But this time around, just to make sure, I add a few additional stones to its handle, adorning it with Apache’s tear for protection and luck (which the twins are convinced I’ll need plenty of), bloodstone for courage, strength, and victory (always a good combination), and turquoise for healing and strengthening of the chakras (apparently my throat chakra, the center of discernment, has always been a problem for me). Then sprinkling the blade with a handful of salt before running it through the flame of three white tapers, I call upon the elements of fire, air, water, and earth, to cast away all dark and allow only light—to push out all evil and summon the good. Repeating the chant three times before calling on the highest of magical powers to see that it’s done. This time sure that I’m calling on the right magical powers—summoning the goddess instead of Hecate, the three-headed, snake-haired, queen of the underworld.

Cleansing the space as I walk three times around it, incense held high in one hand, athame in the other, pulling up the magick circle by visualizing a white light flowing through me. Starting at the top of my head and working its way through my body, down my arm, out the athame, and into the floor. Weaving and curving and circling around and around, encouraging thin strands of the brightest white light to entwine and grow and reach ever higher until joining as one. Until I’m wrapped in a silvery cocoon, a complex web of the brightest, most shimmering light, that completely seals me in.

I kneel on the floor of my clean, sacred space, left hand held before me as I trace the blade down the length of my lifeline, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as I plunge the tip deep into my flesh and a great swell of blood rushes out. Closing my eyes and quickly manifesting Roman sitting cross-legged before me, tempting me with his irresistible, deep blue gaze and wide inviting smile. Struggling to get past his mesmerizing beauty, his undeniable allure, and straight to the blood-soaked cord tied snug at his neck.

A cord soaked with my blood.

The same cord I placed there last Thursday night when I created a similar ritual—one that seemed to work until everything went tragically wrong. But this time, everything is different. My intent is different. I want my blood back. I intend to unbind myself.

Hurrying through the chant before he can fade, singing:

With this knot that I untie

Banish this magick before thine eye

Where once this cord was bound and tight

I now reverse it to set things right

Your hold no longer potent, now loosed on me

I unbind this cord and set myself free

Let it harm none as I send it away

This very change to take hold today

This is my will, my word, my wish—so mote it be!

Squinting against the gale force wind that whirls through my circle, pushing the walls of my web to their limits as a flash of lightning strikes and thunder cracks loud overhead. My right palm raised, open, ready—my gaze locked on his as I mentally loosen the knot at his neck and summon the blood back to me.

Back to where it originated.

Back to where it belongs.

Eyes widening in excitement as it arcs straight toward the center of my wounded hand, the cord around his neck lightening, whitening, until it’s as clean and pure as the day it began.

But just as I’m ready to banish him for good, free myself of this unholy bind, that strange foreign pulse, that hideous intruder, snakes through my insides with such force, such determination, overtaking me so quickly, I can’t stop it.

The monster inside me now fully awakened, rising, stretching, with its insistent, throbbing hunger demanding to be met. Causing my heart to crash violently, my body to shake—and no matter how hard I struggle against it—it’s no use. I’m a hostage to its longing—captive to its desires—I’m of no consequence whatsoever. My only purpose is to meet all its needs—to see that it’s done.

Watching helplessly as the cycle repeats once again. My blood surging forth, soaking the cord at Roman’s neck ’til it sags, red and heavy, dripping a thick trail of me down his chest. And no matter what I do—no matter how hard I try—there’s no stopping it.

No stopping the undeniable lure of his gaze.

No stopping my limbs from yielding toward his.

No stopping this spell that binds me to him.

His body like a magnet that seeks only me, closing the small space between us in less than a second. And now, with our knees pressed tightly together, our foreheads flush—I’m defenseless—powerless—unable to curb this unbearable yearning for him.

He’s all I can see.

All that I need.

My entire world now whittled down to the space between his gaze and mine. His moist, inviting lips just a razor’s width away, as this bold, insistent intruder, this strange, foreign pulse, urges me forward, willing us to mesh, unite, join as one.

My lips push toward his, moving closer, ever closer, when from somewhere down deep, somewhere I can’t quite reach, the memory of Damen, his scent, his image, flickers inside. No more than a brief flash of light in the midst of all this dark—but still enough to remind me of who I am, what I am—my real reason for being here.

Just enough to allow me to break free of this horrible dreamscape and shout, “No!”

I leap back, removing myself from him—from this. Moving so quickly and violently the web collapses around me as the candles extinguish and Roman dissolves from my sight.

The only trace of what just occurred is my crashing heart, bloodstained robe, and the words still reverberating in my throat.

“No, no, no, no, no, oh, God, please, no!”