Page 63 of Shades of Silver City

“Oh come on. I’m not taking a handout. And I’m not owing you shit.”

I’d be a fool to be indebted to anyone—especially some guy I don’t even know.

He pauses, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His glances past me, toward Scathe and Godric outside, then back to me.

“Be my date,” he says, “to an event this weekend.”

“An event?” He nods, and a slow smile overtakes my face. “Archer Acciai, are you asking me out?”

His cheeks flush as he scratches the back of his head and looks away. “It’s—I—we can—”

“I’m only teasing you,” I say, chuckling at his apparent nervousness. “Yes. I’ll be your date.”

“Obviously it’s not a real date. Think of it as work.”

My heart drops. “Yes. Yes of course.” I force a smile. “Your fake date.”

He winces, giving me a bashful look. “When you say it like that—”

I cut him off by raising my hand. “Say less. I’m in.”

My dad used to say that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. But damn it, maybe it’s my time to finally catch a break. Despite my skepticism about Archer’s intentions, I’ll take what he’s offering.

A smile forms on his lips, but he runs a hand over his jaw as if trying to stifle it. Pushing off the wall, he strides past me. Our arms brush, and all my little hairs stand up. I suppress the shudder that runs through me at the contact.

Turning to watch him go, I try not to ogle. But those jeans fit him just right. Everything, from his pristine posture to his dangerous, confident gait, lights me up from the inside out.

Heat blossoms on my cheeks, and I’m glad he’s not facing me.

Sirius save me, living with a man like him just might kill me.

"I’ll refrain from delving deeply into this subject, as it’s not the primary focus; however, separate studies suggest animals possess auras, albeit on a more modest scale than humans. These soul-shades convey a sense of purity distinct from that found in humanity.”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 15

FANTASIA

There are two bedrooms.

But only one bed.

Archer forgot to mention that part. He and Godric left in a rush, before they could give me a tour, so I decided to explore on my own.

“What the actual fuck,” I say as I stare into the only fully furnished room in the house.

I inhale, breathing in the musky, masculine undertones. Unlike the bright, generic aesthetic the rest of the house has, it’s dark and homey in here. The walls are a deep teal color, matching the accents woven into the earthy-brown area rug. Thick drapes are pulled over the windows, letting a small amount of light seep into the room.

The large bed rests on a wooden frame in the center of the space—perfectly made up to match the rest of the room’s earthy accents.

My attention turns to the furniture across from the bed—an armoire and dresser made of some sort of unfinished wood. Both appear old and worn, albeit sturdy.

The top of the dresser is an organized chaos of various objects and photos.

Stepping forward, I reach for one of the frames closest to me.

Two people are in the photo, but my gaze lingers on a younger, softer-looking Archer. He can’t be any older than fourteen. His dark blond hair is the same as it is now, falling messily onto his forehead, but missing are the tattoos, scruff, and muscles. Instead of a penetrating stare, he wears a wide, toothy smile.

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