Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
JUNIE
The threatening note arrived the morning after Junie agreed to help Leo decode her grandmother’s recipes.
She found it pinned to the back door of Moonrise Mixology with a silver dagger—the kind used in blood magic rituals, the kind that cost a fortune on the black market, the kind that said we’re serious and we have resources.
The message itself was simple. Elegant handwriting on cream-colored paper, like a wedding invitation from hell.
Stop asking questions. Or the next incident won’t be a warning.
Junie stood in the alley behind her shop, Glimmer coiled tightly around her neck, and read the words three times. Her hands didn’t shake. Her voice didn’t waver when she called Wyatt.
But cold dread had settled in her stomach. Fear, sharp and certain.
The “next incident” came six hours later.
She was sorting through salvageable inventory in the back room—Wyatt had finally cleared the crime scene, though the shop was still weeks away from reopening—when the ceiling beam gave way.
No warning. No creaking or groaning or any of the sounds a building makes before it tries to kill you. A sudden crack and two hundred pounds of enchanted timber crashed down exactly where she’d been standing three seconds earlier.
Three seconds. That’s how long Glimmer’s warning had given her. The snake had gone rigid, scales flashing emergency red, and Junie had thrown herself sideways on pure instinct.
The beam missed her by inches. Close enough that splinters embedded in her sleeve. Close enough that she could feel the displaced air as it fell.
Close enough that she understood the message.
This wasn’t structural failure. This was attempted murder.
“Absolutely not.”
Theo’s voice carried the weight of alpha authority, the kind that made most people instinctively lower their eyes and agree. Junie was not most people, but even she felt the pressure of his displeasure as he stood in the middle of her ruined shop, arms crossed, pale eyes blazing.
“You’re not staying here,” he continued. “You’re not staying in your apartment. You’re not staying anywhere that isn’t warded to the teeth and surrounded by people who can protect you.”
“I can protect myself—”
“A ceiling beam almost crushed your skull.” Theo’s lips set in a thin line. “And before you say it was an accident, I’ve had Beck examine the supports. They were sabotaged. Whoever did this knew exactly when to trigger the collapse.”
Junie’s stomach lurched. She’d suspected, but hearing it confirmed was different. Someone had been watching her. Waiting for the right moment.
“The Siren’s Rest.” Avine stepped forward, her hand finding Theo’s arm in that casual way mated couples touched. “It’s the safest building in Haven Shores. The wards are layered—witch and wolf magic combined. Nothing gets in without triggering at least three different alarm systems.”
“Plus, it’s where I’m staying.” Leo’s voice came from the doorway.
Junie turned. He stood in the entrance to her shop, framed by afternoon light, wearing another of those perfectly tailored suits. His expression was carefully neutral, but tension sat in his shoulders, tightness around his mouth—he was barely containing a stronger emotion.
“All the more reason not to go there,” Junie muttered, though her heart had done a traitorous flip at the sight of him.
“All the more reason to go.” Theo’s voice brooked no argument. “Castellan has resources. Security training. And whoever’s behind this is targeting both of you. Keeping you separated makes their job easier.”
“I don’t need a babysitter—”
“You need to stay alive.” Leo crossed to stand in front of her, close enough that she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “The note, the beam—they’re escalating. Victor’s people know we’re collaborating, and they’re trying to stop us before we find evidence they can’t explain away.”
“Victor’s people?”
“The sabotage signature matches his usual methodology. The silver dagger, the theatrical note—he likes to make a statement.” Leo’s jaw flexed. “This has his fingerprints all over it.”
Junie looked at her shop. At the broken shelves and shattered glass and the massive beam that had nearly ended her life. At Glimmer, still coiled around her neck, scales cycling through anxious purples.
She thought about her grandmother’s recipe book sitting in the hands of someone who’d tried to kill her twice now. About the encoded pages that held secrets worth murdering for.
About the way Leo was looking at her—not with pity or condescension, but with fierce, barely contained protectiveness that made her throat tighten.
“Fine.” The word came out rough. “But I’m not happy about it.”
Avine’s smile was entirely too pleased. “Of course not. I’ll have a room prepared. Right next to Leo’s.”
Junie shot her best friend a look that promised retribution. Avine smiled wider.
The first night had been a disaster.
Junie had slept terribly. New bed, new sounds, the constant awareness that Leo Castellan was sleeping right next door with nothing but a wall between them.
She’d tossed and turned until nearly four a.m., finally falling into restless dreams full of broad shoulders and strong hands and a voice that made her shiver.
She woke at nine-thirty to weak sunlight and the horrifying realization that she’d forgotten to pack anything resembling appropriate clothing.
