Chapter 3
After that awkward breakfast, Sara and I escaped to get dressed and head for the skate rink again. “Can you skate?” I asked
her, when we pulled into the parking lot.
“Nope,” she said, with emphasis. “If you put wheels on my feet, I will die.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dramatic much? You’ll be fine. I’ll give you some lessons when I get a break.”
Her expression indicated she’d rather visit a gynecologist healer than learn to skate, but she didn’t argue as we got out
of the Jeep and I locked the doors.
The rink had been open for a few hours already, but it was quiet through the week and wouldn’t pick up until this evening.
After I dropped my bag off in the cubby and introduced Sara to my manager, James, I deposited her on the couch. “I have a
break in a couple of hours,” I told her. “You good until then? Order food and drinks, and it’s on me.”
“Yes, I’m good, witch. Fuck off and do your job.”
Ah, the love.
We were in the human world, but her use of the word witch wouldn’t cause any issues. Humans would just assume it was a substitute for bitch, and in a way, it was.
James eyed me closely as I hurried behind the counter and grabbed a cloth, ready to wipe down the benches. “You okay, Hallistar?”
he asked, the bright blue of his eyes deepening as he watched me.
His parents owned this place, and he’d been the manager for the last two years. He was twenty-five and the most relaxed human
I’d ever met. He didn’t sweat the small shit and let me skate as much as I needed to get out of my own head. It didn’t hurt
that he was hot, even if he wasn’t my type. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, and tanned. He looked like a Californian surfer, except
he hated swimming and would rather snowboard.
“All good,” I shot back, with a sassy wink. “Just ready to wipe some tables.”
He was propped against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest as he drawled, “Yeah, you’ve always been my most enthusiastic
cleaner.”
Whoops. Yeah, cleaning wasn’t my strong suit. Magic took care of it at home, so I was rather lazy in that department.
“Work in progress,” I said with a shrug.
His smirk turned into a nice laugh. “Your progress is fine. Now get that cute ass to work.”
He was a flirt, and I didn’t even blink twice when he mentioned my ass. He’d never made any sort of move on me, and I figured
by now that this was just how our friendship rolled.
A customer came up to rent skates and he turned away to serve them. As I got to work on a sticky table, my phone buzzed, and
I immediately pulled it from my back pocket to read the message:
Stalkcaster: James Bronson wants to die.
My heart fucking stopped. The phone slipped from my fingers, and it was only the threadbare red carpet that stopped it from smashing. With panicked heartbeats filling my ears, I turned and glanced across the rink, but I couldn’t see Logan anywhere.
“Paisley.” I jerked when a strong hand wrapped around my wrist, only to find James’s concerned face in front of me. “Sweetheart,
are you okay?”
Shit. Fuck. Shit and fuck.
He held my phone, and I snatched it back to stop him reading the message. But he caught my wrist again and scanned the screen
still lit up in my hand.
“What is this about?” he murmured, and I yanked on his hold, silently demanding he release me. “Do you have a jealous boyfriend
waiting in the wings, Paisley?” He lifted his head and searched the room just as I’d done.
I shook my head, violently. “No! He’s just an asshole. Ignore him. His bark is worse than his bite.” Absolute fucking lie. Logan could wipe James out of existence with a flick of his energy.
Thankfully, when I tugged on my hand again, James released me and my phone. “Are you in trouble, Paisley?” His normally lighthearted
expression was serious. “Do you need my help? Because I’m here for whatever you need.”
My phone buzzed, and we both looked at it.
Stalkcaster: He has ten seconds, Precious.
I could practically feel Logan’s fury and magic radiating around us.
I took a step away from James, and then another. “I’m totally fine,” I assured him, needing him to believe me. “We should get to work.” I waved to where two girls were waiting at the counter. Tiffany and Gertie came in here at least twice a week to flirt with James.
James examined me closely, and it was clear that he thought I was hiding from an abusive ex. Or something equally as nefarious.
Turning away from him, and hoping he’d take a hint and leave me alone, I quickly searched the room once more, but there was
no sign of Logan. I shot back a quick text.
Paisley: Back the Hel off, fuckwit. James is my friend and that’s all. Even if he wasn’t, you don’t get to dictate any part of my
life. We screwed once. Stop being creepy.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and got to work.
The next couple of hours passed quickly. James kept an annoyingly close eye on me, even as I took a break to give Sara some
lessons. It turned out she was completely correct when she said if I put her on wheels she was going to die.
“You’re not normally clumsy,” I said with a burst of laughter as I grabbed her to stop a face-plant for the twentieth time.
“What’s happening here?”
She couldn’t keep her balance, no matter how I tried to guide her. Eventually we gave up and ate nachos and drank soda for
thirty minutes before I was hauled back to work by James.
My phone buzzed more than once during my shift, but I resolutely ignored it.
By the time Candace arrived to relieve me, I was exhausted, mostly from the tension of expecting Logan to show his face. Despite
the messages indicating he was watching, he never made an actual appearance.
“Ready to go?” I slumped on the couch next to Sara.
She threw back the last of her wine—she’d finished a bottle to calm her nerves after skate lessons—and jumped to her feet. “Go where? Can we go dancing? I need to burn off some of my powe—energy.” She glanced around, but no humans were paying us any attention.
As a fully bloomed witch, I understood the fire in her blood.
The suppression potion, which I’d taken just before we left home, tempered my magic, but the fires burning deep inside were
as strong as ever. “You need to get laid.”
