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  Mal gestured them away. “You know what to do with him.”

  Layla ran in. “Jackson!”

  Mal’s mean laugh echoed. “Do you see, pet? I told you he didn’t care about you. He came for the guitar, not you. He’s exactly like me.”

  Her sad gaze met Jackson’s, questioning. A brief flare of her nostrils, and her expression went cold. “You’re right. I see that now.”

  With a wave, Mal turned away. “Go on, get rid of him.”

  Jackson struggled against the roadies’ hold, but they gripped tighter. “No. I’m nothing like him. Layla.”

  Body rigid as a statue, she kept her gaze on the floor but head held high, mouth a pinched line. She flared her gaze up for an instant to his, then to the guitar.

  A message, silent but desperate. Hope sparked in him. Mal had turned his back, so didn’t see. Jackson nodded once.

  She lunged for the guitar.

  Mal whipped his head back, his face a mask of horror. “No, you fool.”

  One twist, and she palmed the scorpion tuner, defiant.

  Shoulders relaxing, Mal laughed. “Give it here, pet.” He held out his hand.

  The roadies halted and watched with confused expressions.

  She trembled. Her lips quivered, brows furrowed. “The guitar doesn’t belong to you. It was my grandmother’s, given to her by my grandfather.” Her arm extended in a jerking motion.

  Her grandfather’s? What an idiot Jackson was. Of course, her grandfather was Jimi Hendrix. The guitar’s first owner. Finally, he understood the connection. No wonder she played so incredibly well and sang with the same hypnotic, mellow voice.

  Then Layla ducked her head like a charging bull and let out a bloodcurdling scream. No lioness ever looked more fierce. Or more amazing. She sprinted toward the door.

  Too close. She was running too close to the roadies. They’d never let her get out of there.

  Everything happened so fast, yet excruciatingly slow. His body couldn’t catch up to his brain, racing at light speed.

  He whipped his arms free of the roadies’ grasp. As he’d hoped, they hesitated, half reaching for Layla, stumbling back to him. Jackson hated to, but knocked Kev off balance, and jammed his fist into Rad’s jaw. Long overdue.

  Kev scrambled up. In the critical moment before he captured her, Layla turned to Jackson with a glint of determination in her eye.

  The key.

  Yes. He understood now what he had to do.

  She raised her arm, opened her palm to expose the scorpion tuner.

  He leaped, fingers extended to their farthest reach. They met warm, sharp metal and closed around the scorpion. Rad’s boot caught him behind the knee, flipping him backward. He slammed to the floor and rolled to the side.

  Mal glared, more malevolent than usual. Lip curled, he bared his teeth. “Give that to me, and I might spare your life.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Mal’s growl became a snarl. Claws extended from his fingertips, and he shot barbed fireballs at him.

  Jackson dodged them. At least the attack kept the roadies at bay. He curled and rolled in the direction of the guitar.

  “Get away,” Mal roared. “Unless you intend to replace my tuner.”

  Layla clutched her head. “Don’t put the scorpion back on.”

  Jackson slid the black tuner into his left pocket and drew the silver one from his right. “I intend to replace your tuner, all right.” He grabbed the white guitar.

  “No.” Mal’s anguished cry rumbled the room. He reached his palm toward Jackson, and short bursts of jagged lightning shot out as he advanced.

  Jackson bobbed and weaved the white-hot barbs. Not the best method of twisting a tuner on tight.

  Not fast enough. Claws shredded his skin, and Mal snarled. Jackson braced against what felt like knives stabbing his back.

  “Jackson!” Layla screamed.

  Somehow, the silver griffin caught onto the thread. Jackson wound it with nimble twists until he’d secured it. Crackling split the air when lines began etching along the body of the guitar, drawing out the wings and head of an eagle along the arch, rounding into the back of a lion. A griffin.

  A gasp, and Mal backpedaled. “The griffin.” He wasn’t looking at the guitar, but at Jackson.

