Chapter 12. Caitlyn
I usually slept like a corpse, requiring a full sixteen alarms to rouse me from my death sleep. This morning, though, from the very first spark of wakefulness, my body was acutely aware that I wasn’t alone in the bed.
It took barely a millisecond to realize it was Blaise who lay beside me.
My mate.
I had a mate now.
The thought felt strange and unreal, like my mind hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that he was somehow here without being summoned.
He lay close to the edge of the bed, one arm slung over his face, his ear pressed firmly into the crook of his elbow as if he were trying to drown out my snoring.
Which, in all fairness, he probably was.
Fortunately for Blaise, I was already acutely aware of my nightly problem—and how to solve it. I’d given it a fair amount of thought back when I still assumed I’d be summoning my mate properly and had wondered how he might survive a night in bed with me.
I pulled up the Witchmart app on my phone, found the Hushbuds+ I’d added to my wish list and never gotten around to ordering, and was just about to select the Teleport to these coordinates option when I paused.
After a moment’s consideration, I rerouted the order to the local magic shop for collection instead. If nothing else, it gave me an excuse to venture into town for snacks and a much-needed resupply of my potion ingredients.
Satisfied that he’d only have to endure a couple of nights of restless sleep, I turned to watch my mate.
The arm slung over his face was marked with a web of scars, silvery in the morning light. My gaze drifted to the thick scar at his neck—the one he’d been so uncomfortable showing me the night before. I should have looked away, but I couldn’t.
My throat bobbed as I took in the raised ridge of scar tissue that encircled a delicate web of film-like scarring in its center. It looked as though something had taken a chunk from his neck and his body had fought desperately to knit itself back together.
It was all I could do not to clap a hand over my mouth.
You did that, Caitlyn. You are the reason he was left to fight in this world. To survive. All because you were too busy making your stupid candy to summon him.
My spiraling guilt was cut short when my mate gave the first signs of waking. His lips rounded on a silent word then tightened, as if whatever thought was dragging him from sleep was a painful thought.
Then he did the strangest thing.
He brought the arm that had been resting at his side up from beneath the quilt, fingers searching blindly until they found the band around his wrist, and he pulled it taut.
Snap.
The elastic cracked sharply against his skin.
What an odd way to wake oneself up, I thought.
With a low grumble, Blaise finally lowered the arm covering his face. He blinked up at the ceiling a few times, adjusting to the brightness, before realizing I was watching him. The tips of his ears flushed as he turned his head toward me.
“Morning,” he said.
And then I burst into laughter.
Not a cute, girlish giggle, but a full, from-the-belly, almost hysterical bellow.
Blaise propped himself up on one elbow, his face contorting in confusion—which only sent me spiraling harder.
Because Blaise had no eyebrows.
“Caitlyn?” he said, his hairless brows furrowing further—prompting a fresh peal of hysterical laughter from me. “What’s so funny?”
“You...” I managed to choke out between giggles. “You didn’t happen to... have a run-in with... Creep last night?”
I crossed my arms over my stomach and rolled onto my side, fingers digging into my ribs in a futile attempt to stave off the sharp stitches piercing through me.
“Creep?” Blaise asked, a note of bewilderment edging into his voice. “Nothing major.”
“Well... you must have done something, because—” Another wave of laughter took me, prolonged by the way his bare brow line lifted impatiently. “—because... she’s shaved off your eyebrows!”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
Then Blaise slowly raised a hand to his face and gently traced where his eyebrows should have been.
And then—to my complete and utter surprise—he burst out laughing right along with me.
As soon as one of us started to calm down, the other would set them off again.
Before long, we were both rolling around on the bed, tears streaming down our faces, laughter echoing through the room.
We didn’t stop laughing until I accidentally rolled into the crook of his arm, the heat of his body searing through me like wildfire.
We both stilled.
My eyes drifted up to meet his devouring stare.
His throat bobbed, his lips parting slightly, and from the corner of my eye I saw the sheets tent as his body reacted to my touch alone.
The stitch in my side vanished, replaced by a slow, molten heat pooling deep in my belly—desire twisting together with the frantic urge to say something. Anything.
For fear of rambling, I said nothing at all, silently willing him instead.
Kiss me, Blaise. Please. Kiss me.
As if he could hear it, he tilted his head toward mine, nostrils flaring as he drew in my scent—giving me time, space, and the chance to pull away if I wanted to.
I pressed my lips to his and immediately lost myself in the sensation of him.
The softness of his mouth against mine. The shudder of restraint that rippled through him, as if every instinct was urging him forward and he was holding himself back by sheer will alone.
His hand rose to my cheek, thumb brushing gently over my skin before his fingers slid into my hair and cupped the back of my head.
He drew me closer, a quiet sound slipping from his throat as his control finally cracked. His tongue brushed tentatively against my lips, asking rather than taking. I opened my mouth to him, and he kissed me deeper, his tongue caressing mine in reverent strokes.
Then, just as the kiss threatened to tip into something deeper—just as his hunger began to steal his rhythm—he broke away.
A soft groan escaped him as he pressed a final, lingering kiss to my lips before resting his forehead against mine, eyes closed, breath unsteady.
He let out an amused huff of air, his lips twitching.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Your eyebrows are tickling me,” he said through the grin.
I couldn’t help the snort-laugh that escaped me as I pushed him away. Blaise fell back onto the bed, still smiling like an idiot, watching me devotedly as I reached into the drawer of my bedside table. My fingers closed around a familiar small bottle.
When I presented it to him, his hairless brows furrowed. “What’s that?”
