Shaking off her shock, Clio blinked her asper into focus and checked him. No lethal weave twined through his flesh. The death spell was gone—but so was the rest of his magic. His aura was the barest shimmer of golden light, and he only possessed that much because he’d refueled a fraction of his power using the lodestones.

“Lyre?” She lightly touched his face.

His chest rose and fell, then his eyes opened, dim with fatigue. “Clio.”

Tears of relief threatened to spill down her cheeks. He was alive. The death spell was no more. He would be okay.

“Are we done with the bathroom?” Kassia asked him.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Only showers for me for at least a decade.”

Supporting him between them, Clio and Kassia pulled him into the bedroom. Kassia helped him sit on the edge of the bed, then turned to Clio.

“I’m going to check on Eryx and help secure the house. I’ll be a few minutes. Make sure he’s okay, then we need to figure out our plan.”

Clio nodded, and Kassia hastened out of the bedroom. She reappeared two seconds later, handed Clio the clock they’d forgotten in the tub, then vanished again. The front door banged open then closed.

Setting the clock on the nightstand, Clio knelt in front of Lyre where he sat on the low bed, putting her face almost level with his. He was slouched forward, elbows braced on his knees as he breathed deeply.

“Lyre?” she asked. “How do you feel?”

His eyes flicked up, shadows sliding across the amber. “Pretty pathetic,” he admitted, his normally lyrical tones still hoarse.

She hesitated, then touched his arm, his sleeve wet and cold. “You went through a lot. But you’ll be okay. It’ll just take time for your magic to regenerate.”

He nodded. “Remind me to kill Dulcet later.”

“You didn’t—” She broke off as she realized he was shivering. Dulcet being alive was a problem for later. First, she needed to take care of Lyre.

“Hold on,” she told him and hurried out into the hall where she’d seen a small closet. She selected a couple fluffy towels and returned to the bedroom. Shaking one out, she dropped it over his head and scrubbed his hair.

“Clio,” he protested, voice muffled by the towel as he tried to push her away. “I don’t need—”

“Shut up and sit there,” she ordered. “I watched you die three times. You owe me this.”

Surprisingly, he let his arms fall and she finished rubbing the worst of the water out of his hair. She pulled the towel away, his hair mussed into a wild tousle and the damp locks appearing more golden than white-blond.

Tossing the towel aside, she stood in front of him and pursed her lips. A sizzle of heat rose in her cheeks. Tamping down on her rising blush, she crouched and reached around him. She’d grabbed the hem of his dripping shirt and pulled it halfway over his head before he realized what she was doing. He grumbled something unintelligible as she dragged the garment off him and threw it in a corner with the towel.

Trying hard not to gawk at the view she’d been imagining for weeks now, she unfolded the second towel and draped it over his back. Her face was burning despite her best efforts. She knelt again and pulled the towel over his shoulders, fighting to keep her hands from wandering across those sculpted biceps.

“Why is that clock spell so dangerous?” she asked to distract herself. “Why did you say you would never—”

He caught her wrists, stilling her movements.

“Clio.” An odd, hollow note tinged his voice. His head was hanging down, his hair hiding his eyes. “Why did you steal the clock?”

“‘Steal’ is a little harsh,” she complained. “I got it for you.”

“Why?”

“To … to save you.” She frowned in confusion. “It was the only way.”

His hands tensed around her wrists. “But why … would you want to save me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She ducked her head to get a better look at him. “Lyre, you saved my life. You were dying because of me. I couldn’t let that happen.”

He lifted his head and when his shadowed eyes met hers, the air vanished from her lungs. Utterly hypnotized, she couldn’t look away. Emotion tightened his features but she had no idea what he was feeling.

“Why do you seem so bewildered?” she asked with a huff. “Of course I couldn’t let you die. I could never live with myself if I—”

She was still talking when he hooked his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his.

She gasped as his lips melded against hers, then her arms wrapped around his neck as though they had a will of their own. His other arm slid around the small of her back and pulled her against his bare chest, his skin hot but the water droplets clinging to him cold. He kissed her, slow and intense, as soft tides of desire rose through her, growing stronger and stronger. Her mind was empty, all thought gone as sensation spiraled down her spine and gathered deep in her belly.

A teasing touch of his tongue sent a shock of heat shooting through her, and she parted her lips without thinking. Then his tongue was in her mouth and her hands were tangled in his hair but it wasn’t enough. Her skin was burning and his arms were around her and she needed more.

