Jesus, hadn’t she heard him? Didn’t she understand?

Kat ended the kiss and leaned her forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, Jules. I wish you never even met Vince. I wish I could erase that day from your life. Make it all disappear. But understand this—it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change you. Or how I see you.”

She pulled him into her embrace, wrapped herself around him and he let her because he was stunned. She fucking astounded him. He’d just finished telling her how dirty he was and here she clung to him. Surrounded him with her pristine body. He shouldn’t allow it. He should push her away for her own good. There was something greedy in him, though. Greedy and needful and it raised its head and roared at the thought of pushing her away. Instead, he hung on for dear life. For the first time, he’d found someone he could trust. Could count on. That was who she was. She was truly, generously sweet. Kind.

“Okay.” She sniffed. Pulled away to frame his face in her hands. “I want you back in bed.”

She had to be kidding. No way in hell was he gonna try to sleep after what he’d remembered. “I’ve only been up for a few hours.”

“Yes, but they’ve been busy hours.”

Jesus, she wasn’t going to let it go. She lifted her weight off his legs and he tightened his hold. Got to his feet with her still in his arms.

She latched on to his shoulders with a death-grip, wrapped her legs tighter around his hips. “Damn it, Jules! I said I want you to rest.”

He looked at her—the bright, shining her he saw when his eyes were covered—and his mouth curved a little. “I’m going.” He shrugged. “But you’re going, too.” He strode into the bedroom, his arms full of outraged female.

“This is not resting. You’re never gonna have enough energy to heal if you insist on carting my weight around, too. Put me down.”

When he reached the bed, he knelt on the mattress. Knee-walked to the halfway point and eased her onto the bed with her head on the pillow. Before she could move, he sprawled out between her thighs. Let his cheek rest against her belly, his heart near her heat, and closed his eyes.

Kat froze. She stared at the top of Julius’ still head as she tried to calm her breathing. He’d scared the crap out of her when he’d walked in here, laid her down and planted himself right between her thighs. She’d thought . . . what? That he was going to try to prove his manhood? She shook her head. She’d thought the worst. Again.

He hadn’t harmed her. Didn’t do anything more than use her for a pillow. Still, her skirt had ridden up, exposing a lot of leg. “Jules, you need to let me up.”

“You should rest, too.” His arms tightened around her leg.

Sleep? She needed to do some research into finding a way to save her Magic. Into the name Mary Jane Kelly. “I’ve got things I need—”

His voice was whisper soft. “Don’t leave.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I swear to God, I won’t fight you anymore, please—”

“Okay.” Her stomach went queasy. What was wrong with her? Despite everything she’d learned about him, she still had him cast in the role of villain. True, he was a bit . . . gritty. He was gruff and he cussed far too much. She couldn’t imagine when he might have last used that word “Please.” He’d been through so much, how could she begrudge him a little physical contact?

She eased his hair away from his face, the longish curls soft as Oscar’s fur as they slid through her fingers. “Will you at least tell my why you’ve been acting . . . .” Gaia, she didn’t want to offend him, nor end their truce but she needed answers.

“Like a bastard?” His head lifted a fraction of an inch. “How would you behave? Think about it. You don’t remember much and what you do remember is yourself behaving in ways you would never behave. You’re wounded. Blind. Have no friends, no—”

“You have me.”

The air whooshed between his lips. She expected him to argue, to deny her right to him, their right to each other, but instead, he said, “I remember my brother.”

If his arms hadn’t tightened around her leg, she would’ve bounded straight out of bed. “You have a brother?”

“Had.”

Of course. How old was he? At least three hundred . . . any family he’d had when human would be long dead. “What do you remember of him?”

“He looked like me . . . like I did before I screwed myself up.”

She tightened her fingers in his hair. “Stop it.”

“Seriously . . . like on a scale from Inigo Montoya to Freddy Kruger, how bad is it?”

“Inigo who?”

His sigh tickled her thigh. “Princess Bride. You know, the dude with single slashes on his cheeks who wanted to avenge his dad.”

She snorted. “He was barely scarred.”

“That’s the point. The scale is barely to totally fucked-up.”

“You’re not that bad off.”

“Thanks . . . so what, more like Darth Vader? Do I need to get a mask?”

She laughed and his head bounced a little on her belly. “More like Scar, I think.”

“Who?”

“The uncle in The Lion King.”

He lifted on one elbow, staring up her body through that damned bandage.

“You’re blushing. Why?”

