The Devil Made Me Brew It (The Witches of Wayward Bay #1)

DEVLIN

There is no figuring it out.

Not in the morning, while Violet busies herself in the café inventing new blends for customers that never seem to materialize and we stealthily avoid talking about anything that matters. Not in the afternoon, much the same as the morning. And not, as I’d hoped, in the long, lonely stretch of evening that bleeds into a darkness so complete, I feel as though I’m right back in the bowels of Hell.

By the second day of walking on eggshells, when I feel I’m losing her a bit more with every passing pleasantry, with every minute that ticks by when I can’t touch her, can’t kiss her, can’t bury my face in her hair and promise her things will work out—somehow, some bloody way—I finally decide to take matters into my own hands.