the only time she’d spoken his name out loud and Trina was a Shadow—the Watchers couldn’t see her or anything around her.

So maybe the Watcher had intended to kill him but didn’t plan on her interference.

She eased one of her wrists from his grasp and stroked her hand over his cheek. Oscar always settled with a little affection; perhaps her mate would, too. “Memory spells aren’t permanent.”

The sneer left his face. “You can fix this?”

“You’ll remember everything within the week, but if I try to force it, you may lose those memories forever.”

He brought his face closer to hers, his jaw ticking out his irritation. “Tell me what happened. If we start filling in the blanks—”

“You’ll seize. The seizures seem to be getting worse, that second one lasted longer than the first and if I say anything to remind you of what happened, you’ll seize again.”

“So where does that leave me?” He swallowed.

“It leaves you safe. Here. With me. Everything’s going to be fine. We know what we’re dealing with now. The shield will protect us while you heal.”

His whole body jerked. He turned his head to the side. “What about the voice? How does that fit in?”

A shiver stole through her. The curse was bad news. If he was psychotic on top of everything else . . . . “You still hear it? What’s it saying?”

“It wants me to submit.”

“To what?”

He wet his lips. “Don’t know.”

The voice could indicate some form of schizophrenia. Maybe. After sharing his body with the Watcher for so long . . . hearing the Watcher’s voice in his mind for three centuries . . . . “This is the same voice you heard before?” She eased her other wrist out of his grip and stroked his face. “Talk to me, Jules. I would never hurt you. I want to help.”

“Same voice. Different message.”

His breathing slowed, deepened. Her breasts tightened against his chest, his thighs snuggled between hers, and now that he wasn’t yelling or scowling she was having difficulty keeping her mind focused on the conversation. “Do you feel the urge to follow the voice’s command?”

He shook his head. “It’s weaker today.”

“Or maybe you’re stronger.” He’d slept for almost ten hours.

“What if . . .?”

“What if, what?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know what you look like.”

The change in subject took her off guard. What did that have to do with anything?”

Leaning his weight on one elbow, he trailed his fingers over her face. “Young.” He traced her eyebrow. Her cheekbone. His hand wandered to her hair and got tangled in the mess of curls. “What color is your hair, little witch?”

Gaia, that’s what he called the women in the coven when he’d been possessed. She wet her lips. “Brassy red.”

His lips curved. He traced her jaw line to her chin, and upward to her mouth. “Who are you?”

“Katherine Seraphim O’Hickey. You can call me Kat.”

“You’re still on about that?” He sat up and sagged against the foot of the couch. “You’re not my mate. It’s not possible, sweetheart.”

She didn’t know what reaction she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the absolute denial she got. And she was starting to hate “sweetheart”; the sarcasm behind the word made it anything but an endearment. She sat up and crossed her legs, arranging her skirt to keep her legs covered. “Why?” How much did he remember?

“You’re a vampire.” He shook his head. “My mate would never allow such a fate to befall her.”

Unable to look into his eyes when he spoke, her gaze fixed on his mouth. His full lips curved into a mocking half-smile and she had the urge to kiss that particular look off his face. She focused on their conversation, instead. “How much do you remember?”

His head tipped to the side and he shrugged. “I remember her.”

“You were mated. Why wouldn’t she agree to transformation?”

She wasn’t thrilled with her new daemon status, but it wasn’t all that horrible.

“Katherine the Great earned her name after her death because of her outstanding talent as a witch. We may have been mated”—he shrugged—“but she loved her Magic more than me.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand. What did her Magic have to do with transformation?”

His brows snapped together. “How long have you been a vampire?”

“A few days.”

“You’re on your own?” His jaw flexed. “No originator to explain how things work? What you’ve lost?”

“I wasn’t meant to survive the attack.” The first flutters of concern made their presence known and she stomped them out. If she needed to worry about anything, the others would have warned her. “Explain it to me.”

“Your Magic will drain away. Your talent, whatever it is, will take its place.”

She laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. “She was wrong, that’s an old wives’ tale.”

“No, I knew others—witches who went through the transformation and lost their Magic. That’s why relationships were forbidden for the coven. They were never quite the same after. Some would retain a little Magic, enough to protect them when they were in danger, but not much more.”

“That’s not true.” She rolled her eyes. The coven’s high-priestess, Lilith and her best friend, Trina, were both vampire and witch. “I know two other witches who have been turned and they retained their Magic.”

“They’re the exception, then, not the rule.” His head tipped. “I hope you’re right, for your sake. We’ll know within the week.”

“What else do you remember about her?”

“That’s none of your business.” He leaned forward, getting right in her face. “If you even think of using that damn spell on me again, you’ll regret it.”

