Chapter 10. Caitlyn
I sucked in a sharp breath as I tentatively opened the kitchen door. To my surprise, Creep—who had never lifted a finger for me in the entire time we’d been bonded, aside from that first cup of cocoa—had magicked all my candy-making cauldrons from my car back to their proper places.
A small part of me was relieved. Packing thirteen cauldrons, along with countless utensils, potions, ingredients, and camping paraphernalia into my beat-up car had been bad enough; unloading it all again was a task I’d been dreading.
But relief quickly gave way to wariness.
Creep was never nice without a reason. There was usually a prank involved.
Was she trying to impress Blaise? Would he have more luck forming an emotional bond with her than I ever had? Or would this burst of cooperation be just as short-lived as it had been when I first bonded with her?
“Um... thank you, Creep, for unpacking the car,” I said into the gloom.
The candles dotted around the room flared to life, their flames sputtering aggressively.
A knife slid free from the wooden rack and embedded itself in the side of the butcher-block island with a loud thump, followed by a metallic wobble—Creep’s way of reminding me not to get used to her doing things for me.
I threw an apologetic glance over my shoulder at Blaise.
To my surprise, he didn’t wear the expression of unfettered fear I’d expected in response to the house’s casual violence.
Instead, his features were soft, the corner of his mouth twitching into a bemused smile as if he were watching a toddler do something adorably chaotic, rather than a creepy, possessed doll issuing thinly veiled death threats against the fated mate he’d met mere moments ago.
Candlelight flickered across his golden eyes as they tracked around the room, taking everything in, and the faintest flush bloomed across his cheeks.
Goddesses, he was handsome.
My gaze drifted along the sharp line of his jaw and down the sculpted curve of his neck, my mouth practically watering at the thought of tracing that path with my tongue.
But just as my eyes reached the crisp collar of his pristine white shirt, they caught on the thick band of scar tissue peeking out above the fabric.
Blaise shifted, rolling his shoulder just enough for the collar to ride higher and conceal it.
I snapped my gaze down to the grimy tiled floor, giving him a moment to compose himself while my mind snagged, unhelpfully, on the question of how he got the scar, and why did he not want me to see it. Finally, when his fidgeting subsided, I cleared my throat.
“Do you want some hot cocoa?”
His tone slipped back into amusement. “I thought you witches were all obsessed with tea?”
“I like to go against the grain.”
Blaise’s smile widened, revealing a flash of perfectly white teeth. “Then I would love a cup of hot cocoa.”
“Fair warning,” I said, crossing to the fridge and pulling out the milk. I threw him a look over my shoulder, my voice dipping low, as I said, “My hot cocoa has been known to ruin all others.”
Where did that come from? I didn’t think I’d flirted a single time in my life, and yet my succubus side had apparently decided now was the time to rear her head and seize the wheel without warning.
And over cocoa? Like, seriously, Cat, if you’re going to attempt to flirt, do it over something that’s at least a little bit sexy.
Blaise leaned back against the counter, something heady flickering in his eyes. His voice was a low rumble as he said, “I don’t mind being ruined.”
His eyes widened, as if he’d surprised himself. A deeper flush spread across his cheeks, and he straightened, dragging a hand through his hair like he was reining himself in.
I busied myself, grabbing the pan and cocoa, determined not to dwell on what that gesture might have meant. Naturally, my mind went there anyway.
Did he not want to flirt with me?
Was it nerves? Maybe I wasn’t what he expected? I mean, I was in my scruffiest outfit and had just traveled for hours. And an old Cheeto had fallen out of my hair as I’d bent over to get the milk out of the fridge, but he seemed to like me enough to flirt in the first place.
Maybe it was something else. Something to do with the scar. Or—
“I’m just... working through something in my personal life at the moment.”
A sudden shiver ran up my spine, sending my stomach lurching. Was the thing he was working through a someone rather than a something? Had I left it too long to summon him? Had he found someone else in that time?
Had he given up on waiting for me and moved on with his life?
“Caitlyn?” he said, cutting neatly through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re not actually stirring the cocoa.”
“Hm?” My gaze bounced from the rusty stain on the wall I’d been staring at, to Blaise, and then down to the wooden spoon—which I was stirring, just... about three inches above the pan.