The pajamas she’d grabbed in her hasty departure from her apartment were… not suitable for public viewing. A faded tank top with a hole in the hem. Shorts that had seen better days. Her hair had escaped its braid and was currently staging a revolution against all known laws of physics.
And she was starving.
Get to the kitchen, she told herself. Grab some coffee, grab some food, and get back to your room before anyone sees you.
The Siren’s Rest was quiet this time of morning. Most guests were already out exploring Haven Shores or sleeping off the previous night’s activities. Junie padded down the hallway in bare feet, following the scent of coffee and hoping desperately that the breakfast room would be empty.
It was not empty.
Leo sat at a table by the window, immaculate in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading through a stack of papers. A cup of coffee steamed at his elbow. His hair was perfectly arranged. His jaw was freshly shaved.
He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine for annoyingly attractive businessmen.
He looked up.
His coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth.
Junie stood in the doorway, acutely aware of every single thing wrong with her appearance. The tank top. The shorts. The hair that was probably achieving heights not seen since the eighties.
“Good morning,” Leo said, after a pause that lasted approximately seventeen years.
“I forgot to pack clothes.” Why did she say that? Why was that the first thing out of her mouth? “I mean—I packed some clothes. Obviously. I’m wearing clothes. Just not—” She gestured vaguely at herself. “These aren’t my—I don’t usually—”
Stop talking. Stop talking immediately.
Leo set his coffee down. Amusement flickered across his face—or maybe something warmer that he quickly suppressed. “Coffee?”
“God, yes.”
She crossed to the sideboard where a carafe sat waiting, trying not to think about how his eyes tracked her movement. Trying not to notice the way his attention felt like heat against her skin.
The coffee was perfect. Strong enough to strip paint, exactly how she liked it. She took a long sip, letting the caffeine work its magic on her scrambled brain.
“There’s food,” Leo offered. “Avine had the kitchen prepare a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, those pastries Dahlia made.”
“Dahlia’s pastries?”
“She dropped them off this morning. Mentioned comfort food and murderous architects.”
Despite everything, Junie smiled. That sounded exactly like Dahlia.
She loaded a plate with food she wasn’t sure she could eat—her stomach was doing strange things, and not from the near-death experience—and considered her options.
Retreat to her room like a coward. Sit as far from Leo as possible and pretend they weren’t both thinking about the last time they’d talked.
Or sit across from him and face whatever this was head-on.
Junie had never been a coward. She’d also never been particularly smart about self-preservation.
She sat down across from Leo.
Glimmer emerged from her hiding spot in Junie’s disastrous hair and tasted the air in Leo’s direction.
“She’s decided you’re not an immediate threat.” Junie picked at a pastry. “High praise from Glimmer. She once tried to bite the mailman for looking at me wrong.”
“What happened to the mailman?”
“He switched routes. Now we get a very nice woman named Patricia who always compliments Glimmer’s scales.” Junie finally met his eyes. “You’re staring.”
“Am I?”
“You’ve been staring since I walked in.”
Leo didn’t look away. Didn’t pretend he hadn’t been doing exactly what she’d accused him of. “You have flour in your hair.”
“What?” Her hand flew up, patting uselessly at the mess on her head.
“From the pastries, I assume.” He reached across the table—slowly, giving her time to pull away—and brushed crumbs from the crown of her head. His fingers were gentle. They lingered for a second longer than necessary.
“There.” His voice had gone slightly rough. “Got it.”
Junie’s pulse hammered against her throat. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They stared at each other across the breakfast table, morning light streaming through the windows, the ruins of coffee and pastries between them. Neither spoke. Neither looked away.
Glimmer made a sound that might have been approval or might have been digestive distress. Hard to tell with snakes.
“I should—” Junie started.
“There’s research—” Leo said at the same time.
They both stopped. Both laughed, awkward and surprised, and charged with tension neither was ready to name.
“Go ahead,” Leo offered.
“I was going to say I should probably put on real clothes.” Junie gestured at herself again. “Before Avine sees me and stages an intervention.”
“That might be wise.”
“And then we can work? On the research?”
“The inn has a library. Avine said we could use it.”
“A library.” Junie nodded, not trusting herself to say anything more complicated. “Good. Libraries are good. Lots of books. Books are… helpful.”
Someone please stop me from talking.
She stood, gathering her coffee and her plate and the tattered remains of her dignity. “I’ll go. Get dressed. Be a person. Meet you in the library.”
“Take your time.” Leo’s mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They were a statement of fact. He was staying at the inn. Of course, he wasn’t going anywhere.
But as Junie fled back to her room with her face burning and her pulse pounding, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d meant something else entirely.