I received the full force of her puppy dog eyes. “Please, Paisley. Please, please.”
It was only ten, so we had plenty of time to head out for the night. “You’re cute when you beg,” I said with a sigh. “Okay,
let’s swing by home so I can get changed. Then we’ll catch an Uber.”
Sara let out a shriek, drawing attention our way.
She didn’t care.
“Let’s go, witch. I’m so ready. It was a long few weeks in Romania.”
I understood better than I wished I did.
My dry patch was a desert at this point. Might as well burn in the heat.
The Witching Hour was a club in downtown Spokane, and while it was open to humans, it was owned by a witch. No one knew which
witch—hah!—but she catered to our kind. If you knew what to ask for.
“Come on, pleaseeee,” Sara was begging again, and I caved again.
“Okay, one wine. ONE! I’m still hungover from the last time I drank witch wine.”
Not to mention it ended up being one of the worst nights of my life, with Dad losing his job. One way or another, his trial would bring it all to an end, but I’d never forget waking up half-dead and learning what happened.
We weren’t old enough to purchase the wine legally, but Sara had been chatting up a warlock at the bar, and he was more than
happy to provide us with drinks in exchange for my bestie’s ass in his hands as they danced in the middle of a floor filled
with writhing bodies.
She was in her signature red, a short bodycon dress that hugged every curve. Her dark hair was curled down her back, and she
wore five-inch heels to elevate her tiny stature.
Sipping my drink, I enjoyed the slide of warmth into my center as I watched the dance floor. The beat was dark and heavy,
and with each sip of witch wine, the need to move filled me. My black dress was as tight and revealing as Sara’s, leaving
my long legs on display. I wore heeled boots that shot me just over six feet tall.
I’d decided to let loose tonight. Sara had curled my golden-brown hair and lined my eyes in smoky shadows. My magic was suppressed,
there were no monsters—I was topped up on potion—and I could ignore my problems for a few hours.
Throwing back the wine, I set the glass on the table and headed for the dance floor. My phone, tucked in my black chain shoulder
bag, buzzed against my side, and I felt it all the way through my blood.
I was still ignoring his messages.
There was a mix of human and magical folk dancing, and for once I didn’t gravitate toward those with power. I just moved.
The beat grew more intense, and with the heat of wine in my veins, I lifted my arms and swayed.
Losing myself.
Here, I wasn’t a demon-witch responsible for deaths.
I wasn’t worried about having my head removed due to a recessive gene.
I was a just a witch shaking her ass.
Firm hands landed on my hips, and as the scent of mint and evergreen washed over me, I released a long breath. I knew he’d
come for me eventually, and now that he was here, the part of me that had been adrift since All Hallows’ finally settled.
Letting myself lean against him, the beat and energy filled us as we moved. Logan’s hard body pressed against my back, and
his right hand slid possessively across my stomach, pulling me closer. Not a word was spoken, but our magic swirled with us,
gliding over my skin until I was needy and breathless. We drew attention . . . or one of us did.
The six and a half feet of gorgeous warlock, no doubt, but I didn’t care.
I’d been craving this moment since that first message . . . Actually, since the moment he told Mom that I belonged to him
and he’d give her a month.
I’d been subconsciously counting down.
The connection between us was slightly dulled by the suppression potion, but my magic would always find Logan.
It would recognize its match, even in a crowd of a million.
Logan spun me to face him, and despite the heels, I still had to tilt my head back to meet the ice of his light green eyes.
That mossy ring at the center drew me closer, and our movement slowed as electricity crackled in the air, and Logan leaned
down.
I forgot how to breathe, anticipating what he’d do next. “Precious,” he rumbled, a barely leashed ferality in my name. “You’re
so fucking gorgeous.”
Those words sent a shiver down my spine, and I had to ask, “Where have you been? Why are you here now?”
His gaze remained firmly on my face as he took me in like he’d missed every part of me. “I kept my word and left you alone for a month. But I can’t stay away any longer.”
My stomach flipped, and I couldn’t deny the pull that I’d always felt between us. It was stronger than ever, and when his
lips pressed against mine, I lost track of existence and the crowd faded around us. The music muted, as if we’d slipped underwater
and were sinking away from the world.
As Logan demanded entrance, his tongue swiped across mine while his hands slid lower and wrapped around the bare skin of my
thighs. He yanked me higher until our faces were even, and on instinct, my legs enclosed his waist. I hadn’t had a chance
to really see what he wore, but I could feel denim brush my thighs, and the added friction had me arching against the spellcaster.
Our kiss deepened as I slid my hands into his thick dark hair, yanking him closer in a desperate, drugging way. The flex of
his fingers against my bare skin had moans spilling from my lips. “Come home with me tonight, Precious,” he breathed.
Goddess. “Will I be safe?”
He pulled back enough to shoot me a smile, and it was in no way reassuring. “Define safe?”
“Are you going to murder me tonight?”
That darkly angled smile grew. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”
I narrowed my eyes, sensing he’d used that particular pet name more than a few times thanks to James. Logan Kingston was a
straight-up psychopath, so why the Hel was I so turned on?
“Wait here,” I said, wiggling until he released me back to my feet. “Don’t fucking move.”
His eyes narrowed, and I already knew he wasn’t a fan of being told what to do. Which was tough luck tonight.
I felt his hard gaze on me as I turned away to search for Sara, knowing I couldn’t leave without her.
Every instinct might have me wanting to climb that spellcaster like a fucking tree, but my friends would always come first.