Page 55 of Hex and the City
“Wait. Hold up.” Leon’s hand was absently riffling through my paper bag, already looking for a croissant. “You’re Spanish?”
“Well, Spanish American,” I said, eyeing the croissant in his hand enviously. “I don’t really speak it, but we’re originally from Spain. I couldn’t take all the shady shit my family dabbled in, all right? I walked away from it all. What you see here? This is all that’s left of the wealth I took with me.”
“Great,” Leon said through a mouthful of croissant. “Just great. And here I was making up theories in my head about how you can afford your sweet car and rad apartment and crazy watch because of how awesome you are at your job. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you have nothing to do with the anomalist.”
I lowered my head, leveling our gazes, wanting to assure him of how serious I was. “I don’t have anything to do with the anomalist. What makes you even think that?”
He flung his hand up, his laugh empty. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that you both use weird crystal magic? How you’re originally from a magical crime family? I should be running. I should havebeenrunning minutes ago.”
“You’re just confused, Leon. I promise. Just please, hear me out.”
If I could just get him to relax, if I could just kiss that smear of chocolate off the corner of his mouth, everything would be better. I took one step forward.
“Stay back.” He brandished his croissant, glared at it, then raised his other hand. Tinges of bluish-green fire danced along his fingertips. “I’m warning you, Max, if that even is your real name. Stay the fuck back.”
“If you really were scared of me, you wouldn’t have let me drag you into the apartment. You would have kicked my ass. You’re strong enough to fend me off, Leon. You would have done it, too.”
“Don’t come any closer,” he warned, flinging half a croissant onto the kitchen counter. “I’ll fry your brain from the inside. You know I will. And this time, I’ll make it hurt a lot more.”
“You won’t,” I said softly, lowering his hand, taking him by the shoulder. “And I trust that you won’t.”
“I’ll hex you to within an inch of your life.” The flames on his fingers extinguished. The look in his eyes was familiar. Dangerous, but not in a way that promised pain. “I can break you, Max, and you know it.”
“I believe you,” I breathed, so close to his lips I could smell the chocolate on his breath.
“You’re going to pay for this,” he whispered. “You’re going to regret it.”
I kissed him, full and deep.
Even if he torched my skull out, hexed me to the grave — zero regrets.
25
LEON
Imoaned against Max’s mouth, still hideously angry, except that the aggression was twisting into something else. Something delightful. I pulled away, glowering at him as I licked my lips. I tasted chocolate.
What the fuck was I doing, anger-eating that croissant? Just leaning into my base impulses, just like now, him going in for another kiss, me taking it on the chin. Or on the mouth, as it were. Knowing where this was going, I might have something else on my chin in a minute or two.
I shoved him off again, barely getting him to budge a couple of inches from where he stood. Fuck, he was so strong, so solid, the muscles of his chest rippling under my hands as he pressed closer, refusing to give me room, to let me breathe.
My head was telling me to stop giving in to this, to identify Max’s behavior for what it was: a beautiful distraction. But my hole was screaming for more, grabbing me by the shoulders, telling me to surrender.
My heart. I meant my heart.
He kissed me again. I kissed him back harder, still furious, like doing this long and hard enough would eventually give me the upper hand, make me right. Was this really so bad, finding out that he was from one of those great families he kept talking about?
Never mind that it all sounded so sinister, like they were magical mafia, cartels with spellcasters. Never mind that Max turned out to be both American and Spanish, the two countries that colonized my homeland. Fate could be funny like that.
Brillante. Fuck. I should have figured as much. That was one of the words the Spanish left behind, common enough in Filipino usage that it should have made sense from the start. Somehow I always thought it meant jewel, or gemstone.
Not a diamond, what the name actually meant. Not like this man desperately bucking his perfect body against me, his muscles as hard as rock, that insanely sharp jawline, the terrifying clarity in his eyes that told me his exact intentions.
“Bedroom,” he muttered against my skin. “Now.”
“No,” I breathed, limply struggling against him even though every cell in my body was begging to give in. “So much — you have so much to explain.”
“Later,” he said, voice grating with desire, with urgency, so strong and so forceful that he’d somehow wrestled me into the bedroom already. “Talk later. Or tell me to stop.” He held me by the shoulders, stared directly into my eyes. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll back off.”
