Clio stared at Madrigal, at those darkening eyes, then jerked her gaze down, focusing on his chin instead. Golden magic unraveled around him, spreading through the room like a fine mist. Aphrodesia. And he wasn’t playing around this time.

She took shallow breaths, though she knew his magic didn’t work through inhalation. Warmth coiled in her center, and her limbs felt weak and tingly.

“What are you doing in here, little princess?” His attention shifted around the room and stopped on the mess she’d made of Lyre’s books. “Looking for something, hmm?”

She shook her head and backed up another step. Glowing threads encased his body—several defensive weaves that would deflect any attack. She had no magic that could pierce those protections. Just like with Dulcet, any spell she cast would slough off the weaves.

The haze of aphrodesia in the room thickened, and her head got fuzzier with each passing moment. It was so hard to ignore his eyes. They called to her, black magnets she could see in her peripheral vision.

“Why are you here, Clio?” His voice wrapped around her like irresistible music.

Get angry, Lyre had told her.

“Stop using aphrodesia on me!” she screamed.

He smiled and her gaze locked on his mouth, on those soft, full lips and the flash of white teeth. The heat inside her reached a boiling point, and her skin burned with the need to be touched. Her knees were shaking.

“Look at my eyes, Clio,” he commanded softly.

“N-no.”

“Look at my eyes.”

She stumbled another step and her legs hit the edge of the coffee table.

“Virgins,” he sighed. “Your resistance has amused me so far, but I’m losing patience.”

“Leave me alone,” she quavered, hating how weak she sounded.

“Oh no. I won’t be doing that.” He stepped closer and she had no room to retreat.

Her pulse careened in her ears. She could smell him, spices and citrus that clouded her thoughts like a potent drug. She wanted him. She needed to touch him, to melt into his arms, to feel him on every inch of her skin—

“Don’t cry, little princess,” he crooned. “I won’t hurt you.”

Until he said the words, she hadn’t realized tears were streaming down her face. She kept her stare locked on his jaw, stubbornly fighting the pull of his eyes even as resisting became physically painful.

“It won’t hurt at all.” His hypnotic tones enveloped her like an invisible spell. “That’s the catch though, you know. A girl as inexperienced as you …” He smiled. “I’m going to destroy you with pleasure, my love.”

Fear burst through her, but it fizzled out as need burned in every nerve.

His fingers closed gently around her chin. At his touch, shivering thrills ran across her skin and weakened her legs. Then he tilted her face up, and her eyes met his.

Black pools of lust sucked her in, and in an instant, she was drowning.

Her knees gave out. He caught her, sweeping her up against his body, and citrus spice filled her nose. Her arms snaked around him of their own accord, and hot need throbbed more painfully. She couldn’t stand it. She was losing her mind with a longing so potent it eclipsed even the need for air.

Gaze locked on hers, he leaned her back until she was lying across the coffee table. His fingers slid down her arms and she almost screamed at the blend of pleasure and agonizing yearning. A moan slipped from her.

“Ah,” he breathed. “Now I have you. Now you’re mine, little princess.”

A distant voice inside her howled in denial, but she couldn’t think. Her heart would surely give out if he stopped touching her.

“Tell me, my love. What were you doing in this room?”

His crooning words wrapped around her like silken chains, gently cocooning her will until it didn’t occur to her she shouldn’t answer.

“We came to steal a spell.”

“What spell is that?” His warm hands glided up her shoulders.

She shuddered with each touch. “Lyre’s special spell.”

“What is his special spell?”

“It …” A flicker of warning penetrated the haze, and a different pair of blackened gold eyes flashed in her vision—full of fury at her betrayal. “It’s a secret.”

He leaned down until his breath warmed her lips. His hands caressed her shoulders and slid up the sides of her neck. She trembled, her body straining upward, needing more contact.

“Tell me the secret, Clio,” he purred.

She squirmed, one arm flopping off the coffee table as she tried to wiggle free from his hold on her mind. Her hand hit the sharp edge of something on the floor and a shock of pain bit into her flesh.

His fingers stroked her throat, then across her jaw and up her cheek, those mesmerizing eyes pulling her deeper. “Tell me, Clio.”