“Hair-growth potion.” I pumped a small amount onto my fingertip. “I always keep a bottle handy—just in case I annoy Creep or singe my own brows off while brewing.”
Blaise leaned forward obediently, eyes closing as I smoothed the potion along his brow line. His lips brushed the flat of my palm, and an entirely involuntary moan slipped from me.
“They should grow back within the hour,” I said, my voice coming out a pitch higher than usual. “So... are you going to tell me what you did?”
He chewed his bottom lip. “I might have threatened bodily harm to her idol.”
I blinked, not understanding.
“Priscilla was here last night. Well—technically this morning—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish.
Waves of anger and betrayal crashed over me all at once as I screamed, “Creep!”
I twisted in the bed, scanning the room until I caught the glint of her glassy gaze peering from behind the door. She vanished instantly, the attic door slamming shut a heartbeat later.
I kicked the quilts aside and lunged into the dressing room, grabbing the bag of clothes I hadn’t yet unpacked. By the time I stomped back into the bedroom, Blaise was staring at me in panicked bewilderment.
“How’d you do it, hm?” I shouted at the ceiling. “Invite her in and leave the laptop open?” I yanked the door wide as I stormed into the hall. “Or was it the sticky note with the coordinates I conveniently left out for you?”
Blaise was on my heels, still in his T-shirt and boxers, clutching a bag of his clothes to his chest.
“I can’t believe you would do this to me!” Rage propelled me down the stairs, the heels of my feet thudding hard, each step feeling like a kick aimed straight at Creep. I hoped it hurt.
By the time I reached the kitchen, Blaise breathless behind me, my anger had peaked. I flung the pantry door open and it was a miracle it stayed on its hinges.
“If you don’t want to be my house, then fine.”
I flicked my wrist. Lilac sparks burst from my fingertips, and every cauldron, potion, salve, herb, and utensil they touched vanished with a sharp pop, reappearing—hopefully—somewhere near my car. Knowing my luck, they’d probably end up in Timbuktu given how angry I was.
The moment the last ingredient disappeared, I spun on my heel and marched to the pile of camping gear still stacked in the hallway.
Another sharp flick of my wrist and it vanished too.
“Caitlyn—” Blaise started, then stopped when I cut him a sharp look. He lifted his hands in an I’m-on-your-side gesture.
“You know what, Creep?” I said. “I’m okay with a harmless prank here and there. Cutting my hair. Putting rotten rat tails in my food. Hells, I even find it kind of funny half the time.”
I glared up the stairs and caught sight of her porcelain face lurking in the shadows beyond the balustrade. At least she had the decency to show herself and take her dressing-down face to face.
“And I’m even fine with you having your stupid fucking fangirl crush on my sworn enemy,” I went on. “The girl who bullied me and my friends through school. The woman who’s now trying to steal everything I’ve worked so hard—”
My voice cracked, heat burning behind my eyes.
“—worked so hard on to build a better life for me and my mate. I don’t understand it, but who you choose to like is up to you.” I swallowed hard. “What I do draw the line at is you actively trying to sabotage my life’s work.”
I stomped down the hallway and yanked the front door open, jerking my chin for Blaise to go ahead of me. He did, eyes wide, hairless brows arched in stunned disbelief. I paused on the threshold and glared up at Creep.
She looked so small like that, half lost in shadow, and for a fleeting second a thread of pity wound through my anger.
But not enough to stop me.
“If you hate me so much,” I said, my voice tight, “then I’ll make this easy for you. I’m leaving.”
With that, I stepped out onto the porch and slammed the door shut behind me.
I stomped the entire way to my car, where—thankfully—the bundle of supplies I’d magicked out of the house had materialized. All the while, I fought the urge to rake my fingers through my hair and scream my frustration into the open air.
Blaise waited by my side, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and boots while my erratic breathing slowly steadied. When I finally let out a huff, releasing the last of my anger, he said, “I take it we’re camping, then?”
I nodded. “Sorry, Blaise.”
He shrugged easily. “No need to be. I’ve always wanted to try camping.”
“I mean about my outburst,” I said quickly. “I should have handled it better, but—”
Blaise lifted a finger to my lips, gently cutting me off. “We all have our limits, Caitlyn.”
My shoulders sagged in relief. “So... always wanted to go camping, huh?”
He nodded. “It’s been on my list for ages. I just never had enough time between jobs. Usually, I’d end up with a day or two off and spend it rewatching the same show over and over again.”
“That sounds a bit mundane,” I said, “though I suppose it depends on the show.”
The tips of his ears reddened. “Would you think it was lame if I said my favorite show was Hexes at Noon?”
“No way!” I squealed. “You’re a Nooner too?”
Blaise’s expression sobered. “If Kendra and Xaden don’t finally get together next season, I’m literally going to lose my shit.”
I couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from my lips.
A loud creak sounded nearby, and my good mood soured instantly. I shot a glare at the house. Creep was perched on a windowsill, staring out at us with something like longing.
Should I feel bad that the house whose sole magical purpose was, supposedly, to make life easier for a Briar Coven witch and her mate was now missing out on the small connections we were making out of her earshot?
Probably.
Did I?
Hells no.
Creep should’ve thought about that before siding with my childhood bully.
“I think Creep’s missing you already,” Blaise said gently.
My lips pressed together. “Creep will be just fine.” I stepped toward the tent. “Besides, I really need to start brewing—like, yesterday—if I’m going to have any chance of getting these recipes right.”
Blaise caught my shoulders, gently steering me away from the bundle of camping gear and toward the pile of cauldrons and ingredients instead.
“Well then,” he said easily, “I’ll sort the tent. And you can get started on this magic candy of yours.”