Page 4 of Waltzing With Witches

It should make me feel better to hear that. Everything my new brothers-in-law have told me is backed up by what Lou’s saying. But still. It’s not like I can ever date here in Ever. Not a single monster around would ask me out knowing Ever’s Keeper is my mate.

Well, he thinks he is anyhow. But I’m smart and strong and confident, and I abso-fucking-lutely refuse to date an asshole.

Not that he’s even asked me.

And I’m definitely not bitter about that.

We pass Ever’s community garden, and it occurs to me to stop in and visit our friend Miriam in her gourd. But she worked a shift in the pixie dust factory today, so she’s probably sleeping.

Shrugging off the need to connect with someone, anyone, I bundle loneliness around my mind like an uncomfortably thin blanket and guide Lou up the sidewalk toward the Annabelle Inn.

The Inn waggles her pink front shutters in welcome. She looks so cheerful with the pink siding and shutters and white gingerbread trim. All the lights are on inside. Catherine, the Inn’s owner, passes by one of the windows with an open book in her hand.

“Catherine is so fucking cool,” Lou breathes. “I’ve never stayed at a BnB where there weren’t any other guests. It’s like we have the whole place to ourselves!”

That part, at least, is true. Once Thea met Shepherd and Wren met Ohken, they moved out of the Inn. We were ostensibly here for a girls’ weekend, but two convincingly hot monster males later and our girls’ weekend has turned into a long-ass month.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that time passes more slowly here inside Ever’s protective wards. We’ve been here for a month, but it’s only been a day and a half in the human world. I could still go back to my old life if I wanted to.

Lou reaches over to scratch at her arm.

As a doctor, my senses ping. She’s been scratching at that arm a lot, which isn’t unusual for a healing wound. Except when the thralls attacked her, she healed in a week despite needing multiple layers of stitches.

“How’s the arm?”

She looks up at me and shrugs, dropping her hand to her side. “Itches like a bitch, but Doc Slade says there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Lou,” I say in my most motherly tone.

She throws both palms up, her eyes wide. “I swear! I visited him this morning, but I seem to have healed. He can’t explain it, although this morning he said he wondered if I might have some of the magic blood you and the girls do which allows me to heal so fast.” She drops her arms. “I’m an enigma, according to him.” She grins. “Dirk’s taken to calling me zombie girl.”

I purse my lips in thought, but decide to keep an eye on Lou. I’m a physician, and even though most of my patients in the city were little kids, I’ll still know if something’s wrong with her. And so far, Lou seems totally herself.

We walk up the Inn’s pink-painted front steps—Catherine gave them a fresh coat this week—and the Inn swings her glass double doors wide for us.

Lou sails gracefully through, waving as Catherine comes around the corner, closing her book and pulling it to her chest. They exchange pleasantries, but I’m tired and need a few minutes alone to pick through an increasingly overwhelming mountain of emotions.

I smile at Catherine as I tap Lou on the shoulder. “I’m tired, Lou. I’m gonna head to bed. But find me in the morning for breakfast? We can go down to Bad Axe for burritos.”

Lou’s chocolate eyes flash with excitement. “Perf, Morgan! Love you, girlie!” She jumps up and wraps both arms around my neck, dragging me into a hunched position. Her enthusiasm is so palpable. Over her shoulder, Catherine smiles as she watches us, pink lips curled into a smile.

Stray hairs from Lou’s braid poke me in the face, but I don’t even care. It feels so damn good to hug someone, and Lou’s always been so free with her affection. I close my eyes and breathe her in, but scrunch my nose. Something’s different. Lou has always smelled like the same fancy French perfume Wren loves. They discovered it on a trip when we were teenagers, and she’s always worn it. But that’s overwhelmed now.

As I walk away, I realize what it is she smells like.

Burnt marshmallows.

CHAPTER TWO

MORGAN

Ruby-red eyes peer at me from the darkness as a faint light flickers, a cigarette flaring to life in the black void. A tall, muscular figure lifts the cigarette, illuminating elegant features and twin white fangs poking down over pale pink lips. A scar bisects his left eyebrow and travels down his cheek to his mouth, his lip puckered slightly upward.

He pulls the cigarette to his lips, hollowing his cheeks around the tip.

Fuck my life. Why are bad boys so goddamn hot?

As the male takes a deep drag, glittering red eyes move to mine and narrow. Flicking the cigarette away, he purses his lips to let out a perfectly round ring of smoke. It curls and dissipates into the blackness surrounding him.

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