Cyra scanned the living room for something to empower Nora and found her oversized metal spoon from the kitchen on the coffee table. Not the best solution, but better than being empty-handed. She broke her contact with Nora, collected the weapon, and whispered, “Bless this object. Give it the power to protect anyone who wields it.” A spark of energy zipped down her fingers and into the spoon. The small incantation should mean anything the spoon hit would receive double the force.
She gave Nora the weapon. “If the goose returns, use this. I’ll be two minutes, max.” Her muscles twitched with a sudden urgency to find Gunn. “Stay in this room and stick together. I think the real danger is upstairs.”
She hated leaving them as they stared at her with lost-puppy-dog eyes, but she had to make sure Gunn wasn’t about to die either. She darted upstairs, two steps at a time.
“Get your head straight,” she mumbled under her breath.
On the next floor up, the hallway disappeared behind a wall of darkness and going in there had electrical sparks gathering in the pit of her gut. “Gunn, are you still up here?”
No response. Chills encased her chest, making breathing close to impossible. She didn’t want to enter the attic, ever. But what if Gunn needed help? Each image of him dying drove her forward as her heart raced.
And this was why her idea of never separating was the solution. Of course, Gunn had had to be the hero and rush off on his own. Crap, if she found him alive, she was kicking him in the shins for scaring her. Then they would come up with a real plan of action.
Nausea owned her. She grabbed the lighter in her pocket, flicked it on and used the golden flame to lead the way. She collected her small blade from her boot and entered the shadowy corridor, eyeing the end.
She moved a few steps deeper into the hallway.
Her brother and the others did this for a living! Damn, she wouldn’t want their jobs. They faced danger every day, so no wonder they acted all pumped up. How else could anyone make themselves knowingly confront a monster? Terror squeezed her insides until she was certain she’d die from a stroke.
Lead filled her stomach. “Okay, I can do this.”
She reached for the handle to the attic door. Dread was a spider leaving a trail of silk down her spine, but she had this. Like the time she’d returned to the barn back on the farm to face the spirit living there. She’d sent it packing, and all had turned out well.
When she twisted the handle, the floorboards creaked under her feet.
“What are you doing?” a deep voice asked.
Her heart hit her throat, and she spun on the spot, her back against the wall.
Gunn was leaning out of a doorway farther down the corridor, the light from inside shining outward like a beacon. He arched an eyebrow. “Why are you going to the attic? Do you want to get attacked again?”
“Shut up.” Switching off the lighter and stuffing it into her pocket, then sliding her blade back into her boot, she rushed toward him, ignoring the cold inching up her legs from the attic door. “I was searching for you. We shouldn’t separate.”
“Yet you left the old folks downstairs alone?”
She whacked Gunn in the arm. “That’s for leaving. And I gave them a weapon, promising I wouldn’t be long. Plus, I think the danger is up here, not down there as much.”
His stare pierced right through her response.
“Whatever,” she said. “How about you come join us and we figure out our options for getting out of here?” She bent sideways, looking into the room. It was a study, complete with a cherry-wood desk beneath an enormous arched window. She’d love one of those tables at home. She’d use it to work on her spells and new incantations, though it might take up the entire studio. Her thirty texts sat under her bed, along with half her clothes. Something she’d meant to unpack.
“What are you doing in there?” she asked as Gunn retreated inside.
Next to the table sat a gaping black hole in the wall. “I trapped the goose in here, but it dug itself an escape route.”
Cyra crossed the space and crouched near the opening peppered with tiny tear marks around the edges. Inside lay a tiny passage along the wall, but she refused to stick her head in farther in case the bird waited to strike.
When the door slapped shut behind her, she leaped to her feet to find Gunn standing in the middle of the room, grinning his sexy smirk. The one he’d worn back in the bathroom when she’d fallen prey to his charm. And even with the dried blood on his neck and forearms, he still looked sexy as hell.
But what was he doing?
He raised a hand and crooked a finger, calling her to him.
Her heart palpitated at the sight because she’d dreamed of having someone like Gunn want her. Except right now they were in the devil’s house with his satanic pet bird hunting them.
Her glance lifted to the single strand of mistletoe dangling above him. The rest of the vine curled along the cornices and originated from the corner of the window.
“You’re standing below mistletoe. Step away from it.” She folded her arms across her chest, telling herself his lusty expression was the influence of the mistletoe and nothing more. As long as they stayed far away from each other while one of them was impacted, they’d be fine. She rounded the table, ignoring the desperate urge in her chest each time she caught sight of the way he studied her.
Gunn stretched up for the mistletoe that seemed to have a mind of its own. It zipped out of his grip, flying about like a hose spraying water at full blast.
Already she was
