“I know who you are.” Vern grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. Something in their depths implied wisdom beyond his years.
A chill raced up Slade’s spine. He released Vern’s hand, staring at his palm, half expecting to find another mark.
“I’ve never cursed another, and sure as hell ain’t no sorcerer,” Vern said softly. “I’m a curse breaker. Judith wants me to see what, if anything, I can do for you. She told me a little bit. Now I want to hear everything from you. I do mean everything, no matter how small or insignificant.”
Slade retold his story, barely restraining a growl. He concluded with, “I can’t find the asshole anywhere.”
Vern nodded, running his finger over the mark on Slade’s hand. “I gotta tell you, this is some intricate work. The practitioner who did this knew what the hell he was doing.”
Fuck. Not something Slade wanted to hear. “Can you undo whatever he did?” Even after two months, he struggled to say, “Break the curse.”
Instead of the hoped-for nod, Vern shook his head. “I wish I could, but I’m not sure anyone can break this but the guy who cast the spell.”
Slade yanked his hand back. “Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
Vern lifted his hand in a placating gesture. “I said I couldn’t break his spell. However, I might be able to bend the rules a little.”
Slade narrowed his eyes. “How?” Dare he hope?
“WhileIcan’t break the curse, I might be able to put in a way foryouto.”
“How?”
“He justified his actions by saying you’d harmed his lover, right?”
“Yeah.” The asshole.
Vern held out his hand. After a moment, Slade extended his again, letting out a long sigh.
Vern hummed. “I need to think about our options a bit. I got one shot to change the course of the original spell if I’m able to at all. Sorry, son. I can’t make any promises.”
Fuck.
Thwack!Slade slammed the axe down on another log.Take that, you meddling sorcerer piece of shit!The log split cleanly down the middle.Thwack! Learn to keep your dick in your pants, boy toy!Thwack! Stop cruising bars for twinks, you big idiot!
“Winter won’t last forever,”Judith said, rounding a woodpile taller than her head, glass of sweet tea in hand.
Slade wiped his arm across his forehead, accepting the glass. “Better safe, you know?” Besides, taking frustrations out on a pile of logs possibly prevented a murderous rampage.
“Things will be fine, wait and see.”
Slade glowered. “You’re not a good liar.”
Judith narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare accuse me of lying, young man. I might need a stepstool, but I can still box your ears.”
Memories from twenty-five years ago flooded back, bringing on a shiver. Slade softened his voice. “Sorry, Aunt Judith. I know you mean well.” He set the tea down on a nearby stump and held up his hand, showing the ugly mark. “This isn’t going away. I’m stuck with it!”
“Neither are your tattoos. I don’t hear you bitching about those!”
“This”—he shook his hand for emphasis—“controls my life.”
“Limits, not controls. Hop on your motorcycle. You can be one hundred places, do hundreds of things. The mark won’t stop you.”
Some of Slade’s anger drained. “True.”
“You didn’t give up your work, did you?”
“No.”