Naughty Karma

“Come on, Karma. My aunt’s psychic says I’m exactly what you need.”

Since his aunt’s psychic was on her payroll, Karma couldn’t fault the information, but… “What about what you need?” And why did Mr. Perfect here need his aunt’s psychic to get him a date? There had to be a catch. But what if there wasn’t? What if he really was her perfect and psychically ordained match and Prometheus had her so primed to question every motive that she ruined her best chance at happiness?

“All I need is a chance. So what do you say? Give a guy a shot? It’s only dinner.” Carlton smiled winningly.

And Karma felt nothing. But she forced herself to smile back—even though she had no particular desire to spend an evening with him. “I’d love to,” she lied, to drown out the sound of Prometheus’s voice telling her to let her hair down. “How’s tomorrow evening?”

Carlton Norris left her office with plans to pick her up at seven and Karma tried to feel a giddy swoop of anticipation, but all she felt was a fierce determination to prove there were no sticks anywhere in the vicinity of her ass. She was going to let her hair down, damn it. If it was the last thing she did.

“I have presents for you.”

Prometheus burst into her office, five minutes early this time, and Karma frowned. She knew better than to trust a warlock bearing gifts, especially a punctual one. When he reached her desk, he pulled one hand from behind his back with a magician’s flourish. An odd silver charm that couldn’t seem to decide if it was a Celtic knot or a yin-yang sign dangled from the leather thong in his fist.

“This is to give you a focal point, something external to center your magic through so you don’t have to break down your fortress of solitude to work your magic, and this is to help you relax.” The other hand appeared, holding a giant, economy-sized bottle of Stolichnaya.

Karma glowered. “That’s your master plan to train me? Vodka?”

“It’s a time honored technique for helping people relax. Why fight history?”

“History has taught us that people are idiotic when drunk.”

“And? You could use some idiocy in your life.”

“I’m getting tired of you telling me what I need in my life.”

“Do you want my help?”

She ground out, “I do.”

“Then you need me in your life. And tonight, vodka.” He smiled, a curve of the lips that was almost feral, in no way resembling the perfectly civil curve of Carlton Norris’s perfectly civil lips. Karma felt something low in her belly stir. “Aren’t you going to look at your present?” He swung the charm, rocking it like a hypnosis aid from his long fingers.

“Set it there.” She wouldn’t touch it until she’d had a chance to test it for traps. Not that she thought Prometheus would actually hurt her—they’d gone beyond that—but manipulate her? That he’d do without blinking.

He spread it before her on the desk with a flourish and stepped back. Another man might have been insulted by her obvious mistrust, but Prometheus seemed to take it as a compliment. “Do you have ice?” he asked as he backed away.

“The freezer in the break room. Down the hall to the left.”

Then he was gone, taking his massive presence—and massive bottle of vodka—with him and leaving her alone with the charm.

It was an elegant piece of work, both physically and magically, layers of pressed metal and subtle tendrils of spells. Confidence and strength folded over focus and something else she couldn’t quite describe, though if she’d had to put it into words, she would have called it one-with-the-universeness, a sort of cosmic acceptance. She looked for booby traps, probing into the soft layers of spell, but found nothing suspect. Just clean, white magic. Not the slightest oily slick of dark. Even the leather thong was harmless. She brushed a finger over it tentatively, alert for any spells that activated at her touch, but nothing changed, no spell trap snapped closed around her. Had he really given her a gift to help her with no strings attached?

“Did I pass?”

She looked up to see him cupping a tumbler filled with ice in one palm while the other hand gripped the neck of the massive bottle.

“Shockingly, yes. Thank you for the charm.”

“You should wear it constantly. The more you use it, the better it will be. It tunes to you.” He set the tumbler on the desk and unscrewed the cap on the vodka with a twist of his wrist. The seals crackled as they broke and clear liquid draped itself across the ice like a lover as he poured. He set the bottle on the desk and grabbed a chair. She knew that chair, knew it was heavy, but he spun it around to the side of her desk without even a grimace of effort and sprawled his long, lean body into it.

He waved for her to proceed and Karma arched a brow at the single glass. “If you think I’m getting trashed while you stay sober, you’re crazier than I thought.” If she hadn’t been watching him, she wouldn’t have noticed the minute hesitation, the way his eyes flicked to the side. He didn’t want to drink it. Of course. “I should’ve known. What’s in it? What did you spike it with?”

His hand shot out like a snake striking, snatching up the glass. He’d thrown back the contents and slammed the glass back onto her desk with a clink before she could do more than blink. “There? See? Harmless. But you’re right. It’s bad form to drink alone.” He flicked his fingers and a second glass appeared beside her right hand where it rested on the desk.

He filled her glass, then refilled his own, but she was getting better at seeing beneath his bluster and Prometheus looked uneasy. He lifted his refilled glass, arching a brow when she didn’t raise hers to meet his toast. “Watching for signs of cyanide poisoning?”

“I’d pegged you as more of an arsenic guy.”

He snorted. “My God, did Karma just make a joke?”

“Why are you so nervous, Prometheus? What’s in the vodka?”

“Distilled grains, if you believe the Russians.” When she made no move to lift her own glass, he lowered his own. “I don’t generally imbibe, okay? Alcohol tends to affect me rather strongly. The last time I drank, I accidentally summoned a demon because at the time it seemed like a good way of getting your attention.” He raised his glass again. “But I’m willing to take one for the team. To prove my good intentions.”

She looked at the bottle, still dubious, but starting to feel like a fool and prude for resisting. “How does this work?”

“You drink it.”

“Cute.”

“That’s all there is to this plan, Karma. You drink, you relax, and I help you figure out how to go with the flow rather than fighting the tide of your own power all the time. Simple. Which is good because if I’m gonna be hammered too, we probably should avoid plans with a lot of moving parts. Just think of me as the tour guide for your powers. I’ll drive the bus. You sit back and take in the sights.”

Simple. Simple sounded good. So did letting someone else be responsible for keeping her afloat for a while.

Karma lifted the vodka, pressing down the shiver of misgiving that seemed to tingle through her fingers and up her arm. The first mouthful of vodka kissed her tongue and then punched her in the back of the throat. She shook her head sharply, fighting down a cough as her eyes started to water.

Prometheus chuckled. “You get used to it.”

She glared at him and defiantly took another swallow. This one went down easier, just a twitch of her chin betraying the way it kicked as it slid down her throat. Prometheus silently toasted her and took a sip from his own glass.

“Why does alcohol affect you so much? Is it because of your heart?” She frowned, studying him. He looked normal. You would never know it was only magic keeping him alive. Like a vampire. How alive was he? “Do you eat? I mean, I know your heart doesn’t pump your blood, but is everything else about your physiology normal?”

“I can get it up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Her face flamed. “That is not what I asked.”