Page 23 of Waltzing With Witches

Oh, fuck her. I see what she’s doing.

“I don’t eat much,” I snap back. “But your needs are different. I’m simply attempting to be a good host.”

“Is that so?” She casts me a dismissive, skeptical look. “A good host, huh?”

“Precisely.”

“A good host wouldn’t call me to this godforsaken town, declare me his mate, and then act like a total dick from that moment on.”

I straighten. I didn’t come here for a fight, but the dominant side of my personality, the side I dampen through potion and magic, rears its ugly head.

“It’s for your own good,” I snap.

“Why haven’t you kicked me out of this castle yet, then?” she barks back. “Because, surely, if it’s”—she makes air quotes—“for my own good, then it sucks for you to have me here.”

We face off in the kitchen, her heart rate rising, her fingers twitching against her forearms. Her foot taps the dark stone floor. I examine her features to make sure I’m reading her tone correctly. Dark brows form a harsh vee, her beautiful gray eyes narrowed. Pink tips her cheeks and travels down her neck.

Her scent. I consciously hold my breath to avoid taking any more of it in.

“Trust me when I say it is.” I hope she’ll perceive my tone as gentle. “I don’t want to fight, Morgan. If it could be another way, it would be.”

Something desperate and fleeting passes through her storm-cloud eyes, but it’s there and gone so fast, I wonder if I imagined it. Or misread it. That’s more likely.

She tosses the rag onto the countertop. “You know what? I’m going to bed.” When she turns from me, I slip across the room and grab her wrist, whirling her back to face me. Does she realize that, despite the angry look on her face, she’s sunk into my arms, her head slightly back?

Logic plays no part in my decision to slide a hand into her hair and fist it. I draw her head farther back, looming over her as her mouth parts.

“I can’t be your lover, Morgan,” I say softly. “Believe me when I say I can’t. But I can be your friend.”

She shoves at my chest, but I hold her captured tightly in my arms. My gaze falls to the heartbeat that throbs in a vein along her neck.

“Friends don’t grab each other by the hair and stare at their bodies,” she says on a growl.

Realizing she’s right, I release my grip on her hair and step far enough away that her scent doesn’t flood my senses. Damnit, I started breathing again.

“You’re such an asshole,” she mutters. “You don’t deserve me.”

“True,” I admit. I don’t want to fight with her. “Come to the bowling alley with me. Let’s play. A little friendly competition would be good for us, don’t you think?”

“All that bullshit and you want to go bowling?” Her brows have traveled up now, her eyes wide. I know that look; it’s shock.

“No,” I correct. “I want to kick your ass at bowling. I beat you once before, if you recall.”

Morgan snarls and rips herself away from me. “That was a fluke,” she growls. “Game on, dickhead!”

I can work with anger. It’s a more predictable emotion than many others. I can’t do what a good mate would do about anger—fuck it out of her until she forgets why she was even upset. The only thing I can do is channel that raw rage into something else. And if I know anything about Morgan from the month she’s been in town, it’s that she’s highly competitive.

It’s intoxicating.

I raise my hand and gesture toward the door to the basement. “Ladies first.”

She stalks past me with a heated look, yanking the door open. She’s careful not to let it slam against the wall, though.

Because this house is hers, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. Hers and yours.

I shake my head to dispel the sentiment. It’s not useful. And thoughts that aren’t useful get cast quickly from my mind. That’s Keeper Rule #3.

My watch chimes. One of the alarms must be going off. I look at the open door to the basement. Morgan’s gone from view, but her muttering still reaches my sensitive ears. I check the alarm’s stats on the surface of my watch, determining there’s nothing to worry about. Then I head down the stairs, trailing a string of muttered curses into my basement bowling alley.

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