Chapter 3 #2
Lily closed the door and leaned against it, heart hammering. She’d been right. He knew she was a witch. The acknowledgment hung between them like a shared secret, intimate and loaded with possibility. But she had no idea what it meant or how it would affect her future here.
She carried the bowl to the window, lifting the towel to find homemade soup, crusty rosemary scented bread, and a small jar of honey. Real food made with care. The first spoonful nearly brought her to tears. It was rich with herbs and vegetables, warming her from the inside out.
As she ate, she flipped through Gray's brewing manual.
His notes filled every margin with observations about hop varieties, fermentation temperatures, and seasonal adjustments.
His notes reminded her of her grandmother's grimoire and her attention to detail. He’d recorded his careful observations about temperature and timing, but also noted the need for intuition.
'Trust what feels right,' he'd written in one margin.
That philosophy ran through all his annotations. Science balanced with instinct.
This wasn't just work to him. This was passion and art and obsession all rolled into one.
Why had he shared something so personal with an employee he barely trusted?
But even as she wondered, her body already knew. The same magnetic pull that made her magic sing in his presence was working on him too. Whatever this connection was, it ran both ways.
She finished eating and padded down the hall to the shared bathroom, Gray's scent hitting her the moment she opened the door. Cedar and pine and that distinctly male deliciousness that made her core clench.
She imagined him in here stocking her towels… Or maybe he shared this bathroom too.
The thought sent fire racing through her veins as images flooded her mind. Gray under the spray, water streaming over those broad shoulders, powerful hands sliding soap across tanned skin.
Her reflection in the mirror looked wild-eyed and flushed. Three weeks of being on the run had left her pale and hollow-cheeked, but there was color in her face now. Heat.
Because of him.
Back in her room, she settled on the bed with his book again, trying to focus on technical details instead of the man who'd written them. But every note was like a window into his mind, which came across as methodical, passionate, and brilliant.
Not long ago she’d had that kind of dedication about her magic, before the coven tried to steal it.
The crescent-shaped scar on her wrist throbbed at the memory. The binding ritual would have left her a shell, magically lobotomized for the rest of her life. She'd escaped, but the burn of betrayal never quite faded.
She set the book aside and stretched out on the narrow bed, but sleep felt impossible. Her skin seemed too tight, her pulse too quick. The sense of security she felt here was something she had no business feeling. Not to mention promises of heat and things she couldn't afford to want.
Her body burned with awareness as she reveled in this rare moment. She wasn’t truly safe, but for a few quiet seconds, she focused on that feeling and what it might be like if she belonged here. To him…
She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache building there, but it only made things worse. Heat pulsed between her legs, demanding attention she didn't dare give. Not here. Not now. He’d said the walls were thin, and her new boss was below with the others.
She thought about Gray filling her doorway, the way his eyes swept over her like he wanted to devour her. About his hands, strong and calloused from his work, but gentle enough to craft beer and powerful enough to pin her down and make her forget every reason this was a terrible idea.
She bit back a frustrated sound. This was insane. She was exhausted and running on adrenaline. The last thing she needed was to complicate her new job by fantasizing about her boss.
But her body wasn't listening to logic.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the covers up to her chin and tried to ignore the restless energy humming under her skin. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and new reasons to keep her distance from one sexy Gray Moore.
Tonight, though, she couldn't stop imagining what it might be like to trust someone again. To have an ally instead of enemies. And build something lasting instead of running again.
Outside her window, the festival lights twinkled like stars, and somewhere in the building below, a certain brooding wolf was maybe fighting the same pull as her.
The thought made her pulse quicken as sleep finally claimed her.
But her dreams were anything but peaceful.
She dreamed of her cousin Willow's face during the binding attempt, tears streaming as she helped hold Lily down.
"It's for your own good," Willow had sobbed.
"So you don't die like your mother." The other coven sisters were chanting in a circle, the moon blade cutting into her wrist, the sensation of her magic being pulled from her bones like thread unraveling.
She woke with a gasp, her wrist throbbing. But as her racing heart slowed, she realized something had changed. The dream usually left her paralyzed with fear, unable to move for hours.
Tonight, it faded quickly. The room around her felt solid. Safe. Gray's scent still lingered in the air, reminding her that she wasn't alone.
For the first time in weeks, she couldn’t avoid the feeling of hope.
And that terrified her more than any coven ever could.