Chapter 27 #3
The afternoon runs. At six, we close. I clean my station. Nash holds the door. We ride. At the apartment, he grabs two beers from the fridge. Pops both caps. Sets one in front of me at the kitchen table and sits across from me.
"Frankie talked to you," he says.
"Frankie talked to me." I wrap my hands around the cold beer bottle. "I have to tell you everything she said, and I need you to not do the jaw thing until I'm finished. Because the jaw thing is going to happen and I need at least thirty seconds of jaw-free processing time before it starts."
He sets his beer down. Gives me his full attention.
"Frankie's a witch. Lineage-based. Grandmother, mother, sister, her.
Arden is a vampire. He's been a vampire for centuries, which explains the standing-in-doorways thing, the not-aging thing, and the general vibe of 'I have seen empires rise and fall and I am tired.
' Leo is also a vampire now because Arden turned him to save his life after the shooting, and he's been living in Frankie's basement adjusting to the whole undead situation, which explains the heartburn complaints and the ham sandwiches at four in the morning. "
I take a breath.
"Frankie's sister Maeve is also a witch, she's been traveling, and she's getting closer to Willowridge.
Apparently she and Arden have some kind of history that Frankie will not elaborate on, which is the most Frankie thing I've ever encountered.
Also, my hands carry supernatural intention and my tattoo designs cast protection spells without my knowledge or consent.
Which means every piece I've ever done is apparently enchanted, and I am, in Frankie's words, 'witch-adjacent,' which is not a real category and I'm still processing the classification. "
I take another breath. "Your jaw can do the thing now."
Nash's jaw doesn't move. His expression doesn't change.
"I know about Arden," he says.
"You KNOW?"
"I've known since I met him. Arden and I have an understanding."
"An understanding. You and the vampire have an UNDERSTANDING.
You've been running perimeter sweeps alongside an immortal being and you just had an understanding about it?
What does the understanding entail, Nash?
Is there a handshake? A secret nod? Do you do the chin tilt and he does the vampire equivalent, which is what, a fang tilt? "
"There's no fang tilt."
"There should be a fang tilt. There should be a whole system.
You two have been standing at posts together for years doing the stoic-men-guarding-things routine.
The whole time one of you was doing it because it's his job while the other was doing it because he's been alive since before electricity and has literally nothing better to do. "
His mouth twitches. Both corners.
"Witch-adjacent," he says.
"It's not a real category."
"It suits you."
"How does being accidentally magical suit me? In what universe does 'Oops, I've been casting spells with my tattoo machine' constitute a personality fit?"
He reaches across the table. His hands close around both of mine, then he pulls me out of my chair, around the table, and into his lap. I land sideways across his thighs, my face pressing into his neck. Sandalwood and leather. The smell that means home.
"Your hands have always been the best thing about you," he says against my hair. "The magic just gave it a name."
I grip his shirt with both fists. The fists that apparently carry supernatural intention. The fists that are currently holding onto a man whose security consultant is a vampire and whose girlfriend is a witch-adjacent woman with enchanted tattoo equipment.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"You want to see what else I can do with my hands?"
His grip on my waist tightens. "Ruby."
"Because, according to Frankie, my hands carry supernatural intention.
Which means everything I touch is enchanted.
Which means every time I've touched you, I've been casting spells on you without your knowledge or consent.
" I trace a line down his chest with my finger.
"Which means technically you've been under my spell since the first fry I stole off your plate.
I didn't just steal a fry, Nash. I hexed you. With a potato."
"You hexed me with a potato."
"A supernatural potato. A potato of destiny.
That fry was the most powerful piece of fried food in Mississippi history.
" I shift in his lap, turning to face him, with my knees on either side of his thighs.
"Now that I know about the hands, the possibilities are endless.
I can enchant your coffee. I can bewitch your laundry.
Put a protection spell on your motorcycle just by touching the handlebars. "
"You're not touching my motorcycle."
"I'm touching everything, Nash. Everything in this apartment is getting enchanted. The spice rack. The couch. Your pillow." I lean closer. "You."
His mouth twitches. Both corners. "I'm already enchanted."
"That was smooth. That was dangerously smooth. I need you to understand that you just said something smooth. The smooth thing combined with your face, the beer, and the way your hands are on my waist right now is creating a situation that my newly magical body is having strong opinions about."
"What kind of opinions?"
"The kind that involve my bed, my enchanted hands, and approximately zero clothing." I hold up my fingers and wiggle them. "These are weapons now, Nash. Weapons of mass seduction. The Department of Supernatural Homeland Security should be monitoring me. I'm a threat to national stability."
He laughs. Head tipping back, throat exposed. I feel it in my ribs.
"I'm serious," I say. "I'm a menace. An enchanted menace. You're dating a woman whose hands are classified as supernatural weapons. Whose boss is a witch and whose coworker lives in a basement eating ham sandwiches at four in the morning. This is your life now. Welcome to it."
"I've been in it for a while."
"You've been in the preview. This is the main event." I press my mouth to the corner of his jaw. "Take me to bed, Nashville. Let me show you what these hands can do when they know what they are."
He stands, lifting me with him. I'm wrapped around him, legs at his waist, arms at his neck, and I can feel him hard beneath me. He adjusts his grip on my thighs, and the shift slides me against his cock. The groan that comes out of me presses into his neck.
"Ruby."
"Mm."
"Your hands have always known what they are."
I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, press my mouth to his ear, and sing, off-key, directly into his eardrum. "I put a spell on you, and now you're mine."
His groan echoes down the hallway.