Page 22 of Waltzing With Witches

Faint humming echoes up the halls. I twitch an ear, cocking my head to the side. Morgan ushers her family out the front door. I listen as her sisters try to convince her, again, to come home with them. They say she doesn’t need to stay in the castle with an asshole, that she’s welcome in their homes.

Do they hate me?

I thought I’d developed a good working relationship with both witches. I value them as members of my community.

But hearing them now paints me in a different light.

And it can’t be any other way.

Morgan declines to leave, though, saying she wants a little more time with the castle. But when she finally gets Lou and her sisters on the road, I’m painfully aware that we’re alone again.

As if on cue, the door to my command room swings open with a creak. The castle itself is telling me to go to her.

I can’t. I won’t. I shouldn’t, for so many reasons.

The door waves open and shut, a more insistent demand.

I glance at the walls of lights that surround me. Everything is quiet in town—for now—and my guest might want dinner soon. My grocery delivery should arrive shortly. Logic swoops in and reminds me I promised to call Catherine about the issue with the Annabelle.

Lifting my wrist, I open my mouth to direct the watch to call my old friend. But somehow, at the last minute, I can’t say the words.

I assess my actions, but I can’t find a reason for being unwilling to tackle the Annabelle issue head-on. Except that I can. The reason lies within my heart rather than the safe and logical confines of my mind.

After a solid five minutes of grappling over the decision, I lower my wrist.

Irritation returns, sparking in my chest and sending unwanted emotion flooding through me in a great heaving wave.

I run both hands through my hair, noting that they’ve begun to tremble slightly. Moira had better send the potion quickly, or I’ll be a dramatic mess within a day or two. I haven’t allowed emotion to surface in almost a century. Who knows what it’ll be like if I unleash it while Morgan is in my damn house.

Standing, I shove out of my chair and up the hall, hooking a left and a right and ending up in the kitchen. Morgan’s there, but she hasn’t heard me. She stands on her tiptoes to place the bottle of bourbon back in the cabinet. When she stretches, her shirt slips up, revealing her lower back to me.

I’ve never found lower backs all that appealing apart from their proximity to more delectable body parts. But her lower back is lovely. Two deep dimples frame delicately etched muscles. She’s the athlete of her family, and it shows in her innate strength and elegant movements.

She drops to the flats of her feet and turns, rounding the island to grab a rag. Red waves fall into her face. My fingers twitch with the desire to stroke them back behind her round ear. Ear play isn’t all that well regarded among humans, but done right, gods, they do enjoy it. I know that well enough from my time living among them.

I banish that train of thought. I haven’t taken a partner into my bedroom in a very long time.

The reason for that is standing right in front of me.

She takes up soft humming as she works. I should offer to help—this is my castle, after all, but she’s mine too, which means the castle belongs equally to her. Is she thinking about that while she’s here?

My fangs throb, splitting my gums and descending to poke my upper chin. I hold back a groan as my cock hardens in my slacks, pressing painfully to the fabric. I thought I had control over this feeling. I thought I had it in check. But staring at her now?

If I don’t get that potion, I’m going to do something I really, really shouldn’t.

Kiss her, maybe.

I clear my throat, and she jumps, one hand flying up to cover her heart.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” she shouts. “You’ve got to give me a goddamn warning.”

I don’t think so. Satisfaction fills me. If I can catch her off guard, surprise her, and make her scent bloom like prey, I’ll do it. I’ll live off that scent. It’s the most of her I can allow myself to take.

So, I don’t bother to agree to her demand.

“It’s not dinnertime quite yet, and I don’t know if you’ll be hungry, but I thought I should check in.”

She crosses both arms, shifting her weight to one hip. Gray eyes spark with emotion, then drag down my body and back up slowly. Crimson lips curl into a sensual grin. “Are you hungry, Keeper?”

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