“Sorry,” I said, lowering the spoon and clicking my fingers, trusting magic to do a better job at stirring than a witch teetering on the edge of a mild panic attack. “My mind wandered.”
Blaise chuckled, the sound so warm and easy it made something swell in my chest.
If he did have someone else, would I be able to let him go back to them?
Physically, yes. Of course. But would that homey chuckle haunt my dreams from now on? Would it always be Blaise’s face that slipped uninvited into my thoughts?
Or was I catastrophizing? The poor demon had just said he was dealing with something personal. Maybe I was reading far too much into it.
Still... would it be rude to ask?
I had a tendency to word vomit when I wasn’t prepared, though, so perhaps giving myself a moment—or two—was wiser than blurting it out where I stood.
“Marshmallows?” I asked, already heading for the pantry.
“Yes, please.”
I held the jar up to my face as I returned, inspecting it closely. Nothing looked suspicious. Still, the moment I caught Creep’s glassy stare from behind the kitchen door, I decided a second check wouldn’t hurt.
Tentatively, I held the jar over the sink and unlatched the clasp.
I somehow managed to internalize my scream as hundreds of tiny spiders exploded free.
It had taken me no less than three weeks to stop screaming every time I discovered another strange place Creep liked to hide her clusters of ready-to-burst spider egg sacks, and I absolutely refused to give her the satisfaction of shrieking in front of Blaise.
Instead, I cast a quick hover charm on the spider-infested jar before they could crawl up my arms, while biting back a curse.
With an exasperated sigh, I threw open the window and magicked the jar outside. Hopefully, by morning, the spiders would have found new—preferably very outside—homes, and I could deal with the gloopy, spider-free marshmallow mess then.
“Something wrong with the marshmallows?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone as I passed him his sad-looking cocoa.
“Not if you like your mallows with a side of Creep’s specialty spider sacs,” I said.
Blaise’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “No thanks. Not a massive fan of spiders—or anything with more than four legs, for that matter.”
I snorted. “Better get used to them. Creep’s particularly fond of creepy crawlies.” I wiggled my fingers at him for emphasis.
“You mentioned there was a tent?” Blaise said lightly. “Maybe I should just sleep in that.”
Creep, who was evidently listening in, responded by rattling the windows violently in protest. Then, to my surprise, faint pops echoed around the room.
I glanced around, unsure at first what she’d done.
It took me a moment to realize the kitchen was now suspiciously free of spiderwebs.
Of course Blaise got special treatment. I wondered if it would last longer than it took him to finish his first mug of cocoa?
Because that’s how long it had taken for her to turn on me.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” I said. “Once Creep decides you’re staying, there’s really no negotiating.” It felt only fair to warn him that I couldn’t speak for Creep... or the unhinged lengths she might go to in order to make him stay.
We drank in silence. Blaise took in the kitchen with quiet interest, his gaze drifting over all the grimy clutter Creep refused to let me throw out—or clean—apparently with great enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, I was mentally rehearsing how to tell him that I totally understood if he’d made a life for himself.
.. and if that life happened to include someone else, I would—
I hadn’t quite figured out what I’d do after that.
Too soon, my mug was empty. I set it down a little too carefully, clasping both hands around it as I lifted my eyes to Blaise.
“Um... Blaise?” I said.
“Hm?”
My mouth went dry.
C’mon, Cat. You’ve got this.
“Nine years of being unsummoned is... well...” Oh no.
I could feel a classic Myers word vomit bubbling up.
“I mean, I didn’t summon you for nine years.
Not intentionally, anyway. Technically, I didn’t summon you at all, because we just..
. kinda ran into each other—which isn’t to say I didn’t want to summon you, because I did, it was always something I planned to do eventually, just maybe not yet because I was trying to build a business first, which, okay, that part hasn’t exactly gone to plan, but that’s beside the point—”
I sucked in a breath. This entire conversation was veering wildly off course. Blaise’s brows had drawn together, his expression focused, like he was doing his best to untangle my rambling.
I inhaled again and forced myself onward.
“What I’m trying to say is... nine years is a long time. And if you’ve found someone else—”
“There’s no one else,” Blaise said quietly, his gaze dropping to his cup. He pressed his lips together before continuing. “I mean... of course there have been others I’ve had to feed from. But there’s no one I share mutual romantic feelings with.”
Phew. See, Cat? He didn’t—