Page 8 of The Witch & the Hound
Oh.
Oh.
The preview thumbnails alone were enough to make me choke on my own spit. Things long, thick, tapered. Egg-shaped protrusions near the base that looked both impossible and intriguing. Things involving tails I couldn't even put into words.Academic curiosity, I told myself. Purely educational research. My body called me a liar and started taking detailed notes.
I pressed play.
Heat pooled low in my belly. My mouth went dry. I snapped the phone case shut like I’d been caught shoplifting.An entire cathedral bell of want rang through me and kept ringing.
My nipples were diamond-hard under my sweatshirt, and my thighs pressed together like they had plans.
“Maggie?” Bram’s voice carried from the hall, low and steady.
"Oh, crap," I whispered at my reflection. My curls were feral, my face flushed, pupils blown. I looked exactly like a woman who'd just gone down an interdimensional smut rabbit hole in her own powder room. And was seriously considering a field study.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket, adjusted my sweatshirt, and tried to look like someone not wondering if his tail really could—
Nope. Not finishing that thought.
I opened the bathroom door.
Bram was standing in the hall, so close his horns brushed the low arch above him. He straightened as soon as I appeared, amber eyes scanning me like he was checking for wounds.Guardian. Gatekeeper. Trouble.
“You were gone a while,” he said.
My face went nuclear. “I was… washing my hands.”And committing several crimes of the imagination.
He tilted his head, not convinced but too polite to argue. The air between us felt charged, prickling my skin.Like the house itself held its breath to listen.
“Sorry,” I blurted, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “Didn’t mean to leave you standing there.”
I could feel him follow me, slow and deliberate. My pulse spiked again. My brain was still replaying images I shouldn’t have searched for, which was absolutely not helping.Neither was the soft sound of his steps or the hush of his tail against the doorframe as he ducked under it.
I busied myself rearranging cheese slices on the plate like it was an art form. “So. Bread and cheese. Soup’s hot. Wine’s flowing. You surviving?”
He didn’t sit. He lingered in the doorway instead, big and watchful. “Did I do something?”
I froze, knife halfway through a cheddar cube. “What?”
“You seem…” His eyes searched mine, then dropped to the floor. “Uncomfortable.”He thought he was the problem. He thought he was too much. The urge to step closer and say you’re exactly enough nearly knocked me sideways.
Oh God. He thought he was the problem. He thought I was uncomfortable because of him, when the truth was I’d justwatched a tail do… things on a shaky video filmed in a cheap motel room.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I said quickly, maybe too quickly. “I just, uh, needed a minute.”
His brow furrowed. “If you want me to leave—”
“No!” The word shot out of me like a cork.
I winced at how eager it sounded, then scrambled for cover. “I mean… no. You don’t have to go. Unless you want to. Do you want to?”
He blinked at me, tail giving a small twitch before curling neatly behind his leg. “No.”Softer than a vow, but it landed like one.
We stared at each other across the kitchen. The soup bubbled. The clock ticked. My heart tried to punch a hole through my ribs.Every ordinary sound made the wanting louder.
I shoved the plate of cheese toward him. “Then sit down and eat before I lose my nerve.”
For a moment, he just looked at me like I was a puzzle, or a dangerous spell. Then he stepped forward, pulled out a stool, and lowered himself with deliberate care. The island suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker.He was careful with the furniture the way he’d been careful with me. It did not help.
