Chapter 3
CROSSFIRE
Graham
“Where are you, man?” Derek’s voice cracked through the speaker on my phone.
“Just entered the city limits on Atlantic Ave.” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I took back over control of my body and Silas returned to the passenger seat. “Is she still okay?”
“Yeah, I’m over here now. But Graham, there’s something you should—”
“Stay with her. I’ve got to stop at Pier 84. Nettles said Linda found another girl.”
“Graham, wait—”
Click.
Asshole move, I know. But whatever he needed to tell me would have to wait.
The truck rumbled to a stop, exhaust hissing into the brittle December air. Frost clung to the edges of the pier, the boards slick with sea mist. Beyond the cordon of uniforms, I spotted Linda—her face pale, horrified, lips moving like she’d already prayed herself raw.
Cops were crowding her, shielding her from the girl on the pier—Maggie’s doppelg?nger.
I’d barely swung my leg out when Linda saw me.
“Get in the mirror, Silas.”
He did as I asked just before Linda shoved past two officers and barreled straight into me, clutching my hands like she’d drown without the grip. Her breath hitched, broken, close to hyperventilating.
“Tell me it’s not her, Graham! Tell me it’s not her!”
Christ. They couldn’t even give her that much? That tiny mercy?
“Hey. Hey.” I caught her hands, grounding her. “Linda, breathe. Look at me.” I waited until those panicked eyes locked onto mine. “It’s not her.”
Her whole body sagged, relief hitting harder than the cold. “Oh, thank God!” Her knees buckled.
“Easy.” I caught her under the arms and guided her back toward the truck, helping her into the driver’s seat. “Sit. Take a few breathers.”
She did, shaking, then tilted her chin up at me. That glare. Sharp as ever. The kind of look that used to pin me to the wall when I’d end up at her house hours after a bad shift ended, reeking of whiskey.
“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice cut like a belt across the back. “Maggie’s been here nearly every damn night for dinner since you ran away.”
“I didn’t run away.”
“Oh, no? Then what do you call it?”
“I was just… processing.” The excuse sounded as pathetic as it was.
“Come here.”
I stepped closer.
“No. Closer.”
I stepped as close as I could without stepping on her.
She slapped me upside the back of the head before I even saw it coming.
“Ow—Jesus, Linda!”
“What is the matter with you?” Her brow arched high. “Do you have any idea how much you screwed up?”
Her glare still pinned me, but my eyes slid past her, back to the pier. The girl’s hair was wrong—lighter, shorter—but the shape of her body, the angle of her jaw, Christ. For a second it really was like staring at Maggie laid out on frozen boards.
My stomach twisted. I shoved it down.
“I asked you a question,” Linda snapped, dragging me back.
“I heard you.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. I flexed my jaw, grinding it down. “You want the truth?” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I couldn’t breathe anymore. Not with Bec and Wren’s ghosts everywhere.”
Her eyes softened for half a second before hardening again. “And what about Maggie? You think she can breathe, waiting for you to come back?”
I swallowed that one whole. Nothing I could say would make me less of an ass.
A couple uniforms shifted by the body, their radios spitting static. The girl’s wrist dangled loose as Crowley maneuvered her into a body bag. The blue polish was chipped at the corners, the same way Maggie’s always was.
Everything narrowed.
Linda touched my arm, gentler now. “You see it too, don’t you? She looks just like her.”
“Yeah…” My response dragged through the cold December air. “That’s the point.”
I couldn’t do the job. Not yet. Not until I saw her. Smelled her. Felt her. Made damn sure she was still alive.
Maggie
“Oh god, I hate mistletoe,” I whined as Hunter pulled out a sprig from behind his back.
“Let’s hang this just for us,” he said, smirking, his voice smooth like honey. “That way we can sneak off during the party, and everyone will have to let us. Because… mistletoe.”
A draft curled around my shoulders, carrying the scent of the fresh pine garlands we’d strung. I shivered. The fire cracked behind us, throwing flickering shadows across Hunter’s sharp features, making that smile seem impossibly charming.
“Fine,” I muttered, swiping at the sticky sap clinging to my fingers. “But only for us.”
He leaned closer, just enough that I could feel his warmth through the chill in the air. My gaze flicked to his, catching the faint glint of amusement there.
The manor seemed to sigh around us, settling into the corners, listening, making me undeniably aware that it was just the two of us.
“Now for the fun part,” Hunter said, kissing me tenderly before crouching beside the stack of storage boxes by the hearth. “Our wee winter fairyland.”
I rolled my eyes but still smiled.
