Page 37 of A Match Made in Coven
The chief’s tone softened a fraction, but the underlying edge remained. “That’s the only reason those bureaucratic vultures aren’t circling us right now, asking for your head and mine on a silver platter. We’re lucky we didn’t both get the ax after this mess.”
Sarah Michelle’s shoulders slumped. He was right. She’d screwed up. Bringing Lorcan into this, letting him get under her skin… It had clouded her judgment and had been a mistake from the start.
“Who are you giving the case to?”
A flicker of sympathy crossed Riley’s features. “Malatesta.”
Sarah Michelle winced. Of course, it had to be him.
“Don’t make that face,” Riley snapped. “He’s one of the best detectives in the department.”
Yes, Malatesta was good at his job. He was also an arrogant ass who would lord this over her for the rest of eternity. But she bit back that retort, acknowledging Riley with a curt nod.
“I’ll have the case files on his desk by tonight.” Her tone didn’t betray the storm raging inside her. The anger, the frustration, the bitter sting of failure. She’d let everyone down—her department, her coven, herself.
Without waiting for a response, she strode across the parking lot toward her sedan, each step a little harder than necessary. When she got to her car, Lorcan was leaning against it, his expression regretful but also determined. What else did he want from her?
She wanted to scream at him, to demand how he could be so reckless, so stupidly noble. She wanted to shake him until he understood the position he’d put her in.
He detached himself from the car, freeing the front door, and Sarah Michelle quickened her pace, eager to get away from him and everyone else. This was why a Callidora and a Black could never work together. They were cursed.
She reached her car and fumbled with the keys, cursing under her breath for her shaking hands. Lorcan stood a few steps to the side, watching her with those piercing blue-green eyes that saw straight into her soul.
Lorcan cleared his throat behind her. “How bad is it?”
She paused, her finger hovering over the unlock button on the key fob, and turned to face him. The setting sun caught in his tousled blond hair, giving him a halo that only intensified her frustration.
“What do you think?” she snapped, her words sharp enough to cut glass.
Lorcan winced, running a hand through his golden locks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to blow up like that. I wanted to help.”
“Help?” Sarah Michelle scoffed. “Oh yes, you’ve been a tremendous help. Thanks to your little magical meltdown, I’ve been taken off the case.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” She gestured at the surrounding chaos. The air crackled with residual magic, causing her hair to frizz at the ends. “You’re free to go harass another detective.”
She finally got the door unlocked and flung herself inside, desperate to put some distance between them. But before she could close it, Lorcan’s hand shot out, holding it open.
“You can’t give up,” he insisted. “We can still—”
“We? There is nowe.” Sarah Michelle’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. The leather creaked under her fingers, proof of the tension coiled within her. “This isn’t giving up,” she spat, her words dripping with venom. “This is me doing my job. Or rather, not doing it anymore after your stunt.” She gestured toward The Backroom, where the magical cleanup was still in full swing. “Look, justice will still be served. Your friend’s killer arrested. Just not by me.”
“You can’t be serious,” he breathed.
Sarah Michelle’s eyes flashed, a spark of magic crackling at her fingertips. “Oh, I’m deadly serious,” she hissed, her words as biting as a winter wind. “The only good thing that came out of this hexed-up day is that I’ll never have to see your face again.”
He frowned and still didn’t release his grip on the car door, his jaw set with the same stubborn obstinacy. “Please, we can still—”
Before he could finish, a surge of raw magical energy erupted from Sarah Michelle’s fingertips. She’d had enough.
The force of her magic slammed into him, far more forcefully than she’d intended. Lorcan’s feet left the ground as he was flung backward until his back collided with the side of a nearby car, the impact echoing through the parking lot with a resounding thud.
Lorcan looked at her. He wasn’t even angry, just hurt—but not physically at least. His perfectly coiffed hair was now a disheveled mess, golden strands sticking up at odd angles.
His eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with another emotion she didn’t care to decipher. Disappointment, betrayal, or perhaps a mix of both. His jaw clenched as he peeled himself off the dented car that he fixed with an impatient flick of his finger. The air shimmered, a faint aura of magic pulsing in response to his roiling emotions.
Sarah Michelle ignored the stabbing sensation in her chest, a sharp pain that carried the bite of regret. She forced her gaze away from Lorcan. From the shirt that clung to his torso, rumpled from the impact. From the golden halo of his hair in the fading sunlight. And from his mesmerizing eyes that threatened to tear down all her carefully constructed walls.