  Wincing against the pain, Jackson glanced down. His shirt was in tatters, the tattoo visible.

  Mal’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Glaring, he slowly shook his head. “Not you. You can’t be.”

  Lifting his chin, he aimed a deadly look at Mal. “Let Layla go free. This instant.”

  Mal trembled, but not with fear. More like barely contained fury. He sent a switchblade glance to the roadies. “You heard him.”

  Kev and Rad exchanged confused looks and released their holds.

  She ran to Jackson’s waiting embrace.

  He buried his face against her shoulder, taking in her sweet scent. “Are you all right?”

  She clung to him. “I am now. But you’re hurt.”

  He tried to laugh, but pain cut it short. “A flesh wound.”

  Head down as if ready to charge, Mal widened his stance. “You’ll never get out of here alive. Either of you. So do yourself a favor and give it over, boy.”

  Jackson might have believed Mal if he hadn’t sounded so desperate. “No chance.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re clueless.”

  Eyes wide, Layla whispered, “Play a song. Hurry.”

  Her urgency struck a realization in him. Her freedom wasn’t a certainty until someone else besides Mal used the guitar. He swung it into place and strummed a chord. Such an amazing sound. Like no music he’d ever heard. Like no other addiction. He couldn’t stop playing, carried away by the unearthly beauty.

  Then he looked up at Layla. The sad resolution in her face, a haunting expression, halted him. He was no better than Mal.

  Jackson rested the guitar on the floor but couldn’t seem to release his grasp.

  Tears streaked Mal’s face. “Kill the traitor.”

  Rad and Kev stood firm. “No,” they said in unison. No green glow in their eyes and no insanity either. The spell was broken.

  Rad dropped his gaze. “It’s over, Mal.”

  Over. Jackson never thought the word would sound so sweet. He smiled at Layla.

  Her smile vanished. Her eyes flew wide, and she reached for him. “No.”

  Like ice cracking, lines etched around Mal’s eyes and his face sagged with wrinkles. “Not as long as I still breathe.”

  An instant later, claws tore deep into Jackson’s back. Intense pain stunned him, and something like acid slid through his veins, paralyzing him. His muscles began to twitch and his breath seized in his chest. His vision clouded, then a brilliance washed it away entirely.

  “You ruined everything,” Mal rasped, even his voice turning ancient.

  “Stop!” Layla’s sobs grew distant and faded away. “Jackson!”

  Thousands of cheers rose up from an unseen audience. Jackson floated away. Layla. He wanted to go back, but invisible hands beneath him passed his body along, farther and farther from her. White spotlights blinded him, but he knew she was there.

  Safe from Mal, finally. Peace enveloped him.

  Powerless against the surge of the crowd, he relaxed against their invisible hands buoying him up into the white brilliance above.

  * * * *

  Layla’s shriek of horror gained volume and strength, blossoming into an extended note. Instead of weakening her, power flowed through her. The power of her voice. It vibrated up and out, overwhelming all other sounds.

  My magic. It’s returned to me. So easily, too. The energy enveloped her in a cocoon while reaching deep into Jackson.

  Kev and Rad jammed their hands against their ears, eyes squeezed shut. Bent over like the weak old man he’d shriveled into, Mal hobbled from the room.

  Softening her tone, she kept the note ali
ve. She knelt beside Jackson, cradled his head in her lap, and infused every shred of love, tenderness, and healing she could into her voice.

  Come back to me, Jackson. You can’t die. I love you.

  She stroked his hair, his cheek, his chest. She sent her breath inside his mouth, her voice vibrating through his veins. Pulsing into his heart. Awakening his sleeping brain. Lifting his spirit and reenergizing him.

  Return to me now, Jackson. Live!

  His brows knit, and his eyes fluttered open. His dull brown irises bloomed into sparkling green. “Layla?” His groan sounded clearly over her singing.

  She faded her voice. “Jackson.”

  “That was weird. I was gone.”

  She held back a sob and smiled. “You’re back now.”