“The spell is …” She tried to swallow the words but his command had sunk claws deep into her will. “It’s a … a clock.”

His brow furrowed. “A clock?”

Her fingers closed around the metal lip of the object beside the coffee table, and she gripped tighter and tighter until sharp, cold pain cut through the soft heat that had taken over her body.

As he opened his mouth to deliver another command, she sucked in a breath and held it. Then she whipped her arm up and slammed the metal box into the side of his skull. Powder puffed outward in a snowy cloud that engulfed his head.

Madrigal gasped in pain, then doubled over in a fit of coughing, inhaling more powder. Clio yanked her legs up and jammed both feet into his gut. He keeled over backward and crumpled. His limbs stirred weakly as he tried to roll over.

Still holding her breath, Clio lurched to the cupboard, yanked it open, and pulled out one of Lyre’s spare shirts. Wrapping the clean fabric over her face to filter the air, she rushed back to the metal box and dumped the remaining powder on Madrigal’s face. He wheezed, then went limp.

Leaving him on the floor, she grabbed Eryx by the ankles and dragged him into the hallway. After a moment of study, she unraveled the binding with a deft slice of magic. He stirred, eyelids fluttering as he regained consciousness.

Discarding the shirt around her face, she darted down the corridor and found Kassia slumped against the wall near the end, bound in the same weaving. Clio swiftly broke it apart and gripped her friend’s arm as she struggled to wake.

“Clio?” Kassia muttered. “Clio! An incubus came—you—what happened?”

“The incubus is down. Eryx should be—” She paused as the chimera in question half ran, half stumbled to join them. “Eryx is here.”

Kassia’s eyes clouded. “I failed you. I’m sorry.”

“None of us are a match for those master weavers.” Rising, she shot Eryx an icy look. “We’re leaving now.”

He didn’t argue, his face pale. Kassia clambered up, and the three of them sped back through the building, encountering no one. Clio tried to hide the way her legs were shaking. Her body ached, her skin flashed hot and cold, and throbbing warmth lingered inside her. A shadow of the need he had woken in her still thirsted for his touch.

Maybe she should have done something else to incapacitate him. Fear had driven her away, but if he woke too soon, he could raise the alarm. Then again, to bind him with another spell, she would have had to first unravel all his defensive weavings.

The powder would have to be enough. Presumably, Lyre knew what he’d been doing when he’d rigged the box. It would keep Madrigal unconscious for a while—she hoped.

They slipped out of Chrysalis and back into the streets. Keeping an ear out for soldiers, Clio led her bodyguards back to the beacon she’d left at the entrance of the housing complex, then raced through the rows of houses to Lyre’s. Eryx and Kassia guarded her back while she disarmed the stack of wards.

As she flung the door open, her heart was beating so hard it hurt. She didn’t stop to rearm the spells and instead flew across the room.

Lyre lay where she’d left him, and as she dropped to her knees at his side, a fraction of her panic eased. His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. She touched the base of his throat, looking across the pulsing death spell, and her blood chilled. The threads had thickened, and he was almost as pale as her, all color leeched from his skin. He didn’t have long.

She pulled the bag out of her belt and dumped the clock into her palm. Shuffling sounds at her back told her Kassia and Eryx had joined her. They leaned over her shoulder as she held up the bizarre clock, the gears shining in the faint light leaking through the windows. To her eyes, the gemstones set in the metal shone brightly with black-tinted golden light.

“What does it do?” Kassia whispered.

“It will erase the death spell,” Clio answered tersely. “If I remove the spell, it will kill him. But this can make the weave … stop existing. Without killing him. I think.”

“How does it work?”

Clio held the clock up to her face. “I don’t know.”

“But you can see how all magic works, can’t you?”

A tremor ran through her. Kassia was right—Clio could see and understand all magic—but somehow, not this. Studying it again, she didn’t understand it any better. She could tell what it did, but not how. The weaves, the shapes and constructs in the different gemstones, seemed disconnected as though something was missing.

“It looks incomplete,” she whispered in horror. “Like the pieces of the weave aren’t lined up. I don’t see any way to activate it. It must be broken. He must not have finished the spell.”