Cold air hit her lips as he jerked away, then listed sideways like he was about to pass out. She grabbed his shoulders and guided him backward onto the bed. Her breath was coming embarrassingly fast as she stood beside the bed, leaning over him.

“Lyre? Lyre, are you okay?”

His eyes squinted open, dark and hot and blurry with exhaustion. “Dizzy,” he mumbled.

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, trying to regain control of herself. Her pulse was racing, and heat swept through her middle. She discreetly pressed a hand to her lower abdomen where it kind of felt like her insides had turned to bubbling lava—in a good way. “Holy crap.”

He blinked his eyes open and pushed himself up the mattress so his head was on a pillow. “Holy crap what?”

She rubbed her arms to dispel her gooseflesh, unable to tear her eyes away from his bare chest—all those dips and curves of muscle, sheathed in smooth golden skin and calling for her touch.

She inched backward, fearing her self-control wasn’t what it needed to be. “Aphrodesia is scary stuff.”

He blinked again, then a soft laugh rumbled through him. Another swoop in her center made her clench her teeth.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded, her cheeks warming again.

A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “Clio, I have no magic right now.”

“You don’t … Wait. You mean …”

“I didn’t use aphrodesia on you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

Her eyes widened and her blush went from “barely there” to a fiery inferno in an instant. She covered her face with her arm to hide it. “I—I mean, I didn’t …”

Amusement turned his irises to buttery gold. Before she could implode from mortification, he caught her hand with his, fingers warm and reassuring.

“I take it as a compliment,” he murmured, and holy crap, her heart was galloping again at the heat in his gaze—the promise of more.

Suddenly, her knees were embarrassingly weak and she sat on the edge of the bed. How could he affect her like this without aphrodesia? That one kiss had been unlike any kiss she’d ever had—not that she’d had many. She cleared her throat and decided to change the subject before she embarrassed herself even more.

“So.” She cleared her throat again. “The clock spell. What is it exactly?”

The ghost of humor in his expression slid away, replaced with something much darker. “I wanted something to clear lodestones of remnant weavings. A simple tool to make my life easier. But the spell …” His jaw flexed. “I didn’t realize what I was creating. That it would be so dangerous. It devours magic—all magic. Whatever it touches. But what I didn’t realize was the way it would travel … that the more magic it ate, the greater its reach would grow.”

He was still holding her hand, and she twisted their fingers together. “I don’t understand.”

“Like throwing oil on a fire,” he whispered. “The more magic it feeds on, the greater the radius of its power. On activation, it devours whatever it’s touching, then it travels, touches more magic, devours that, travels farther … It keeps expanding and expanding. I didn’t design it that way, but it’s an inherent quality.”

“It expands indefinitely?” she asked with a slight quaver in her voice.

“As far as I can tell. Obviously, I don’t want to test its limits. Water is the only thing that slows it down, but submerging it only works when there’s enough water to muffle its expansion.”

“That’s why you had us remove all the weavings from the bathroom.”

He nodded. “If it caught another weaving outside the water, it would have expanded again and reached the wards on the house. After devouring those … Asphodel is full of magic.”

Her blood chilled. “It would have wiped out every drop of magic in the whole town.”

“Including the power reserves of every daemon caught in the radius, and even worse—”

A scuff of sound outside the bedroom window brought her head up. She swiped a hand across her eyes, squinting with her asper, but saw nothing but the dark wards around the house, waiting to be reengaged.

“What is it?” he murmured.

“Thought I heard something, but it was probably just Kassia and Eryx securing the house.”

“It doesn’t need securing,” he said with a frown. “Just arm my wards.”

“I’ll do that once Kass and Eryx are back.” She squeezed his hand again. “What’s it called?”

“What’s what called?”

“Your clock spell of doom.”

He snorted. “Why would it have a name?”

“Everyone names their special spells. It’s a daemon thing. Or maybe a magic thing.”

A wry smile twitched his lips. “Okay, I did name it.”

“What then?”

“It’s called the Kinetic Lodestone Obversion Construct. But I prefer the acronym.”

“The acronym?” She frowned, sorting it out in her head. “K—L—O—C. So …” A giggle bubbled up in her throat but she swallowed it down and gave him a long, severe look. “KLOC. The acronym is ‘clock,’ for the spell you put in a clock.”

