Page 47 of Stone Cold Touch

And that was ridiculous.

I was ridiculous.

But the idea of experiencing any of those things with Zayne left my head spinning and caused my pulse to pound throughout my body. Trying to get comfortable, I curled my leg up, but it didn’t help. I pushed off the blankets, kicking them down to the foot of the bed, but my skin still felt too tight, as if there was no room between my bones and my flesh.

I rolled onto my back. Placing my hand against my stomach, I wasn’t surprised to find that the skin felt warm, and then a little knot formed, leaving me frustrated...and confused. My thoughts were all tangled together, because when I felt this low burn sloshing through my veins, I also thought of Roth and everything we’d shared. And when I thought about Zayne that way, I felt as though I was doing something wrong, which was stupid, because as Roth had made abundantly clear, there was nothing between us.

Too hot and too wound up to sleep, I slipped out of bed around three in the morning. Pulling on a pair of fuzzy knee-high socks that actually reached my thighs, I grabbed a heavy sweater and pulled it on over my tank top and sleep shorts.

Hair a mess and a walking fashion disaster, I crept out of my bedroom and headed downstairs. At this time of night, most of the house would be dead. Jasmine and Danika would either be asleep or off somewhere with the twins. Only Geoff would be around, monitoring cameras, and outside there’d be guards just in case something crazy happened. For the most part, I’d have the house to myself.

The cool air soothed some of the heat as I hurried down the stairs, the edges of my unbuttoned sweater flapping out behind me like fluttering wings.

My sock-covered feet were silent as I padded into the kitchen and grabbed a small bottle of OJ. I started to close the fridge door when I reached back in and grabbed what was left of the sugar-cookie dough.

Taking my goodies and holding them close, I started toward the living areas but veered off in the direction of the library. Using my hip, I nudged the heavy wooden door open. I dropped the dough and OJ on the desk and then turned on the old-fashioned lamp. A soft glow filled the large room.

I breathed in deeply, inhaling the musky scent of old books. I’d spent many nights and days in this library when I was younger and as I scanned the numerous rows of books, I found that I’d read almost all of them. There’d been a lot of lonely days and nights. Still were.

Breaking off a chunk of dough, I shuffled around the desk and started perusing the spines, not looking for anything in particular, but as I was somewhere between bored-enough-to-read and I’d-rather-lie-in-bed-frustrated, something snagged my attention.

Methods and Practices of Herbs and Their Impact on Demons and Wardens.

Not exactly light bedtime reading or the kind of book you’d find in a human library, but I thought about the vial I’d seen Abbot carrying and my curiosity got the best of me. Tugging it out, I turned and placed it on the desk as I munched on my raw dough. Most of the book was handwritten, herbs listed in alphabetical order and accompanied with drawings.

Not even ten minutes later, the space behind my eyes started to ache. There were way too many herbs in the world and too many that were ingredients in milky-white potions.

I lifted my gaze as I grabbed my OJ and took a drink, loving the way it tingled down my throat. An idea took form. Not a smart one, but an intriguing one.

Abbot was out for the night as were most of the Wardens. Geoff was somewhere, so that was a risk, but... I was bored and curious.

The study that Abbot occupied was right down the hall. I could access it through the door in the library. It opened up into a small sitting room no one ever used and through that room I could get into his office without using the hall, which would likely be monitored. But the sitting room? Probably not.

Setting the OJ down, I hurried around the desk, my feet slipping along the hardwood floors. I burst through the door to the sitting room, relieved to find it empty and dark, and before I gave myself time to chicken out, I tried the knob on Abbot’s door.

It was unlocked.

I held my breath as I turned the knob. The door creaked like old bones as I pushed it open. There was a lamp on his desk with a green ceramic shade, which cast a small swath of light over the desk and the floor.

The room smelled like Abbot—of soap, the outdoors and a faint trace of the cigars he toyed with. A ball formed in my throat as I crept toward his large oak desk. I could count on one hand how many times the Warden had hugged me, but when he had, his hugs were always warm and wonderful.

I missed them.

Swallowing down the lump, I decided to attack the desk first. There were a lot of places where he could’ve stashed what I was looking for—the shelves along the back walls, the cases that were surely locked and a dozen little cubbies here and there.

The first couple of drawers had nothing in them that interested me—papers and correspondences from the police and government, emails from other clan leaders. The second drawer was filled with pens, the kind that made me all grabby hands, and the third had more sticky notes than God needed.

Fourth drawer—the bottom drawer—was where I hit the jackpot. Literally.

Cushioned in a thick, dark towel, dozens of small vials rolled around harmlessly as I pulled the drawer out as far as I could. Kneeling down, I picked up one that looked like it had grapefruit juice in it and then placed it back down, carefully poking around until I found the one that looked familiar. I lifted the vial gingerly, watching the milky liquid slosh around as I stood.

Turning the vial over, I frowned as I read the scribble along the bottom. “Bloodroot?”

“What are you doing?”

I squeaked and almost dropped the vial. Spinning around, I clutched it to my chest as I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Zayne.”

He stood in the doorway I’d snuck through, dressed in dark pants and a black shirt. Even though it was quite chilly outside, a full-blooded Warden’s body temperature ran higher than humans’ or even mine. He folded his arms and arched a brow.

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