“If it was broken or incomplete,” Eryx said unexpectedly, “he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to protect it.”

“But—but then … how does it …” She turned it over, but the back offered no clues, just a small rectangular hole in the center of the gears. “I can’t see how to make it work. Everything is all … weird.”

“You can figure it out,” Kassia reassured her. “Take your time.”

But Lyre didn’t have time. Even as the thought sounded in her head, he arched up from the floor with a rasp, then slumped, his chest still and silent. Holding the clock in one hand, Clio clutched the front of his shirt.

Kassia squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clio.”

“Wait.” She stared at him, every muscle tensed. “This is what the spell does.”

“It killed him,” Eryx muttered. “What’s there to wait for?”

Kassia hissed at him to shut up. Clio counted in her head. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Thirty-five. She held her breath as the seconds dragged on. No. No, no, no—

At forty-two seconds, his chest heaved.

“What?” Eryx surged to his feet. “He came back from the dead—”

“It’s the spell.” Clio touched his sternum as he labored for air. “It kills its victim, then revives them, then kills them again. Over and over and over until their body gives out and they die for good.”

A pulse of silence.

“That’s … horrible,” Kassia whispered almost soundlessly.

“And Lyre has been dying for—for I don’t know how long. I have to get that spell off him.” Clio gripped the palm-sized clock. “But I don’t know how to make this stupid piece of junk work.”

Kassia shifted forward to kneel beside Clio. “If you don’t know how to use it, then we need him to tell you how.”

“But he’s unconscious—”

Kassia put a hand on Lyre’s forehead and a sharp flash of magic erupted under her palm. With a choked gasp, his eyes flew open.

“Lyre!” Clio cried.

His features went slack and his eyes, hazed with pain and exhaustion, rolled back. Kassia grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. His head lolled, breath rasping. Clio cupped his chin and lifted his head.

“Lyre,” she said. “I need your help to save you. How does your clock spell work?”

His eyelids flickered and his gaze sharpened. “What?” he croaked.

She held up the clock so he could see it. “This can save you. How do I—”

His eyes widened with alarm. He lurched forward, almost falling over, and Kassia hooked her arms under his, bracing him from behind.

“How did you—” He broke off, gasping for air. “Put it back, you idiot.”

She stiffened. “It can save you.”

“Too dangerous,” he rasped. “Never use it. Never again. Put it back.”

“You’re dying!” she yelled. “This is the only thing that can save you. Either tell me how, or I’ll mess with it until I figure it out.”

His eyes widened again. “No, you can’t—”

“Then tell me how it works!”

The strength went out of him and he slumped forward. Kassia pulled him up, using her body as a backrest to keep him facing Clio.

She held the clock under his nose. “I won’t let you die, Lyre. I attacked Hades soldiers, broke into Chrysalis, and knocked Madrigal unconscious to get this, and I’m not leaving until I use it to save you.”

“Stubborn … little … fool.” He pulled himself together with visible effort. “Bathroom.”

“You need to go to the bathroom now?”

“For the spell,” he growled breathlessly. “Fill the bath. Needs water.”

Clio exchanged a confused look with Kassia. A spell that needed water? But water couldn’t hold a weave. In fact, water was a terrible conductor for magic of any kind. But they didn’t have time to argue, so Clio shot to her feet. Kassia heaved Lyre up and Clio pulled his arm over her shoulder so they were supporting him between them.

“Eryx, secure the house and set up tripwire spells,” Kassia ordered over her shoulder.

Eryx grumbled but obediently headed for the door.

Clio and Kassia carried Lyre to the bathroom, a more spacious and well-appointed version of the one at the inn. They lowered him to the floor and leaned him against the wall, then Kassia turned the taps on full blast, filling the large soaker tub with icy water.

“Get rid of the amenity spells,” Lyre instructed between pants of air. “All of them.”

Clio pulled out all the gemstones set around the tub and shower, including the warming spells that would have heated the water. She tossed them out of the bathroom and they clattered across the floor.

