Naughty Karma

“The whole idea is to get you out of your head and letting loose. How much looser can you get than screaming at me?”

“So that was all to get a reaction out of me?”

“Honey, I believe every word I said, but if I can argue you out of your hang-ups, I’m not going to let an opportunity pass me by. Come on.”

She shook her head, shying away from his extended hand like it was a live snake. “I can’t. I just need a break. A chance to get myself centered—”

“The last thing you need is a chance to get back in your head.”

“Tomorrow.” When he started to argue, she snapped. “It’s been a hard week, okay? Just give me tonight.”

“It’s going to take twice as long to break you down if you keep taking time off to build yourself back up again.”

“Can’t we do this without breaking me?” She didn’t realize until the words were out of her mouth the raw vulnerability they exposed.

But for once, thank God, he didn’t mock. And twice the thanks that he didn’t show sympathy. His face was blank, his dark eyes expressionless as he nodded. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring a tool that might help, but until then, do me a favor, okay? Try to relax. Let your hair down. See how you like life without a stick up your ass for a change.”

She gave a hoarse laugh. “Asshole.”

He smiled, smug, cocky and unrepentant. “G’night, Karma.”

He turned away, but the intangible weight of his power flared out until it brushed her skin in a sort of farewell, like he needed to touch her one more time before he could go.

“Good night, Prometheus.”

She rested her bottom against her desk, gripping the edge with both hands as she watched him leave, making a point not to think. Not thinking about how she felt about him or how she felt when she was with him or who this person he believed she could be was. She retreated to her cool, calm place and held the quiet around her, hoping it would last, hoping tonight the visions would let her sleep.

Chapter Fifteen Charm and Punishment

The bell over his shop door had never sounded so clear, reminding him he was back where he was supposed to be, watching another satisfied customer walk into the world with magic in her pocket. He’d been spending too much time with Karma, starting to wonder—not enough for the thought but enough for an uneasy feeling—if she was right about him. If he really was doing more harm than good by putting magic out into the world. And after last night, when he’d felt…what was that? Close to her? Comfortable with her? That wasn’t him. Prometheus didn’t have confidants. He didn’t rely on people or build relationships with them. Relationships were vulnerabilities and he was invulnerable. Immortal.

Or he would be as soon as he got his heart back.

He needed today to get his center, as Karma would say. And his center was this shop. He wasn’t selling bad juju. He was selling catharsis. The ability to get back at that cheating ex or vindictive boss so his clients could move on. Nothing felt so pure as vengeance. Sure, he wasn’t putting strictly white light into the universe, but sometimes a person needed to scream and lash out before he could be whole again. Prometheus understood that better than most and he made sure his clients lashed out in ways that wouldn’t leave them heartless for twenty years.

Taking stock of the store, he noticed they were running low on love charms—always a big money maker— and debated flipping the Back in Five sign over to run into the back and whip up a few more, but he wasn’t feeling particularly loverly. With the mood he was in, his love charms would probably summon stalkers rather than reciprocated love. It was a delicate thing, magic, and it listened to the caster, sometimes more than he might want it to.

Maybe he could make a charm for Karma. Not a love charm—gods, not that—but something to help her work her abilities. And if it happened to help her trust him and want to help him…so much the better.

He’d have to be careful, subtle about it. She’d examine any gift he gave her and if she suspected for a second that he was trying to manipulate her, she’d flip her shit. And that right there was a challenge he couldn’t resist.

If he failed, at least he’d get to watch her in full meltdown mode. She was something else when she lost it.

He sent out a little flick of telekinetic energy to click the lock and flip the Back in Five sign, turning toward his workroom. He’d recently received a shipment of Celtic knot pendants. His customers loved those things—even though it was just as easy to work a charm into an ugly lump of rock as it was a pretty worked knot. Karma wouldn’t be impressed by them, but there was one that was a modified yin-yang design. He was already picturing how he would layer the charm into it—no compulsion, just persuasion. Subtle.

The bell over the door chimed.

Prometheus froze, half in, half out of his workroom. The door hadn’t opened. The shop was empty. But an icy hot chill slithered down his spine and he knew before he turned that he wasn’t alone.

“Prometheus,” she purred, her voice liquid sin and velvet kisses wrapped in pure feminine sweetness. “It’s been too long.”

He hoped he was hallucinating, but when he turned, there she was. Petite, curvy, purely female, with large, dark eyes and thick, dark hair curling loose and wild over her shoulders. There was a Mediterranean cast to her features, reinforcing his instinct that she’d once been worshipped in Greece and Italy. Deuma. Handmaiden of Bacchus. Sex devil of the highest, most dangerous order. Owner of his heart. The Big Bad Bitch herself.

She studied him—white hair, broad shoulders—and smiled, dark eyes twinkling with sweet invitation. “You’ve changed, my pet.”

“You haven’t.”

“Haven’t I?” she pouted. “Doesn’t it show?”

Her body, her face, she was exactly as she’d been engraved in his memory. But when he looked at her through the filter of his power—her power—he saw it, the way she was gleaming, swelling, pulsing with dark strength. Before she’d been enthralling, but now he could barely look at her for the power blinding him. She’d been a devil—or at least a creature constrained by devilish handicaps—but now she was verging on something else. She’d appeared here without being summoned—the power differential that involved… No. It couldn’t be. He would be so screwed if Deuma was on her way to becoming a god.

Prometheus struggled to keep his face and his mind blank. It was risky enough to double cross a devil. To renege on a deal with a god… Suicide.

“I have two more months.”

“What if I’m in the mood to round to the nearest year?” She strolled through his shop, trailing her fingers through the charms, every movement of her hips oiled and designed to draw the eye.

“That isn’t how it works.” It couldn’t be. He needed more time. He was so close to getting free of her. He’d been so sure he had more time.

“No, you’re right,” she admitted. “A contract is a contract. But there’s nothing in it saying I can’t come play.”

If he’d had a heart, it would have been pounding. The blood rushed loud in his ears. “Why would you want to do that?”

“You’ve become very interesting lately. Aren’t you glad to see me, love?” She sent him a half-lidded look that made Marilyn Monroe look frigid by comparison.

Prometheus felt his body responding, even as his mind screamed in silent protest. She could make a dead