Page 26 of Magic's Rise

Tris kneels in front of the tall space heater he’d dragged up from the basement workroom. “This should cut through the chill coming from the ocean.”

“The wind blockers will help, too.” Owen moves around the porch, pulling down solid screens. It blocks out the last of the fading light, but also helps to trap in the heat.

Grandma’s house might be large enough for the five of us, but not for all of us and our friends. Once the construction is complete upstairs, we plan to convert the formal living room into a dining room so we’re not stuck out here when we have large gatherings.

In the meantime, though… I tip my head back to admire the lights Haut had strung across the ceiling in the shape of a star.

I spin in a slow circle, admiring the twinkles, and my feet tangle together. Arms pinwheeling, I fall backward, crashing into a warm embrace.

The scent of woods and warm man surrounds me, distinctly Owen, as he pulls me closer. “I’ve got you.”

A shiver runs through me at the low rumble of his voice in my ear. “Good catch.”

He nuzzles my throat. “I don’t want you to go.”

My stomach tightens with anxiety. I don’t want to worry Owen, but going to Silver Hollow could help him and the other werewolves.

If Rodney could have controlled his curse, would Bryant have been able to manipulate him the way he did? Would the paranormal council be so quick to kill first and not ask questions if werewolves weren’t driven mad by the full moon?

“Owen…”

“I know you need to go.” He kisses my pulse. “But I’m going to miss you.”

Tris rises and places a hand over his heart. “Hey, what about me?”

“I’m so going to miss you, Rowe.” Owen growls against my skin and play bites me. “You and only you.”

Giggles escape at the ticklish sensation, and I push at his head as the screen door bangs open.

Jesse comes stomping out of the house, a plate of pie in his hands and a wild look in his eyes. “Rowe, I really need a verdict on this.”

Barron follows his mate. “Can’t it wait until after dinner?”

“No. Her tastebuds will be ruined by all that Italian food.” Jesse thrusts the pie at me, the fork wobbling on the edge. “Please, Rowe.”

Looks like I can avoid it no longer. With a deep breath, I step out of Owen’s arms and walk over to Jesse.

I take the plate from him and pass it to an eagerly waiting Tris, then clasp Jesse’s hands and gaze up into his face. “My buddy, my pal, my lumberjack dream, I will literally puke on you if I take another bite of pie.”

The whiskers of his beard ripple as he goes through the gamut of shock, offense, then disbelief. “But…you love pie.”

“And this is one of your best yet,” Tris mumbles around a mouthful of syrupy apples and flaky crust. “The winner.”

Hope returns to Jesse’s eyes. “You really think so?”

Tris shovels in another bite as he nods.

Barron grips his shoulders and squeezes. “Didn’t I say this one was it?”

“Okay, good.” Jesse lets out a long breath. “Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t try this one, Rowe, so you won’t be biased at the judging in a couple days.”

I fidget with the hem of my sweatshirt. “About that…”

His smile slips. “What’s going on?”

“Dinner’s ready!” Ambros sweeps through the door, an enormous pot of spaghetti held between two mitten-covered hands.

Delilah comes in behind him, carrying a breadbasket with fragrant garlic steam rising from it, and Haut joins us with two giant bowls of salad.

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