Page 8 of A Roar for Magic

Bad thought. Very bad thought.

But her traitorous mind had already conjured the image, and now she couldn’t quite meet his eyes without wondering if his lips would be as soft as they looked...

“Earth to Clover,” Halle sang, waving a hand in front of her face. “You’re doing that thing again where you stare and forget to breathe.”

“I am not—” But she was, and from Rook’s knowing smirk, he’d noticed.Wonderful. She cleared her throat. “Right. Candles. For Ilaria. This way.”

She led him toward the therapeutic section, very aware of Romi and Halle’s poorly concealed giggling behind them. Even Xabir looked amused, the traitor.

“I’d apologize for them,” she said quietly as they browsed, “but I have a feeling you’re used to this kind of... enthusiasm from the people in your life.”

“Sabine’s worse,” he replied, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. “She once tried to set me up with every single member of a visiting wolf pack. At the same dinner.”

The mental image startled a genuine laugh out of her. “How did that go?”

“Let’s just say there’s a reason that particular restaurant now has a ‘no shifting at the table’ policy.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the shop faded away. The air between them crackled with possibility, with that same wild energy she’d sensed when he first walked in. Her magic reached for his instinctively, and the resulting spark of connection made them both catch their breath.

“Sorry,” they said simultaneously, then laughed.

“Your magic...” Rook hesitated. “It’s different. Most witches I’ve met, their power feels more... contained.”

“Says the man radiating enough energy to power half the town.” But she smiled to soften the words. “Growing up here, you learn to let your magic breathe a little. It’s exhausting to always try to be in control. Magic isn’t something you can just shove in a box. Mystic Hollow doesn’t really docontained.”

“I’m beginning to remember that.” His eyes held hers, and that deeper something flickered in their depths again. “I forgot how much I missed it. The wildness here, the way magic flows freely instead of being bottled up in corporate boardrooms and stuffy offices.”

“Is that why you came back?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

A shadow crossed his face. “Not exactly. Though now that I’m here...” His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her shiver. “I’m finding more reasons to stay than I expected.”

Oh boy. Oh no. Alert. Danger. Extremely attractive alpha shifter giving you bedroom eyes in the middle of your shop. Abort mission. Abort?—

“So!” Halle’s voice made them both jump. “Have we picked out candles for Grandma yet, or are we too busy having eye sex in the therapeutic section?”

“Halle!” Clover hissed, mortified.

“What? I’m just saying, those Passion Flame candles are on the other shelf if you’re interested?—”

“We’ll take these,” Rook said quickly, grabbing a selection of calming candles. His cheeks had reddened slightly, and Clover found the blush absurdly endearing on someone so naturally commanding.

As she wrapped each candle in spelled paper to maintain their magic, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had shifted in her carefully ordered world. Like the first tremor before an earthquake, or the initial spark before a wildfire.

Rook hesitated at the door after the others had said their good-byes, those remarkable eyes finding hers one last time. “Thanks for the help. I’ll try not to break anything next time.”

“Next time?” She aimed for skeptical but landed somewhere closer to breathless.

His smile held a hint of fang. “Oh, definitely next time.”

The shop bell chimed his departure, leaving Clover to deal with the knowing looks from her remaining audience.

“Well!” Romi clapped her hands. “That was fun. Same time tomorrow? I’ll bring popcorn.”

“Out,” Clover ordered, pointing at the door. “All of you. Out. Xabir, control your mate.”

But as she shooed them away and turned to rebuild her display, something caught her eye. A faint scorch mark marred the shelf where one of the candles had rolled, dark against the polished wood. She traced it with her fingers, frowning. Her candles didn’t leave marks like this—they couldn’t, given the protective spells woven into their very wax.

“That’s odd,” she murmured, a flicker of unease disrupting her previous flutter of attraction.

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