Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Liam
I’ve spent the last two days so tangled up in Evie that the real reason I came to this little town of supernaturals has been pushed to the back of my mind.
Not forgotten.
Just… overshadowed by her.
By her laugh. Her scent. The way she looks at me over the rims of her glasses when she thinks I’m not watching. The way my jaguar has decided she belongs with us and has been more than happy to remind me of that every damn second we’re together.
But after the near break-in at the bed-and-breakfast last night, things are more serious than I thought.
Someone is actively looking for something in this house. Something they’re willing to break into an occupied building to find.
And now Evie could be in danger.
I have to tell her my suspicions about her family’s wand.
You’re already here under her roof. What more protection could she need? my jaguar growls, a low rumble vibrating through my chest.
More than we gave her last night.
She was safe.
Barely.
The jaguar huffs, clearly unimpressed with my argument.
Then stay.
I exhale slowly.
As if it were that simple.
We still don’t know the thief’s motive behind the stolen objects, but everything I’ve found leads me to believe this is the last one.
The wand.
I know Evie joked that it was nothing more than a family heirloom passed down through generations, but there has to be more to it than that.
There always is.
I turn and stare at the bed we shared last night. The impression of her head is still visible on the pillow, a faint indentation that shouldn’t mean anything to me and yet somehow feels like proof that she was here.
The memory will haunt me forever. The way her curls spilled across the pillow. The soft, even rhythm of her breathing. The way, sometime during the night, she rolled over and tucked herself against my side as though she belonged there.
My jaguar was insufferable about it.
Mine.
I nearly laughed at the smug satisfaction rolling through him.
Not that Evie would admit she wanted to be there.
She was reluctant to accept my invitation to share her large king-sized bed instead of sleeping downstairs in the old servants’ quarters on a half-century-old twin mattress that was probably held together by little more than stubbornness and dust.
No.
My stubborn witch finally succumbed to my offer only after we mutually agreed it would be platonic.
Part of the rules of the fake dating.
For now.
The thought slips through my mind, and my jaguar immediately perks up.
There is no “for now.”
I shake my head.
You’re getting ahead of yourself.
She is our mate.
The certainty in his voice makes my chest tighten.
I know he’s right.
That’s the problem.
It may have started as fake, but I’m determined that over the next week, while I’m in town searching for the thief, I’ll woo this little witch.
Slowly. Carefully.
Until she understands exactly what she means to me. Until she chooses me.
Until I can finally confess what I’ve been trying not to admit to myself since the first moment I saw her.
But what does that mean for my future?
I’ve worked as a detective for the last fifteen years. Fifteen years of chasing criminals, following leads, sleeping with one eye open, and putting the job before everything else.
Even before myself.
I stayed away from relationships because I told myself it was safer that way. I’d put too many people—bad people—behind bars, both supernatural and human. Having a partner, a family, meant weakness. Soft spots that could be exploited.
But now that I’m here, standing in her bedroom and staring at the spot where she slept curled against me, I can’t make myself believe that walking away is what I want.
And I sure as hell am not about to let her give up her dream of running this bed-and-breakfast.
Not for me. Not for anyone.
She loves this place. I’ve seen it in her eyes every time she talks about it. Even though it takes everything in her to run it, she would give everything for it.
The old house. The creaking floors. The ridiculous seasonal decorations. Her family’s history woven into every room.
She belongs here.
And maybe…
Maybe I could too.
The thought catches me completely off guard.
And in all honesty, haven’t I already been toying with the idea of retiring?
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But eventually.
Maybe picking up a part-time teaching job would give me enough structure to keep my mind sharp while leaving more time for my car and the other hobbies I’ve neglected over the years.
Maybe I’ve spent enough of my life married to the job. Enough nights chasing people who don’t want to be found. Enough mornings waking up alone because I chose another case over everything else.
My jaguar goes strangely quiet.
Then—
You are finally seeing it.
I swallow.
“Maybe.”
Her.
My eyes drift back to the pillow.
I can almost feel her warmth against my side again.
For once, I don’t argue.
I glance around the room at the handmade, carved wooden furniture, the brass doorknobs, and the little details that make the old house feel lived in rather than staged.
