A Rebel Without Claws (Southern Charm #1)

6. ~Celine~

Chapter 6

~Celine~

I stood at the bar of Joaquin’s cafe, watching my cousin Samara make a cup of tea for a customer. For the thousandth time, I thought about the teacup Ronan had painted that I’d set on my office desk and stared at endlessly between clients.

I also berated myself yet again for not getting his phone number. I’d fully intended to the next time I saw him, but I was so floored by the frankness of our conversation, by my overwhelming attraction to him, and by the beauty of the teacup he handed to me with the words, “ It’s how I see you ,” that getting his number completely slipped my mind.

“So just go to the body shop and get it,” said Samara while she blended foam or milk or whatever it was she was doing.

“Samara. Like I can just stroll casually into the body shop, lean over whatever vehicle he’s working on, and ask for his phone number. ”

She grinned over her shoulder and waggled her eyebrows. “Why not? I bet he’d enjoy seeing you bent over his vehicle.”

“Shut up. You look so like your dad when you make that face.”

“Which one is that?” She dusted cinnamon onto the foam-topped tea.

“The cat-got-the-cream look.”

Setting the tea on a saucer, she turned and paused on the other side of the counter in front of me. “I’ve never seen you gush and grin over a guy like this. Not ever. So I say, let the cat get the cream. Now, I need to get this to the professor before he starts glaring at me. Oops. Too late.”

I watched her meander in between the tables to the back wall of booths where a dark-haired, pale-faced man was frowning in her direction. Samara set the tea in front of him, her long hair in a thick plait falling in front of her shoulder, then she stepped back, asking something, gesturing to the laptop and books strewn on his table.

His gaze softened only slightly as he responded in a deep, clipped voice, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I did notice, however, that when Samara turned and walked back to the counter, his gaze lingered on her a touch longer than proper before he returned to his laptop and books.

I couldn’t blame him. My cousin was gorgeous. She had the warm brown skin of her father, Uncle Devraj. Her eyes were green like her mother’s, my aunt Isadora. The same shade as mine and my mother’s too. She was curvier than Aunt Isadora, though, built more like our aunt Livvy .

Glancing beyond her to the professor, I noted his aura glowed with the magic of a supernatural, though I wasn’t quite sure what he was.

“Is he a vampire?” I asked as she wound back behind the counter and wiped it down with a cloth.

“The professor?” She smiled and shook her head. “Warlock, though he does have the look of a vampire, doesn’t he?”

Now she was the one doing the staring.

“Samara, is there something going on between you two?”

Her dark brows shot up. “Goddess no.” She started drying the line of coffee mugs in the dishwasher tray and put them away in a neat stack. “He’s just a regular. He likes my chai. Gets it every Saturday.”

“Every Saturday? Seems like he might want more than your chai.”

She laughed. “I doubt it. I’ve tried flirting with him. He never takes the bait. He’s all about his studies and books. He teaches at Loyola and works on his weekly lectures here every weekend.”

I observed the professor, his serious expression intent on his laptop as he typed away. He was extremely good looking but also sort of intimidating. “Isn’t he a bit old for you anyway?”

“Meh. He’s in his eighties. For a warlock, that just means he’s good and experienced.” She winked at me.

Seeing as supernaturals lived much longer than humans, a warlock in his eighties was still in his prime. In human standards, he looked more like late thirties or early forties, having that confident, distinguished air.

Two new customers, young women, stepped up to the counter so I moved out of the way. It was mid-afternoon, between lunch and dinner, the slow part of the day. The Silver Moon Café was solely a breakfast/lunch place. Joaquin closed at seven, giving customers time to stop by for one more caffeine fix and perhaps a pastry before the end of the day.

Once Samara had served their foamy lattes, she turned back to me. “So when are you going to tell your parents about this new guy?”

“Never.”

Joaquin stepped through the swinging door, untying the apron he wore when he cooked.

“Tell Mom and Dad what?” he asked me.

“About Ronan,” I admitted, taking a seat at the side bar while Samara greeted another new customer. “The new guy I told you about.”

He raised a superior brow, dark auburn like his wavy hair. “Celine, you should just get it over with.”

“Bringing a guy home to meet Mom and especially Dad is a big deal, and you know it. It’s not like I see you bringing any men home to meet the parents.”

