Page 14 of Waltzing With Witches

I hate the part of myself that pipes up to remind me about him glamouring my costume for Ever’s version of Halloween. I try really hard not to remember how, when I thanked him for the unexpected kindness, he said, “That smile is worth it.” Because it felt—for a moment—like he and I were turning some sort of a corner. And then he invited me to breakfast.

And promptly fled the moment the castle called him.

Annnnnnd now I’m irritated. Stroking my way along the castle’s dust-coated wallpaper, I give the wall a friendly nudge. “Help me find him?”

All of the wallpaper strips curl off the wall and back up. A floorboard lifts and waggles toward a hall leading away from me. I follow twists and turns for the next five minutes until the command center comes into view. I vaguely remember it from my one and only time here—the time I learned my sisters and I are all witches.

Not that being a black witch has done me any favors. Wren and Thea have managed to get a strong hold on their white and green powers, but I struggle to even connect with mine. I’d look for it now, but there’s no point.

As much as Catherine has tried to help us, my magic is nestled deep inside with no desire to come out. I know it’s there, but it’s bottled up and stuck, vacuum-sealed into oblivion.

The command center door is open, light from thousands of bulbs emitting a glow that casts blue and red rays across the floor. The Keeper reclines in a spindly-legged chair, arms crossed and both feet propped up on the array in front of him. He stares at the lights and mutters under his breath.

When I lift my hand to rap on the doorframe, he glances over his shoulder. “Come in, Morgan.”

A combo of heat and irritation swirls through me, and I have to remind myself to be nice. He came and got me this morning. He offered me a place to stay.

I step into the room and stop by his side. He shifts, unfolding both long legs and crossing one at the ankle over his knee. He leans forward, ruby-red eyes locked to mine. “Can I help you with something?”

I hate the blush that tinges my cheeks pink. It’s the shitty side of being a redhead. I can’t hide my emotions to save my life. As a pediatrician, that’s helped me—I connect really damn well with my patients, and they see me as open and honest. But here, right now? It’s frustrating.

“I called Catherine,” I begin. “She’s dealing with Annabelle, but—”

“Did Catherine have any theories on Annabelle’s poor behavior?”

Oh, I am definitely not mentioning Catherine’s theory.

“Not really,” I say with a shrug. “She was more shocked than anything and said she’d get to the bottom of it. But Lou insists on coming out here. I thought I’d let you know, since this is your house and all.”

The Keeper’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed.

From the doorway, the castle ripples the carpet runner.

I give the Keeper a look, daring him to tell me Lou can’t come. “The castle says it’s fine.”

He cocks his head to the side. “I can see that.” His voice is dry, toneless. I hate it when he speaks to me like this.

“Why’d you run away from me at breakfast?” I blurt out.

Oh fuck, what in the hell am I doing?

His eyes spring wide, but he stands, towering over me. Pale lips curl into a sneer, his scar tugging the left side of his mouth up higher than the right. He stares at me with such intensity, it’s impossible not to feel it settle over my skin, prickly and uncomfortable.

“Is that what you think I did?” The question is neutral, but an undercurrent of anger threads his tone.

I lift my chin. “Yep.”

He takes another step forward, pressing his chest to mine. Reaching up, he grips my chin between his forefinger and thumb, holding my gaze. My breathing goes heavy and deep, my breasts brushing against him. He’s warm and hard, and fuck my tits for being turned on by him. They’re diamond points against his chest.

Long fangs slip from his upper jaw, sliding down to poke at the sides of his mouth. His eyes drop to my neck, roving down over my throat before making a lazy trail back up. He’s a predator, sizing up his prey, deciding what juicy morsel to rip into first.

I won’t be the prey. I abso-fucking-lutely refuse. Jerking my head away from his touch, I turn toward the door. “Forget I asked,” I mutter.

Just as I reach the entryway, a warm hand closes around my wrist and pulls me back. The Keeper spins me to face the blinking lights, his big body behind mine, chest pressed to my back.

He lifts the wrist he holds and points at the array. “Every light here represents a signal from the wards, Morgan. And that panel there? That’s every building. Each one of those lights has the potential to tell me something’s wrong, that our home is in danger. Every sensor here has to be checked regularly, and everything you see is connected to my comm watch and the castle itself.”

Regret at bringing up the topic hits me. I know his job is hard, but—

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