He grinned, supremely pleased with his cleverness, and she burst out laughing. Getting herself under control, she couldn’t help the way her smile grew to match his or the way her insides melted as his face softened with humor.

The front door banged and she jumped. Standing, she reluctantly slipped her hand from his. “Rest for now, Lyre. I’m going to talk to Kass about what the plan is.”

His gaze shuttered. “Yes. You need to sort out your plan quickly.”

Your plan. Not our plan. “What will you do?”

He closed his eyes, exhaling with such heavy weariness that her heart ached. “I’ll figure something out.”

She pressed her lips together, then left him to relax. Daemons didn’t normally lose all their power reserves in one shot, and he would need days to recover. Maybe even longer. Magical energy and physical energy were closely tied, and he would be weak on both counts.

Weak—and vulnerable.

She slipped into the main room where Kassia and Eryx were waiting. Exhausted herself, she dropped onto the sofa. The room looked a lot like Lyre’s workroom—widespread untidiness with an excessive number of books and an odd assortment of junk. A bow leaned in the corner, shorter and curvier than the one in his bedroom, and she remembered the dark wood of the weapon strapped to his back beneath his glamour.

“Eryx set up tripwires around the complex,” Kassia said, breaking into Clio’s reverie. “I warded the house—on top of Lyre’s spells. But we can’t stay here long. That other incubus could wake up and sound the alarm at any point. Since he caught you in Lyre’s workroom, checking this house will be a logical next step.”

Clio nodded. They didn’t have long. “Eryx, can you get us out of the town?”

“Of course. What do you think I’ve been doing since we got here?” He glanced smugly at Kassia. “I told you I like to know my way around.”

Deciding not to comment on that, Clio pulled the tangled mess of her hair over her shoulder and combed her fingers through it. “Do we need to make any preparations?”

“Nope. I’ve already mapped the best route.” Eryx folded his arms. “The only thing we’re missing is, you know, Chrysalis magic.”

Kassia’s eyes flashed with anger, and Clio paused in the midst of braiding her hair.

“Are you still harping on that?” Kassia growled. “Forget it, Eryx. It’s too late.”

“Is it?” He looked around, brows raised. “We might not have gotten anything from Chrysalis, but isn’t this a master weaver’s house? We can at least stock up on what’s available.”

“We are not stealing Lyre’s spellwork,” Clio said firmly. “And if Bastian wants Lyre’s spells, then he can ask himself if Lyre is willing.”

“What are you saying?”

She lifted her chin. “We’re taking Lyre with us.”

He stared at her, then roared so suddenly that she started, “Like hell we are!”

She held her ground, Kassia at her back. “Lyre is as good as dead if he stays here. I won’t leave him behind.”

“I don’t give a damn what—”

“We’ll take him to Earth. Get him out of the Underworld.” She raised her voice over Eryx’s next protest. “And we can use his help. He’s more familiar with—”

“He can’t even walk right now,” Eryx snarled. “He’ll slow us down.”

“We’ll make it work.” She crossed her arms. “I am not leaving without him.”

“Useless,” Eryx spat at her. “A useless, incompetent idiot. I told him. I told him you would ruin every—”

“Enough!” Kassia barked. “We don’t have long before someone comes looking for us. Eryx, you can rage all you want when we’re back on Earth. Clio, sit down and relax for a moment. We’ll give Lyre five more minutes to gather his strength, then we’ll go.”

Eryx glared at them, then snarled about using the bathroom and stalked down the hall. The door slammed, and Clio exhaled shakily.

Kassia put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Clio.”

She blinked. “Me? For standing up to Eryx, you mean?”

“No,” she said softly. “For standing up to Bastian.”

“Bastian? But I haven’t …”

“You have. He just doesn’t know it yet.” She smiled. “Choose your own path, not the one he sets for you, or you’ll always be dancing to the strings he’s pulling.”

Clio bit her lip. What was it about Lyre that had tipped the scales? Why had she abandoned Bastian’s mission to save the incubus instead?

She turned toward the bedroom door and studied the dark wood. Maybe it was because Lyre had helped her, had saved her more than once, and had never asked anything in return. But Bastian … Bastian always wanted something in exchange for his help—for his acceptance.

She frowned. The bedroom door was shut. She didn’t remember closing it when she’d left Lyre to rest. Had he closed it? But he could hardly walk.

Her stinging apprehension sharpened into fear, and she hurried toward the door.