Gaia, he wasn’t anything like what she’d expected. Almost every word was growled or snarled or cussed. There wasn’t much sign that he liked her, much less that he was grateful she’d rescued him. Maybe everyone else had been right. Maybe the Watcher who possessed him for so long had crushed whatever goodness he’d once had.

He sat back, stretched one arm out over the seat of the couch and drummed his fingers on the cushion.

Oscar zeroed in on Julius’ fingers, ears back, his little butt wriggling. A disaster in the making. Her mind flashed back to her childhood when Mother had brought her a kitten.

Look, Katherine, I brought you a present.

“No!” She lifted to her knees and lunged.

Oscar pounced.

“What the—” He jerked back, his big hand closing in around the kitten.

Oh, no. “It’s a kitten.” She tried to snatch Oscar out of his hand. “Give him to me. Give him—”

He turned so she couldn’t reach him.

Really, for me? Katherine had danced around Mother and the little ball of fur she held. Mother held it out of reach.

“Please, he’s a baby.”

His head jerked back—if she didn’t know better, she’d think he stared straight at her—and his lips pressed into a thin line. He dragged himself up, Oscar still imprisoned in one of his big hands.

I heard you’ve gotten your Magic. Mother had frowned. You’ve come into your talent and you’ve been hiding it.

Katherine had stilled. I’m sorry, Mother.

She wrung her hands, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for an opening.

With a lusty sigh, he collapsed back on the couch. Gave the kitten a scratch behind his ear. “What color is it?”

That’s okay, Katherine. You want the kitten?

Katherine nodded, a tentative smile curving her lips.

A forgotten breath shuddered out of her. “I, uh . . . .” Color. He wanted to know the color. She dropped to her knees next to them, reached for Oscar and when Julius’ muscles tensed, she dropped her hands to her sides. “He’s got black and grey spots and stripes with a white undercoat. Exotic. His ears are too big for his head and he has blue eyes. His tail is longer than a housecat’s and his paws are bigger.”

Then show me your talent.

Mother bashed the kitten against the wall, letting the limp body fall to the floor. Save it.

“What’s his name?”

“O-Oscar.”

“You suck at naming things.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

Her lips parted. Was he teasing her? She reached out for the kitten. “I can take him . . . .”

His grip tightened.

She knelt and touched the soft fur. Reached out with her Magic to try to heal the kitten, but its spine was severed. She couldn’t heal anything that severe.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused in on the kitten’s heart, stopping it.

Oscar continued to purr. He must not be hurting Oscar. As if to put her concerns to rest, Oscar stretched out his back legs so he lay belly to belly with the big, scary stranger. He never did that for her!

A breath shook out of her. Julius wasn’t Mother. He wasn’t hurting Oscar.

“What else is roaming around this house?”

Even wounded, he was a handsome male. There was something about the cut of his jaw that fascinated her. “Nothing.”

“Liar. There’s a bunch of nothing in the room at the top of the stairs.”

Her patients. How did he know about them? Had he searched her whole house? “They’re caged, not roaming. A hawk, a litter of field mice, and a hen.”

“Sounds like dinner.” He leaned his head down. “Who’s a hungry kitty?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

His fingers shifted and he scruffed Oscar, lifting him so he dangled from his hand. “Now, why don’t you tell me who’s screwing with me?”

A cold sweat broke over her skin. The kitten continued to purr unaware of his peril.

“Don’t hurt him. I’ll tell you whatever you want, but it’d probably make you have another seizure.” She was considering giving him another one on purpose to force him to let Oscar go. The problem was, he might hurt the kitten when his muscles locked up. Or when he fell.

His shoulders slumped. “Christ, I must’ve been a real bastard, huh?” He tucked the kitten into the crook of his arm, the back of one finger stroking Oscar’s belly. “What the hell do you think I’m gonna do, eat it?” His lips pressed into a thin line and he turned his face away.

Had she hurt his feelings? “I . . . um . . . .”

“Explain to me how this works. I end up in your house maimed, with no idea how the hell I got here. I fall down the stairs, am told I’m a prisoner, get tortured via spell, have two seizures which you caused, and somehow I’m the bastard.”

Please help me not be so judgmental and suspicious.

“You’re right.” She drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. If he had his memory, he wouldn’t question why she feared the worst. He’d done the worst and more. No. Not him. The Watcher. This is never going to work if you can’t separate the two.

“It’s not your fault. I had a . . . bad experience once where someone hurt one of my pets. That’s all.”

“Oh.” His jaw flexed. “I shouldn’t have teased.”

Now what? “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“I don’t want to be here.”

Her mouth opened. Closed.

“Sorry. Thought we were telling each other the truth.”

Her lips quirked. “There’s nowhere else for you to go and that is the truth.”