“I cussed.”

One tawny brow lifted over his bandage. “When?”

“In my thoughts.”

He shook his head. “You blush when you cuss in your head?”

She turned her face to the side. The way his shoulder pressed against her a little with every breath . . . she was getting aroused, wet. Much more and he’d notice.

“What was his name? Your brother.”

“Julian. I used to tease him that I was the better-looking twin. He used to tease me that that was because the Good Lord ran out of brains.”

Her lips twitched. “Did you like each other?”

“Yeah. We just liked to screw about.” He shifted a little, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her and she almost moaned out loud. Stop it! Think about feet. Toenail fungus. Dry, cracked skin. “What was he like?”

He was quiet for a long time. “Don’t want to talk about that.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

He lifted onto his elbow again, his mouth set into a grim line. “Why did you lie to me about the hood?”

“What hood?”

“I told you about my dream. You said it wasn’t real.” He held up his hand, wriggling his little finger. “But it was. They put the hood on me. Then they cut my finger off and it didn’t grow back the same.”

She sucked in a breath. Like his eye. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t know.”

“Where?”

Revelations Industries. Mother had encouraged the director of RI to take Julius. She wasn’t surprised they’d kept him under a hood—not with his mesmerist abilities. “I don’t want to force your memories, Jules. Even if I did, I don’t know a whole lot about you. I could make a wrong assumption about what you’re remembering, give you the wrong information, and slow the whole process.”

“And the felo-de-se curse? You said you could help me with that.”

She nodded. This was a healthier conversation to have. “We could try a meditation. A way for you to cleanse your mind of the curse. Or we could leave it alone. Eventually, the curse will stop on its own—it won’t last forever.”

“Why?”

“Why does it dissipate on its own?”

He nodded.

“Every spell costs a price. When casting spells, hexes even, the cost is the caster’s energy and energy can’t feed itself. Without tending, long-term spells like this fade as the initial expenditure of energy fades.” That’s why the Watcher added the suicide curse. The memory curse would fade and he needed to ensure Julius was dead before that happened. “But you can fight the suicide curse.”

For a long time, he was quiet. Despite the bandage, he stared at her.

“You can see me through that, can’t you?” She wet her lips. It was those eyes. They could see her through the covering. “That’s how you move around so easily. How you knew I was holding up three fingers even though the bandage covered your eyes.”

His jaw flexed. “What do I do to fight the curse?”

Why wouldn’t he talk about it? She wanted to pursue her questions, but didn’t want him closing himself off again. She sighed. “Um, well, first you’ll want to get comfortable—”

He snuggled right back into the same position, his shoulder pressing tight to her core.

Well, at least one of them was comfortable. “Close your eyes. Take in slow, deep breaths. Your mind will wander and that’s what we want.” With each breath his shoulder pressed against her. Her nipples tightened and shivers ghosted over her skin.

“Here. Sit up for a sec.” She scooted back and sat with her back against the headboard. Crossed her legs and lay a pillow in her lap. She patted the pillow. “Come here.”

He lay back, his head on the pillow cradled between her legs. Better.

She smoothed her fingers through his hair. “Try to relax. Breathe deep. Slow.”

His whole body thrummed with tension. His breathing was too shallow. He’d never achieve a meditative state like this. “Not from your chest.” She reached down his body.

His hand clamped around her wrist before she even touched him. “What are you doing?”

What was she doing? He’d just told her he’d been raped. He needed time to trust her. She needed to remember to get consent. “Showing you where I want you to pull breath from.” She extended one finger and brushed his abdomen above the band of his boxers. “Here. May I?”

He released her hand. His features relaxed.

She settled her palm over his belly button. “Try to lift my hand with each breath.”

He moved his belly and his chest with the next breath. Sighed. Shifted. Rubbed his hand over his chest. And did the same thing again. After a few moments, he got the hang of things and her hand lifted a smidge. “Good.” This would be easier if she could use Magic, if she could help him meditate. But what if he triggered the curse as they tried to remove it and he tried to hurt himself again? She didn’t want to risk burning out her Magic trying to help him meditate in case she needed it to heal him later. “Let your mind wander.” She sat back, cupping his face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks. His stubble tickled. “Where are you?”

“In your bed.”

Her lips twitched. “In your head, Jules. What are you thinking about?”

He frowned. Several minutes passed, their breathing the only sound in the room. “A desert. The dirt is cracked, dry. A storm is brewing overhead. There’s lightning.”