Out the window, I can see strings of warm lights draped between the buildings at the start of downtown and colorful trees, their branches waving in the wind.
It wouldn’t be so bad to leave the bustle of the city behind, along with the busy streets and constant demands of the job.
To settle down in a magical little town like this.
As long as I had her by my side.
What I haven’t admitted to Evie yet is that I actually like working with my hands. Fixing things. Taking something apart and figuring out how it works. Puzzling over a problem until all the pieces finally fall into place.
Maybe that’s part of why this place feels so strangely right.
What I hadn’t expected was how quickly I would fall in love with this quaint little town. I’ve only been here a few days, and already, the thought of leaving it—leaving her—pains me more than it should.
Because she is here.
My jaguar rumbles contentedly in my mind.
I huff, dragging a hand through my hair.
“You’re not helping.”
I am always helping.
I roll my eyes.
Of course he thinks so.
Then I remember the panties.
My hand shoots toward the top dresser drawer. I yank it open and find them exactly where I left them, the fabric soft and unmistakably hers.
The moment I bring them close, her scent hits me.
Not just perfume. Her.
I shut my eyes, and she’s there in my mind before I can stop myself—those blue eyes, that wicked smile, the little hitch in her breath when I get too close.
I don’t need much more than that.
The fantasy takes over, vivid enough that for a few dizzy seconds I can almost feel her with me. My restraint frays with every image, every remembered sound, until thinking becomes impossible.
Then I’m done fighting it.
A rough groan tears from my throat as I collapse against the mattress, breathing hard, the little scrap of silk still clenched in my fist.
Fuck.
I’m in serious trouble with this woman.
I pull off the wrinkled clothes I slept in last night—part of our agreement to keep things platonic—and dig through the drawers for a fresh pair of pressed pants, grabbing my favorite burgundy sweater and a cream-colored button-up from the closet before slipping into my leather loafers.
After running a comb through my hair, I rub a hand over the rough stubble on my face.
For a moment, I contemplate getting out my straight razor and cleaning up, but I’m already up later than usual, and I have an appointment with the chief at nine. I don’t have time to stand around worrying about my appearance.
She likes your beard.
“Of course you think she does.”
You should keep it.
I snort and reach for the bedroom door.
The second I pull it open, the smell of coffee greets me.
Dark. Rich. Fresh.
And beneath it… pumpkin spice.
Evie.
I freeze. For one dangerous second, I consider walking downstairs to find her in the kitchen. Maybe steal a cup of coffee.
Maybe steal something far better.
I’d been so tempted to kiss those sweet lips more than once last night…
My jaguar practically shoves against my ribs.
Go to her.
“No.”
Go.
I grip the doorknob tighter because I know myself well enough to know that if I step into that dining room and see her, it will be even harder to pull myself away.
I’ll want to sit across from her while she drinks her coffee and watches me over the rim of her cup.
I’ll want to touch her.
And worse—
I’ll want to kiss her.
So instead, I make a beeline down the stairs and straight out the front door, closing it softly behind me. The cool morning air hits my face, clearing some of the warmth from my skin.
I glance back at the old house, its windows golden in the morning sun.
At the place where I know she is.
My jaguar growls.
You’re leaving her.
“For an hour.”
Too long.
I shake my head, get into my car, and head toward the police station.
The best thing I can do to help my witch right now is figure out who’s trying to steal her family’s wand. Whoever stole the other objects clearly isn’t finished, and I intend to find them.
I’ll bring the thief to justice.
Not just for Evie.
For the families whose treasures have already been taken.
For the people who trusted those pieces of their history to remain safe.
And maybe, just maybe, if I solve this case quickly enough…
I’ll have a reason to stay a little longer.
I drive through downtown, admiring the small shops with their quaint, painted windows.
Everything is draped in an extraordinary amount of Halloween and fall decorations.
Pumpkins are stacked in piles at every street corner in various shades of orange and all different shapes and sizes.
A giant banner hangs above Main Street, reading Welcome to the Pumpkin Harvest Festival of Pumpkin Hollow.