He leaned on the counter across from me. “That’s because there are none to bring home. I’ve given up on dating.”

“What a cynic. Giving up before you’re even thirty?”

“It’s too disrupting,” he admitted honestly.

I couldn’t even laugh, because I knew it pained him to have his life in any sort of disarray. My brother hated anything messy or disorderly. He was what my mom always called an old soul . I just called him an old man. If anyone needed someone messy and disorderly in his life, it was my serious, stoic brother Joaquin.

It didn’t help that he was both a werewolf and a warlock with the powerful Enforcer designation. One day, he would inherit my aunt Jules’s place as ruler of New Orleans, one more thing to take super seriously. Like he needed it. Sometimes, I wished a man would come along, knock him off his perfect pedestal, and rock his world.

“What’s been bothering you?” he asked quietly. “Are you psychic too?”

“I can just sense it. Tell me.”

He was right. Something had been nagging at me since I saw Ronan at the office. I hadn’t told Samara or anyone, because I liked to believe I was completely past all that.

“I saw Ronan at my office this week, right outside my door.” Joaquin frowned, leaning closer.

“He followed you to work?”

“No. He actually was seeing Dr. Theriot.”

He waited and listened carefully and didn’t ask why Ronan was seeing a therapist. Not that I would tell him even if I knew. But that was his way. He only poked into someone’s personal life if he thought it was necessary.

“It was a coincidence. Or fate. Whatever you want to believe. But for a few seconds, when I saw him there, I was afraid.”

He reached a hand across the counter and tugged on my fingers, giving them a squeeze. “Bit of a flashback?” he asked gently.

I nodded. “Only for a few seconds. Then I realized Ronan was nothing like him . Actually, I believe it was my magic telling me so. The fear vanished pretty quickly. But, for a moment, it was there.”

“That’s perfectly normal. If it was able to overtake you then there would be more to discuss or worry about. But your instincts are clearer now. What’s good and right is guiding you.” He squeezed my fingers between his. “Don’t you think?”

He raised his brows, willing me to admit that I was still okay now, that I was in control and could trust myself and my magic.

I inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out and sat up straighter. “Yes. You’re absolutely right.”

He smiled wide. My brothers both had the best smiles, but Joaquin rarely gave his away. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He walked through the barista prep area and the opening of the counter to where I stood from my stool and pulled me into a hug. His casual hugs were my favorite, and he knew it.

“This is good, sis. You’re doing fine.”

He smelled like spices and lemon from the kitchen. It was a comforting smell.

“Thank you.” I hugged him back.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Then he let me go and turned to Samara who was handing over another foam-topped latte. “Can you lock up? I’ve got to run by the bank and do some errands. Devon and Miranda are closing up the kitchen.”

“Sure thing.”

He untied his white apron and hung it on a hook beside the kitchen entrance before leaving through the café door out onto Magazine Street.

“So when are you going to see him again?” asked Samara.

I thought about the teacup. And then about the fact that Ronan was seeing Dr. Theriot. She treated people with anxiety, depression, and past trauma. I wondered what category Ronan fit into.

Of course, I would never ask her. Doctor/patient confidentiality was a tenet I held very dear myself. And Dr. Theriot would never tell me if I asked. She was my mentor and my friend, but that didn’t mean she’d betray a patient to appease my curiosity.

“I don’t know,” I finally answered .

“Do you want to see him again?”

“Oh yeah.” I smiled. “Most definitely.”

“So just make that happen.”

Easier said than done. Samara was far more extroverted than me. She had her father’s charming and charismatic personality. I was quite the opposite. As much as I’d like to take her advice and show up at the garage unannounced and boldly get his phone number, that wasn’t going to happen.

But there was something that resonated with my Aura magic when I was near him, a rightness I felt trembling through my flesh to my bones. Aunt Clara, who was an Aura witch like me, always told me to listen to my magic. Our magic knew better than our human instincts.

If she was right, then the Goddess would throw us together again. If that happened, then I wouldn’t waste the opportunity, no matter that he was the exact opposite kind of man my family, in particular my father, would want for me. My magic knew best, and she was beaming a spotlight on this particular rough- around-the-edges werewolf.