  Sadness filled his eyes. He groaned and struggled to sit up. “You should have let me stay gone.”

  “No. I couldn’t let you—”

  “Better me than you.”

  “It’s over. You saved me from Mal.”

  Lip snarling, Rad stepped closer. “But who’ll save you from Jackson?”

  She shook her head. “He’d never hurt me. Tell them.”

  “I’d die to keep you safe. I tried to, but you brought me back.”

  Not after all this. She couldn’t lose him now. “No. Mal’s gone.”

  “It’s not Mal you have to worry about. It’s me. I wanted to tell you before.” He heaved a ragged breath.

  Their conversation that night in the bus. The secret he held back. “Tell me now. We’ll figure this out together.”

  He refused to look at her. “Nothing to figure out. The only way to keep you alive is if I stay away from you.”

  “Please don’t leave me, Jackson.”

  “I don’t want to.” Groaning, he rolled over and struggled to stand.

  Kev helped him get to his feet. “Better tell her, or she’ll follow you.”

  After a world-weary sigh, Jackson ground out the story of his girlfriend. Her mother. The curse. How he could never love anyone without dooming them to an early death.

  She rose to face him. “I’m still here.” And wasn’t about to give up.

  “Yes. And nothing’s going to change that.” A faint grin, and he turned away from her.

  She clasped his hand. “You love me. I know you do.”

  Pain scrunched his face. “Stop.”

  “But I’m still alive. Don’t you see?”

  His hand went limp in hers. “I won’t take that chance.”

  She held tighter. “You sacrificed your life for mine. You must have broken the curse.” She circled directly in front of him. “No matter what, Jackson, I’m not giving up. Whether we have a lifetime ahead of us, or one night, it’s what I want. It’s worth it.”

  His watery eyes pleaded with her. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I know exactly what I’m saying. I’ve waited all my life for real love. For what we have.”

  His jaw wobbled as he scowled, the only indication of the internal storm raging within him.

  “Love is a rare gift. We owe it to the fates to accept it.” She pulled him into her embrace. “Besides, if you leave me,” she whispered, “you’d take my heart with you. I can’t live like that, can I?”

  He buried his face against her shoulder and gently rocked.

  If she had to hold him until he believed, she would. If it took forever.

  Chapter 10

  The rising sun split the horizon wide, the bus gliding along the highway toward it. Jackson rolled out of the bunk and shuffled to where Layla sat on the cushions, staring out the window.

  “Hey.” He eased beside her, thankful the slashes in his back no longer hurt. Much, anyway.

  She kissed his cheek. “Morning. Did you get any sleep?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. Thanks for that healing potion.”

  “Seemed a fair trade after you saved me.” She wound her arms around his neck. “Thank you for freeing me from Mal.”

  “One broken curse deserves another, right?” He no longer heard Sarah’s mother screeching at him, laughing at him, taunting him. She’d been right. Death must have been the loophole he’d needed, must have freed him from the witch, and Layla had given him a second chance at life.

  His grin faded. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

  “I had selfish motives. I’m hoping you’ll need me for your band.”

  A band? Hey, why not? He laughed. “Oh, I see.”

  “And one other small thing. I can’t live without you.”

  “You might regret bringing me back.”

  She smiled, a beautiful sight. “I probably will. A few times. But now I know what real love is, and that’s part of it.”

  “And I’ll make everything up to you. If I have to, I’ll stay awake at night dreaming up ways to make you happy.”

  “Being with you is enough.”

  “Good.” He nuzzled against her. “Because I have other reasons to want to stay awake at night with you.” Do it now. While the guitar’s in the back. Its magnetism tugged on him, urged him to hold its body against his. Stroke its strings.

  He’d just broken free of one curse. He didn’t need another.

  She touched her lips to his. “I knew you played killer guitar.”

  The words hit him like a punch. An apt description. “Yeah, about that.”

  She knit her brows. “What’s wrong?”

  He let himself drown in her dark eyes. “When I played the guitar, it was so much better than I dreamed. And way worse.”