He pulled three chains out from under his shirt. When he tried to take them off, scarcely able to raise his arms, Clio lifted them over his head. Two were lined with gemstones, while the third—the one she had seen before—had both stones and that silver skeleton key with the ruby. He fumbled at his wrists and she helped him remove the bracelets too, each one sporting several hidden lodestones.

“Pockets,” he whispered weakly.

She ran her hands over his hips until she found his pockets and pulled out more stones, leaving him devoid of all magic—the first time she’d seen him naked of his usual weavings. Only the death spell and the shimmer of golden power—his aura, visible to her alone—remained.

“Keep a bracelet and the key,” he told her. “Get the rest out of here.”

Clio separated a lodestone bracelet and the chain with the key, and handed the others to Kassia. She took them out of the bathroom while Clio knelt in front of Lyre.

“No magic near the tub.” He grasped her hand where she held his bracelet and chain. There was no strength in his grip and his breath came fast and shallow. “Keep the lodestones for me. I’ll need them.”

“The clock will eat your magic too?” Not just the weave inside him?

“It eats all magic. Everything.” His fingers tightened. “Is the tub full?”

She turned off the faucet. “Yes, it’s ready.”

“Help me.”

She pulled his arm over her shoulder. Kassia returned and they lifted Lyre to the edge of the tub. He leaned heavily against Clio.

“Use the key to wind the clock,” he told her, barely managing a whisper. “It will count down one minute, then …”

He slumped forward and Kassia caught his arm, pulling him straight again. His chest heaved.

“I’ll go in the water,” he rasped. “With the clock. Water will keep it … from traveling … too far.”

“Traveling?” Clio echoed.

“Wind it.”

She fumbled for the skeleton key, the ruby at its end gleaming, and inserted it into the back of the device. The gears ground as she turned the second hand in a counterclockwise circle. The key lodged in place and she pulled it out.

Magic shimmered across the clock and the second hand began ticking down. The black-tinted weaves turned, carried on the gears, and the spinning constructs passed over each other, winding the magic in the same way she’d wound the clock.

“Help me down,” Lyre said.

Kassia lowered him into the tub, water sloshing over the sides, and held the front of his shirt to keep his head above water. Throwing the chain around her neck for safekeeping, Clio clutched the clock. The second hand passed the halfway mark. Thirty seconds.

“Give me the clock, then get back.” He squinted, fighting to stay aware. “Clio?”

“What is it?” She placed the clock on his chest and he weakly grasped it.

“Don’t let me drown, okay?”

She smiled feebly, but there were only ten seconds left and she didn’t have time to answer. Kassia let him go and he slipped under the surface. Then she grabbed Clio and hauled her out of the bathroom. In the hallway, Clio stared at the water’s still surface, not sure if Lyre was holding his breath—or if he’d stopped breathing.

Three … two … one.

A soundless concussion erupted from the water. It boomed outward, a feeling rather than a sound, and hit Clio like a punch to the diaphragm. She wheezed and grabbed the wall. The house rattled as the wave of force swept through it, then all went still.

Including the water in the tub.

Clio sprinted into the bathroom and plunged her arms into the frigid water. Grabbing the front of Lyre’s shirt, she hauled his torso up and out of the tub in a cascade of liquid.

Her foot slipped and she fell backward, dragging him with her.

In the instant she fell, her brain fizzled with confusion, because for that one instant, it looked like she’d pulled someone else from the tub. Someone wearing different clothes—fitted blue and silver garb unlike anything she’d ever seen. Someone with a bow strapped to his back and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. Someone with a dark tattoo on one cheekbone, and a face more beautiful than words could describe.

Someone whose ebony-dusted amber eyes called to her soul.

Then she hit the floor on her back and he landed on top of her, crushing the air from her lungs. His hand clamped around the bracelet she held, and magic sizzled against her palm as he pulled the stored power from the lodestones, draining them completely.

Tingling magic ran over him, teasing her skin, and he went limp on top of her.

Kassia appeared above Clio and grabbed the back of his shirt. She pulled him off, and Clio sat up, her gaze snapping over him. He looked exactly as he should—his regular clothes sopping wet, shirt plastered to his skin, and no tattoos on his strikingly handsome but still human face.

He was himself again, his real face hidden beneath glamour once more.