Hunter was intense, and I’d never know if it was because of the spell or if he was just made that way.
I lifted the lid on the first box. Inside, newspaper wrapped around the delicate ice faeries I’d saved my bakery tips for—shimmering, frozen mid-dance.
Their tiny glass wings caught the firelight as I pulled them free.
I set them carefully on the mantel, feeling the subtle energy of the manor ripple through my fingers.
Hunter picked up a faerie, tilting it in the light. “See? They love it here. Almost as much as I do,” he murmured, eyes lingering on me.
I laughed nervously, feeling the pull of his attention, the way he made me, the decorations, even the manor itself—feel like it existed for just him.
He set the last faerie carefully on the mantel, their tiny wings twinkling in the light. I stepped back, admiring the display, and he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“You know,” he said, voice low. “I could get used to this—us, the manor… all of it.”
Before I could answer, he leaned in. Soft lips against mine, warm and deliberate, the kind of kiss that felt like he was claiming a corner of me just for him.
I stayed still, grounding myself in the moment, my pulse rushing despite the small, nagging voice reminding me he was only here because of the spell.
But the firelight danced on his features, and even the ice faeries seemed to glow brighter while he kissed me.
I melted into his arms.
Then—knock, knock, knock.
I pulled away, caught between the warmth of the kiss and the sudden intrusion.
“I’ll get it. You check in the next box.” I opened the door, and my heart lurched back to life.
It was Graham.
His wide shoulders silhouetted against the light snow falling behind him. His jaw was set, his eyes locked on mine.
God, he looked good.
Those smoldering eyes, that moth tattoo at his throat—practically took me out at the knees.
I wanted to dive into his arms and let him take me right there, but I also wanted to punch him in the balls for how he left things.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, holding my arm like it would somehow stop the excitement from ripping right through me.
“Max, I’m sorry I left you the way I did. I was stupid and confused… and scared.”
I stepped onto the front porch and closed the door behind me.
“I get it,” I said, casually sliding my sweater’s sleeve down to cover the silicone bandage on my wrist.
“No, Max. I fucked up… It wasn’t okay. Let me fix it.” He pulled me close, nuzzling into my neck, his hand wrapping around my back like we could just pick up where we left off. “Mmm, I’ve missed your scent, pretty girl.”
I wanted so much just to fall into him—to let him apologize in any way he wanted to…
but I couldn’t. Part of me ached too deep to know if forgiveness was even possible.
And the other part... Well, that one demanded I grab his shirt and send the buttons flying so I could run my fingers through his rugged chest hair before he showed me just what I’d been missing.
“Graham, I—” I pushed back.
The door opened.
Hunter stepped out holding two wooden Krampus figures.
Graham went very still beside me.
“Mags, which one do you want on the mantel, Santa Krampus or the one with the bag full of chil—dren?”
Hunter eyed Graham up and down. A slight aggravation ticked in his eye.
“Graham, this is Hunter…” I pushed Graham away. “My… boyfriend.” My gut fell as I said the words.
“Hey, mate.” Hunter tucked a figurine under his arm and offered his hand to Graham.
He shook it, pain pricking in his eye. “Graham.”
“Nice to meet you. How do you know Maggie?”
“We used to—”
“Be friends!” I blurted.
That hurt him, and the moment I said it, I sighed at my own stupidity. Graham’s infamous wall went up.
Dammit.
“Is he going to be a guest?” Hunter asked, slipping his free arm around my waist.
“Oh… yes, good idea! Will you come to my Yule party? I need all the support I can get. My mother invited herself and my family over, and God, I could use as many excuses for a quick exit as possible. Annie won’t be here until the solstice and—”
“That wasn’t what I was talking about,” Hunter interrupted, squeezing me tighter. “A guest.”
“Oh? Oh—I uh—I don’t know.” I looked between the two of them, unsure if I could give Hunter what he needed while being preoccupied with Graham and all the things we were… plus “handle” both of them. That was a task in itself.
The silence was so loud I thought I was going deaf.
“Why don’t you finish the mantel with the Santa Krampus,” I said, “and Graham and I will have a little… chat out here.”
“You got it, pretty thing,” he said, pulling me in, his hand inching lower and lower until he had a full handful of my ass in his grip. He squeezed and planted a hard kiss on my lips as if he was claiming me in front of Graham.
We parted, Hunter went inside, and my cheeks flushed so unbearably hot as I stood there unable to look Graham in the eye.
“So… you have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah…” I took his hand and pulled him over to the patio chairs. “I just did what I was told.”
He shot me a look, his eyebrows creased together. “Fair. You moved on. Got it.”