Page 39 of Hex and the Kitty

“Not yet,” Molly whispered, squeezing his hand. “We need solid proof first.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. When they looked back, Gus had vanished.

“I don’t trust his convenient appearances,” Warrick said, voice low with simmering anger. “Or his interest in you.”

“In me?” The possessive undertone in his voice sent a complicated thrill through her.

“He watches you too closely.” Warrick’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Gus had stood. “He’s been near your bakery three times this week.”

“You’ve been watching my bakery?” Molly asked, surprise coloring her voice.

Warrick’s gaze returned to her, unapologetic. “I’ve been watching for threats.” A pause. “And yes, watching you.”

The simple admission stirred something primal within her. Not fear—something older, deeper. Recognition.

“Most women might find that creepy,” she said, testing his reaction.

“Most women aren’t witches dating centuries-old shifters.” A smile tugged at his mouth, softening the intensity of his gaze. “My tiger is... protective of what matters.”

Heat bloomed in her chest at the implication. “And I matter?”

His thumb brushed across her knuckles, the gentle touch belying the predatory focus in his eyes. “More than you know.”

The station’s flood lights cast long shadows as they walked back toward the entrance. Warrick’s hand rested on the small of her back again, the contact somehow both protective and possessive.

“I need to talk to Reed about increasing security,” he said. “These false alarms could mask a real emergency.”

“And I’ll research this signature.” Molly patted her bag. “Someone in town might recognize it.”

They walked back to the bakery in comfortable silence, though awareness hummed between them. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, each contact sending ripples of sensation through Molly’s body.

At her door, she fumbled with the keys, suddenly nervous. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“Of course.” Warrick stood on the bottom step, hands in his pockets, watching her with undisguised appreciation. “Tonight was illuminating.”

“The magical evidence or the false alarm?” she asked, finding the right key at last.

“Neither.” His voice dropped lower. “Though the sparks were memorable.”

Heat crawled up her neck at the deliberate double meaning. “A witch’s magic can be... unpredictable.”

“So I’m discovering.” He stepped closer, one hand rising to tuck a curl behind her ear. “I’m looking forward to more... unpredictability.”

Her breath caught at his touch, skin tingling where his fingers brushed her cheek. The air between them thickened with possibility.

“Goodnight, Warrick,” she managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Instead of stepping back, he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers once more. Unlike their earlier kiss, this one remained gentle, a whisper of connection rather than a blaze—but no less potent for its softness.

“Goodnight, Molly.” He pulled back, eyes darkened to amber. “Lock your door.”

She nodded, slipping inside and securing the three locks—standard, magical, and the special ward she’d installed when opening the bakery. Through the window, she watched Warrick wait until the final lock clicked before turning away.

But he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he melted into the shadows across the street, his outline barely visible against the darkness. Guarding. Watching.

The realization should have disturbed her. Instead, a shiver of pleasure raced through her body. The tiger had claimed its territory. She had become part of what he protected.

Upstairs in her apartment, Molly placed the journal on her nightstand, the captured magical signature still pulsing faintly. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror revealed flushed cheeks and bright eyes—a woman transformed by more than magic.

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