Page 49 of Hex and the Kitty

This morning played through his mind again: Molly’s vibrant curls dancing as she cast protection wards around the station’s perimeter while he reinforced physical barriers. Her light green eyes widening when she’d sensed something off in the supply closet. The synchronicity of their movements as they’d discovered the cursed charm together—her magic detecting while his strength contained. They’d neutralized the threat before it could activate during the night shift, their abilities complementing each other with an efficiency that felt... right.

His tiger had purred—actually purred—when she’d brushed against him reaching for the neutralizing herbs. Centuries of control nearly undone by the simple touch of a witch’s hand.

The radio at his belt crackled. “Chief, you still here?” David’s voice broke through his reverie.

Warrick unclipped it with practiced ease. “Finishing up.”

“Thought you had that guys’ night at Hartley’s.” A pause, then David’s voice continued with knowing amusement. “Or are you waiting for another red-haired visitor?”

Heat crawled up Warrick’s neck. “I’m leaving now.”

“Sure you are.” David’s chuckle came through clearly. “By the way, heard through dispatch that Gus has been drinking since noon. Might show at Hartley’s tonight.”

Warrick’s jaw tightened. “Understood.”

He locked the station door with more force than necessary. The metal groaned beneath his grip—another reminder of emotion bleeding through his usual control. Even the mention of Gus triggered a territorial response these days. His tiger recognized a threat not just to position and pride, but to something deeper—the budding connection with Molly that grew stronger with each shared smile, each collaborative spell, each “pretend” date that felt increasingly genuine.

A cherry blossom petal drifted past, carried on a breeze from the park. Warrick caught it reflexively, the delicate pink fragment appearing impossibly fragile in his calloused palm. It reminded him of the edible flowers Molly sometimes wove into her hair at the bakery—bright spots of color against her auburn curls. His tiger rumbled with possessive appreciation at the memory.

Focus, he scolded himself, releasing the petal to the wind. Tonight was about unwinding with friends, not mooning over Molly Hues like some lovesick cub. Even if her laugh echoed in his mind, or her scent lingered in his senses, or the warmth of her body pressed against his during their moonlit ward check refused to fade from his skin.

Whispering Pines transformed at twilight. Magic shimmered more visibly, iridescent traces outlining shop windows and doorways. Protection spells had tripled throughout town since the sabotage began—evidence of a community banding together. Witches reinforced wards daily. Shifters patrolled in subtle rotations. Warrick noticed the gleam of fresh protection runes etched into the stonework of Luna’s Apothecary as he passed.

The cobblestones beneath his boots held centuries of history, magic seeped into every crack and crevice. After decades of rootless wandering, Warrick had chosen this town not just for its supernatural acceptance but for its sense of permanence. Of continuity.

And now, he found himself contemplating an even deeper connection—not just to a place, but to a person.

His tiger growled impatiently at his hesitation. The animal knew what it wanted. Molly’s fiery spirit, her endless compassion, her unwavering courage. The way her magic rose to meet danger without flinching. The perfect curve of her smile when she caught him staring. The beast had chosen its mate. The man still cautiously circled the enormity of that commitment.

Tonight, surrounded by trusted friends, perhaps he’d finally voice what roared within him.

Hartley’s Brewery occupied a renovated stone building that had once housed the town’s original meeting hall. The transformation preserved its historic character while adding modern comforts. Copper brewing vats gleamed behind glass partitions. Exposed wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling. The rich aroma of hops, barley, and spices infused the air.

Warrick paused before entering, straightening his shoulders. Inside, awaited men who’d gradually become more than drinking companions or professional allies. They’d become friends—as close to family as his nomadic centuries had allowed. The realization settled strangely in his chest, another tie binding him to Whispering Pines.

The heavy wooden door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Warmth, conversation, and laughter spilled out into the evening air.

“The mighty chief finally graces us with his presence!” Kade Blackwood’s boisterous voice carried over the general din. The wolf shifter occupied a corner table alongside the others, arm raised in greeting.

Warrick navigated between crowded tables toward the group. Sheriff Reed Mallory’s familiar stoicism; David Rhodes already settled in; Falkor Grashen’s ancient, measured presence; Lark Wilder’s perpetual half-smile; Kade’s animated gestures; Roarke Easton’s watchful panther eyes; and their host, Bram Hartley, massive bear shifter frame requiring two chairs.

“Some of us finish our work before playing,” Warrick responded, sliding into an empty chair.

Bram huffed. “Running a brewery isn’t playing.”

“Neither is keeping the peace,” Reed added.

“Says the man who delegated his evening patrol to Arden so he could drink with us.” Roarke smirked.

Bram placed a copper mug before Warrick. “House special amber ale. Aged in oak barrels with a hint of honey harvested from the south meadow.”

The first sip spread complex flavors across his tongue—robust, balanced, with subtle sweetness that reminded Warrick inexplicably of Molly’s honey lavender scones. Everything seemed to circle back to her lately as if his senses recalibrated all experiences to include her essence.

“So,” Roarke leaned forward, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, “how’s the ‘fake dating’ charade progressing? Daisy’s determined to extract every detail from me each night.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Warrick took another deliberate sip before answering. “Tell her to focus on wedding planning instead of my personal life.”

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