“Good.” She ran her thumb over his jawline. “Keep telling me what you see. Breathe deep. Slow.”

“There’s a house.”

Her fingers stilled. The house represented the body. “What’s it look like?” Old. Weathered. The porch sags and the windows are broken.

“Abandoned. It needs a lot of work—new windows, new paint, new wood on the porch. The lock on the door is busted.”

She closed her eyes. She’d been to that house—to his house—before. Claire, one of the witches from her coven had done some dream Magic to help her find Julius on the astral plane a few weeks ago. She’d found him chained in the basement, far too close to giving up for good.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. She wet her lips. “That’s good for today.”

“No.” His arm lifted as if he pushed something in front of him to the side. “I can go inside.”

She swallowed. Should she let him keep going, or keep him safe? The fact that he’d lifted his arm here to push the door open on the astral, was worrisome. He’d blurred the lines between his physical body and his vision.

“Somebody trashed the place. The floors are wet, scarred . . . gouged. The books are ripped up and lying all over the floor.”

She wasn’t surprised. Books represented knowledge and memories and the Watcher would’ve wanted to keep him as isolated and ignorant as possible.

“Should I go upstairs?”

“Down.” What was she doing? That might force memories. That’s where she found him when they met on the astral. “Up. Go up.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. His hand fisted.

“Jules?” She stroked her thumb over the corner of his lips. “Breathe, baby.”

“The stairs are ruined. There’s a big hole, six steps are missing. It’s too far to jump.”

“You can fix them if you want. Visualize the stairs mending. Imagine them whole.” Sooner or later he’d have to repair his house—himself. Put all the parts and pieces back in order so he’d have a safe place within himself.

“There’s blood in the kitchen.”

What? “Jules, go back and fix the stairs. You have to keep talking. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Why’s there so much blood? It’s fresh. Wet. The whole room smells tinny.” His breathing grew shallow. Fast.

“It’s okay, Jules. The blood isn’t surprising considering the memory you had.” It signified emotional turmoil. That all that turmoil was in the kitchen—the heart of the home wasn’t a good sign. Worse, there hadn’t been any blood in the kitchen when she’d visited him on the astral. The stairs leading up to the second story hadn’t been broken. He was worse off today than he’d been two weeks ago when she’d visited him on the astral. “Okay. That’s enough for today.”

“This is mine.” He sat up, rolled to the edge of the bed, and stood.

She froze. “What’s yours? Where are you?”

“The art. It’s broken. It was mine, damn it.” His dreams. His passions. All broken.

He was in the basement. Kat got up and eased around the bed. This wasn’t how a meditation was supposed to work. “Go back to the main floor.”

“No. I can fix this. I can—” His head whipped to the side and he stared into the corner of the room. “What are you doing here?”

Was he talking to her?

He tipped his head one way and then the other, as if studying something in the corner. He walked past her and crouched, facing the corner.

The hair at her nape lifted. “Get out of there, Jules.”

He backed up a step. “What are you?”

“Wake up.” She clapped her hands together once, but the sound wasn’t loud enough. “Jules!”

“Come on, then.” He hunched over, arms to the side as if getting ready to wrestle whatever he had encountered.

She reached out to shake him awake but before she touched him, he jerked upright and fell back, slamming into the floor and sliding as if something had tackled him.

He rolled to his side and let out a low moan. “What the hell was that?”

“Jules? Are you awake?”

“Fuck me.” He pulled himself to his knees, looked down and touched something on his chest. “I thought meditation was supposed to be relaxing.”

“What hurts?” She walked around his side as he stood.

Three long lacerations went from his left shoulder to his right hip. Claw marks.

“That’s not possible.” Whatever he had encountered in his dream shouldn’t have been able to hurt him on this plane. “Did you see it? What was it?”

“I don’t . . . .” He shook his head as he touched one of the marks with a trembling hand. “It’s like waking from a dream. I know it was bad. I know I wanted it out of me. . . .” He shook his head again. “I can’t picture it now. It was in the corner, but I can’t . . . .”

“It’s okay, Jules.” She forced a smile and wrapped him in a hug, being careful not to press against the wounds on his chest.

At first, he didn’t hug her back. He stood there shaking. Then one arm loosely wrapped around her hip.

“We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to heal those scratches and we’ll take it easy tonight. We’ll try again.”

But even as she made the promise, she wasn’t sure if they should. Not with her Magic dying out.