Page 6 of The Imp Act

My skin is always red, so that doesn’t tell me anything in terms of this heat spike, but I’m also sweating profusely, which is weird. Imps are basically immune to heat, including fire. It takes alotto burn us or even elevate our temperatures, so this shouldn’t be happening.

As I stare in the mirror, something catches my attention. I lean closer and then blink a few times just to be sure, but yeah, I’m seeing what I’m seeing: There are flames dancing in my eyes, obliterating my pupils.

Oh, fuck.

Suddenly this whole thing makes sense. My grandpa told me about this several times. I listened to his story over and over again. I loved it, but I never,everthought it would apply to me. But these physical symptoms? They can only mean one thing.

I found my true mate.

Holy shit.

I never dreamed this would happen. I mean, it does, of course. My grandparents are proof of that. But it’s not super common. And to think, I found her at my favorite club, without even trying. Surely that’s a sign that we’re meant to be.

I rub my hands over my face, trying to grasp the whole situation. But it’s impossible.

I have a mate. I found her.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes, my body begins to cool down and return to normal.

When I climb back under the covers, my mind is still swirling.What does this mean, exactly? How will she feel about it?And most importantly:How does this change my entire situation?

Noelle stirs as I settle in, tucking my wings behind me. “Everything okay?” she asks, rolling toward me.

I cuddle her close and kiss her head. “Everything’s fine,” I tell her.

Assuming I can figure out how to turn a one-night stand into a wife.

CHAPTER THREE

ENZO

I’m up early the next morning, prepping a special breakfast. If I’m going to propose to this woman, whom I’ve only known a few hours, I should at least set the scene. I put out a couple of bowls of fresh fruit—berries, melons, and grapes—to complement the star of the show: chocolate crepes, complete with powdered sugar. I also make a pitcher of mimosas, since champagne will be called for to celebrate our engagement…I hope.

Noelle comes downstairs at the perfect time. I’ve just plated the crêpes and poured the drinks.

“Good morning,” I say. “I hope you slept well.”

She grins at me. “I did, thanks.” She’s wearing nothing but the white button down I discarded last night but, instead of looking like a wrinkled mess, she somehow looks alluring.

“What’s all this?” she asks, looking at the table.

“It’s breakfast,” I respond.

“Seems awfully fancy, but who am I to complain?” She slides into a chair. “It smells amazing in here. Is there anything better than the scent of fresh pastry?”

Gingersnaps, I think to myself. I clear my throat. “Well, I have to admit, I may have had an ulterior motive here. Hence the fancy.”

She pops a strawberry into her mouth. “Color me intrigued,” she says as she chews.

“I have a proposition for you,” I say. “Well, a proposal, I guess you might say.”

“I’m all ears.” She props her elbows on the table and leans in, obviously intrigued.

I sit across from her. “You mentioned you recently graduated from fashion school. Should I assume you have some student loans?”

She laughs. I like that her laugh isn’t dainty. It’s a full guffaw, and it’s cute. “That would be a safe assumption. Boatloads of loans. Here’s hoping my fashion line takes off so I can pay them back.” She crosses fingers on both hands and waves them in the air, a plea to the universe, or maybe to the fashion gods.

“I think I can help you with that. I realized last night: You have something I need, and I have something you need. We could make a deal.”

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