Page 46 of A Witchy Spell Ride
I didn’t even hear the door open. Didn’t register the footsteps until Ghost was kneeling in front of me, hands on my arms, voice like gravel.
“Selene. What happened?”
I pointed to the drawer.
He stood. Saw the photo.
And everything in him changed.
The fury hit his face first. Then his shoulders. Then his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles cracked. He didn’t say a word. Just pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling Reaper,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Pack what you need.”
“I—what?”
“You’re not staying here.”
“Ghost”
He turned to me, jaw set. “He was inside, Selene. He took that in this room. While I was holding you.”
“I know”
“You don’t know,” he snapped. “Because you’re still here. Still trying to keep your independence. Still pretending this isn’t what it is.”
I recoiled. The words stung because they were close to true. But before I could throw it back in his face, he exhaled. Stepped forward. Softer this time.
“I’m not locking you away,” he said. “I’m getting you safe. That’s it.”
I swallowed. “The clubhouse?”
“Yeah. It’s the one place he won’t get near. No way he walks past those doors without someone putting him in the dirt.”
The way he said it, calm, factual and terrified me more than shouting ever could. Because I knew, then, what Ghost was holding back. And how close he was to letting go.
I looked around my apartment. At the windows. The drawers. The place I used to feel untouchable. And I realized… I wasn’t safe here anymore.
I nodded. “Okay.”
His eyes softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled me in again. Held me like he had the night before. And this time, when I leaned into him, I didn’t pretend it was just comfort.
It was need.
And maybe something worse. Something deeper.
Because I didn’t just want to be safe anymore. I wanted to be his.
We moved like a drill.
Ghost snapped photos of the envelope, the handwriting, the angle where the picture must’ve been taken. “Not your phone,” he said when I reached for mine. “Use mine. Yours is compromised until Cross scrubs it.”
“Cross is not touching my—”
“He’ll look at metadata, not your emojis,” Ghost said dryly. “Pack.”
