Page 30 of Waltzing With Witches

I set a container of pasta salad down on the counter. “You’re teasing me.”

Morgan laughs, and warmth spreads through me. My fingers twitch. I need to touch her again. I just said I wouldn’t.

But she’s right here.

In our fucking castle.

I round the island, placing one hand on the flat surface as I halt in front of her, looming into her space. “You are a godsdamn menace, Morgan Hector.”

For tempting me.

For being here.

For existing so perfectly.

She grins wickedly up at me, gray eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wanna play truth or dare?”

“Sounds fun,” I answer without even thinking about it, another sure sign my potion has worn off. “I shouldn’t,” I blurt out immediately after. “I need to check the command center.”

Morgan shoots me a sly look. “The castle will let you know if anything’s wrong. Right?” She glances up at the ceiling.

The ceiling tiles ripple in great waves in response to her. The castle has never responded to me like this, not with such big emotion.

But I can’t take my eyes off her. “I suppose I owe you some answers.”

She nods as she slips gracefully to a stand, poking me in the center of the chest. “You absolutely do, Keeper. I think it’s time you shared them, don’t you?”

“Not really,” I mutter. My story has no happy beginning, middle, or end. But when it became clear she planned to remain in Ever, I knew this day would come. Better to rip off the Band-Aid now, I suppose. My Keeper training kicks in, and I run through all the possible outcomes of letting Morgan in on the reasons for my distance from her.

None of them are good. Which might actually serve the purpose of getting her out of the castle more quickly. I really, really need to call Catherine in the morning.

She turns from me and steps onto her tiptoes, reaching for my liquor cabinet. She can’t quite access the top shelf, so I join her, highly aware of how close our bodies are. Need and want slice through me like blades, fangs elongating. Another step forward and I could press her to the cabinet, draw her neck to the side and bite her. She’d come right here in my arms.

What does it even look like when she unravels?

I want to know.

My mouth waters, but I shove all of that down.

Because what I tell her tonight is going to piss her off, and I don’t know what she’ll do after that—probably what’s best for both of us and shun me. It’s what she should do, because I’m steadily losing control living under the same roof as her.

And it’s only been a day.

I take that next step forward to feel her body against mine one last time. There’s nothing logical about the choice, but when my chest brushes her back, a deep sense of rightness settles over me. Morgan stiffens, sinking back onto the flats of her feet. I reach high above her head, then pause.

I bring my face close to her head. “Bourbon or wine?”

She leans back, glancing over her shoulder at me, gray eyes wide and serious. “Bourbon, Keeper.” She pauses, eyes searching mine. What’s she looking for, I wonder?

“What’s your real name?” Her voice is soft, curious.

I frown and straighten, grabbing the bottle of bourbon. “Doesn’t matter. We drop it once we take on the Keeper’s mantle. Nobody uses my real name anymore, not even my mother.”

“Well, your mother is a raging bitch,” Morgan huffs.

“Oh, agreed. Evenia and I were never close. I wasn’t close with Abemet either. Betmal is the only parent I have any relationship with at this point.”

Morgan turns, her breasts brushing against my chest. “What’s it like having three parents? And if Betmal is the one you’re close to, what’s he like? Do you have siblings? Where were you born? Or were you made?”

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