She turned her gaze from her mate, to her messy house. It was full to bursting with books: medical, herbals, psychology, and anatomy texts, and glass animals: everything from tigers to spiders, octopi to eagles. She wasn’t a hoarder . . . not yet, but every time she was feeling lonely or sad, she bought something. A new book to absorb her attention—it was almost like talking to someone. A new figure to make her smile, something to fill the void.

Maybe this—being mated to Julius—wasn’t real. Maybe the idea of having a mate, having someone to love had been so enticing, she’d jumped the gun. Maybe he’d become part of her collection: Another cold ornament she could pretend was real.

“I’m sorry.” She cleared the lump from her throat and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I wanted to help you. I assumed you would want help.” Like Mother. She’d always been trying to change Mother but had never even come close. “Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered.”

“I don’t understand why you did.”

“There’s been times when I’ve not done what I could to help those around me and I’ve discovered that when you do the opposite of what you were meant to do in life, it hurts.”

“And you were meant to . . .?”

“Heal.” She’d been born to heal. “It’s easy to fix broken bones. To make tissue regrow. What’s hard sometimes is preventing those injuries from happening in the first place. For doing the right thing as opposed to what you’re told to do.”

His brows furrowed. “Who hurt your pet?”

“Mother.”

“Do you have any other family?” He removed the cub’s claws from his skin. “Brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her gesture. “No. Mother recently . . . passed away. I had no siblings.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.”

His hand froze mid-pat, his face snapping up.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I must sound horrible. I didn’t get along well with Mother. She could be difficult.” That was an understatement. Mother had been an abuser. A murderer. And at one time, Julius Crowley’s ally.

No. The Watcher that had possessed him had been Mother’s ally. There was a difference.

His hand resumed its motion on Oscar and the cub relaxed again. “I find it odd. You’re helping me, being kind to me when, best I can gather, I’ve hurt people. But when you speak of her—”

“You were framed.” She hated that her voice shook. “Mother relished inflicting pain on anyone who got in her way.”

“Did you get in her way?”

She stood and began tidying the room, a lump burning in her throat. She should’ve gotten in Mother’s way far more often than she had. “The house is a mess. There are too many things for you to stumble over. I need to clean up a bit and then we’d better head upstairs. I haven’t boarded these windows yet and the sun will be rising any time now.”

She couldn’t talk about Mother; it was too soon and she didn’t know him well enough, mate or not. This was too personal, too painful.

“You lied to me. Earlier you told me I had a few minutes until dawn. Now you’re talking like it hasn’t happened yet.”

Oscar jumped onto the bookshelf where she was returning books to their rightful place. She sensed more than heard his approach. Gaia, she couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to argue with him anymore. Didn’t want to talk about Mother. “You need to rest.” She used her firmest voice, turning to confront him. The last thing she needed was for him to say some mean, spiteful thing and send her into a cry fest. “You’re as grouchy as the first bear in spring.”

“You owe me for the lie, so answer me. Did you get in her way?” He stood too close, his hand rising with unerring accuracy to cup her chin. “Hm. I never believed that a blind man’s other senses heightened to make up for the loss, but I believe it now. I swear I can sense the hurt pouring off you.”

Damn it, now he was kind? She covered her eyes with her hand, trying to hide or maybe stop the tears that fell. “Stop it.”

“Intriguing.” He pulled her into his arms. “A healer who needs healing.”

Maybe this was the stress she’d been under. Or maybe the fact that he could be so kind after being such a jerk, but the tears poured out of her and she accepted the truth of his words. Everything had moved so fast, she hadn’t allowed herself time to grieve.

He scooped her up and carried her back to the recliner. How he did so without stumbling she couldn’t say. She shouldn’t have let him. He needed to rest, but she cried too hard to scold him. He must think her a loon.

“I take it a lot’s happened recently.” He rested his chin on her hair. “Transformation, your mother’s death, you’re holed up here, wherever here is, with an accused murderer. You’re a busy woman.”

She choked on a half sob, half laugh. “I’ve always been an overachiever.” She grabbed a tissue from the end table and wiped her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“I prefer this,” he spoke into her hair. “I hate this feeling of being at your mercy.” His whole body went rigid, as if he’d realized he’d said something he shouldn’t.

She studied his face, wishing she could see his eyes. For some reason, their color escaped her. Were they blue? Hazel? He was handsome, even with the bandage hiding part of his face. Even with the scars. He had strong, chiseled features, a straight nose, kissable lips. She liked his stubble-covered jaw. There was something about the stubborn set of it that made her want to lick him there. Bite him.

“What are you thinking?” She watched his mouth while he spoke. “Don’t go getting any ideas that—”

Before she could think better of the idea, she leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers.

His fingers flexed where he held her and she fit her mouth more fully to his. His lips were warm, firm. The scruff on his chin scratchy on her skin. Under her palms, his muscles eased. He parted his lips, allowing her to deepen the kiss.

And then she lost control of the situation.