  “You earned the right.” Pain filled her face, all too familiar.

  He wouldn’t be the cause of any more heartache for her. “The magic is a burden. The guitar’s bound to me already. Part of my flesh and bone.” A freaking invisible shackle.

  “Yes, and it shows in the incredible way you play. They’ll be creating guitar-god video games in your honor.”

  He had to make her understand. “There’s no honor in claiming the guitar. All I want is to be worthy of you.”

  A smile blossomed on her lips. “You are. Of course, you are.”

  He shook his head. “Not as long as I’m under its spell. The guitar is yours.”

  “Why? You can have fame and fortune.” The light in her face faded, and she dropped her gaze. “Fans would do anything to touch you for an instant.”

  He rocked his head. “Eh. Those are all great, but I’d rather have you.” He arched his brows in question.

  She sighed and stroked his cheek. “The legends foretold it right. You’re an amazing hero.”

  “No.” He definitely hadn’t earned the title. “I’m a guy in love. Come on, let’s hear you play for real this time.”

  A sigh, and she shyly fingered his shirt. “I can’t.” When he started to argue, she explained, “You have to give the guitar to me. Physically.”

  “No problem.” He rose and strode down the aisle. The guitar rested on the floor under her bed. When he lifted the instrument, some energy passed along its body and seeped under his skin. Don’t get too comfortable. He carried the instrument back to her.

  “I, Jackson Grant, willingly beseech you to please take this fucking guitar off my hands. This rightfully belongs to you alone. No one else can ever claim this instrument as theirs from today forward.” He held the guitar out to her.

  Tears shone in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Thank you.”

  He braced for some shock, some breaking sensation as she took it from his hands. Nothing. If anything, when she reached for the guitar, it lightened in his hold, like it leaped toward her.

  He laughed. The guitar wanted her as much as Jackson wanted it gone. “Play something, please?” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, the song we wrote together.” He settled beside her.

  She cradled the gleaming white body against her and strummed, her fingers dancing along the frets. Her voice
sounded better than he remembered, achingly beautiful, like an angel crashed to earth, the beauty and power enthralling.

  After she finished, he grinned like a loon. “You’re gonna kill on tour.”

  She turned serious. “I can’t go on tour.”

  He huffed. “You can’t not go on tour. People need to hear you. And you’ll knock them on their asses.”

  “I will, but only if you come along.”

  He gave a casual shrug, but couldn’t hide his joy. He probably looked like a goofball, grinning from ear to ear. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “And play with me. Seriously, be part of the band.”

  God, he loved this woman. “Happy to.” He couldn’t believe his luck had turned a one-eighty, from nosedive to shooting into the stars.

  “Great. Because Kev and the roadies are counting on us. They’re following in their bus. I invited Fred, too.”

  Dread checked him. “What if Mal comes back?”

  “He has no power over either of us and no place in our world.” Her nostrils flared with contained ferocity. “Rad found him begging on a street corner and gave him enough money to go home .”

  “Mal has a home?” Jackson could hardly imagine what his family must be like.

  “Cleveland, Ohio.” She brightened. “Maybe he can get a job in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He’d make a perfect janitor.”

  “We’re set then.” The way she looked at him with such tenderness, he’d spend the rest of his life expressing how happy she made him, and doing whatever he could to keep her happy, too.

  She cupped her palm to his cheek. “I never believed the legend until the day I saw you.”

  “Maybe when Grundy said I was meant for great things, he was talking about this—setting you free so you could become a music legend.” The single most important deed of his life.

  Suddenly shy, she laughed and ducked her head.

  “Hey.” With one finger beneath her chin, he tilted her head up. “The way you sing and play is pure platinum waiting to happen. Never doubt it.”

  Her grin twisted. “It’s only magic.”

  “No. You sound the same as the day you played for me on the bus, and you’d sound the same with any other guitar.” He eased closer. “And the only magic we need is this.” He pressed his lips to hers. Love was an enchantment he’d willingly embrace.