Page 30 of De-Witched

“You’re a riot.”

“No, you are. This checking up on me thing is getting old really fast.” Leah swirled her coffee. “Next time you call me, I’m not going to answer.”

“Rude. I like it.”

Rolling her eyes, Leah turned, intending to sit behind the desk again. “I learn from the—CHRIST.” She jerked as she saw Gabriel behind her, coffee a tidal wave out of the cup. She barely registered the burn seeping into her breasts or Tia squawking in her ear. Her words ran on repeat in her head as she blinked fast.

His expression stayed in the same neutral lines, nothing in his eyes betraying shock or surprise. Maybe he’d only just emerged.

He hadn’t heard. He couldn’t have.

“Tia, I’ve got to go.” Leah didn’t bother wasting time explaining as she hung up on her friend. She ignored the persistent ring and set the cup down with her cell. “Gabriel. Hi. Did you need me?”

“That’ll stain.” His eyes dipped to her breasts where the brown patch soaked her white T-shirt. Beneath the material, her skin pebbled. “You should take it off.”

Her smile felt off-center. “Right. Ha. I have that sweatshirt, after all. Thanks, by the way. For returning it.” Flustered, she ran a hand down her hair. “Did you need me?”

“Sonny’s looking for you. Said I should take over.”

He couldn’t have heard, she repeated, watching him watch her. He’d have reacted. Shown some emotion. “Right. I’ll go do that.” She pocketed her phone and picked up the cup. When she got close enough, the intensity of his eyes made her feel cornered. She lingered, doubt nagging. “You okay? With...everything?”

“Fine,” he replied evenly.

“Good, that’s...good.” She had to believe she was in the clear. “You didn’t hear... Never mind.” Striving for normal, she nodded in the direction of the doors. “Woman who owns the coffee shop across the street has a thing for you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. She was in asking for the gossip. I told her your personality doesn’t match your face.”

She thought he’d give her a glower and that would be that.

Except...

“How does my face look, Leah?”

He didn’t say the words with a flirty lilt, didn’t lean in and grin, didn’t do anything except level his usual gaze on her. And still she felt the impact like a brush of calloused fingers against her skin.

In the end, she conceded the battle, scurrying away with a mumbled excuse and cheeks blazing. He’d definitely not heard. He didn’t know. All was well.

Gabriel stayed where he was as Leah walked away, his spine straight, his gaze aloof. He was an island on a calm ocean and no waves would disrupt his peace.

Even a tsunami like this.

Disbelief, shock, horror rocketed through him, crashing against his discipline until his short nails dug into his palms. He continued to breathe, not letting on, not doing anything except managing the emotion as he calmly took a seat.

She. Knew.

Shock sent another ripple through him, even thinking the words.

Their secret, his secret. The secret that had humans dragged before the High Family to be sentenced with who knew what to keep them all protected. It was practically the Golden Rule: unless the High Family specifically granted permission, humans were not to know about witches.

Gabriel followed the rules. They made sense to him. He’d lived his life within safe parameters ever since his parents had died and he’d stepped up to raise his sister. He liked the orderly, the lines and neat rows of organization, and the comfortable weight of what he could and couldn’t do. What he should do.

And what he should do here was inform the High Family. Emmaline and Tia had clearly not sought permission—if they had, Leah would’ve confirmed it the second he stepped into the bar. Now the few times he’d lost control of his magic and she’d “missed it” ran through his head. Of course she hadn’t missed it. Nobody was that oblivious.

Except him, apparently. And now that he knew, it was safer to follow the rules. To turn her in.

A surge of sickness twisted his belly. It was the shock, he supposed.

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