Page 62 of Hooked on a Witch
Chapter Fourteen
Shannon hadn’t left. She should’ve, but he didn’t have anyone she could call. No one should be alone when like this.
Facing her father needed to happen. She was a coward when it came to her dad. She didn’t want to hurt him or see him disappointed in her.
Her phone buzzed against her hip. She slid it out of her skirt pocket. Dad had texted twice. Eli once. Jen three times. All messages were versions ofWhere are you?That was a whole lot of it-can-wait. She slipped the phone back in her pocket and tiptoed back to Merck. For a long time she stood outside the entry of the den, listening for noise to determine if he was sleeping.
She didn’t want to intrude, especially if he wanted to be alone. A triangle of moonlight spilled across him in the dark room. Merck was lying on his side, breathing deep. He hadn’t moved much from when she’d left several minutes or more ago. A small snore came out every third breath.
Seeing Merck like this—vulnerable and passed out—was much harder, even stranger, than she could’ve imagined. She hadn’t known his hardened, grownup persona long, but he still seemed the strong and confident guy she remembered. She moved toward him, drawn as if an invisible magnet drew them together. The comforter had gotten tangled in his legs to the point it’d pulled off his upper body. Untangling wasn’t worth the risk of waking him up. The cushy chair across from him encouraged a lazy curl while she watched him.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text, this time from Jen:Your father called. Didn’t tell him anything. He’s P.O.’d.
New text from her father:Let me know you’re ok.
The one from Dad meant he’d entered resignation she wasn’t coming home tonight. The guilt piled on that she’d made all of them worry. She texted both, but not as a group message:I’m fine. Back soon.
She scanned through Facebook and news feeds. Nothing interesting had been missed in the world. She clicked off the dopamine-addictive screen and dozed. Something woke her up. A click of her phone said it’d been roughly three hours. She glanced around, wondering what had disturbed her.
Merck wasn’t on the sofa anymore. Where’d he gone? The hall light clicked on. He padded back into the den, his shoes now gone.
“You okay?” he asked. All wobbliness seemed resolved. He looked good. Better than good, to the point of energetic. His T-shirt showed off the tattoos she hadn’t taken time before to really notice. They went all the way up to the short sleeves and didn’t end. Gosh, that was sexy.
She nodded. “You?”
“I’m good.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Embarrassed.”
“No need. It’s okay.”
He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have happened to begin with. Why’re you here? Didn’t you have to talk with your father?”
“I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
He shifted on his feet. “Well, thanks I guess.”
Okay, now she felt awkward. She stood and grabbed her cell phone off the armrest of the chair. “I guess I can go now since you’re looking better.”
He caught her in his arms as she passed him, pulled her against him, and lowered his lips to hers. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he locked her to him and cupped the back of her head. He tasted so good. Her body melted into him, and her arms twined around his neck. She loved the inherent strength in his arms, his shoulders, and even his stance. Everything radiated power.
He grumbled, “I don’t want to stop this time.”
“Then don’t.”
***
He wouldn’t. Old vows be damned. No more excuses. Years of fantasy what-ifs involving her and his current wants collided.Boom.
“Know what I’m thinking?” His voice came out hoarse.
She shook her head. “Does it involve a bed?”
“A shower.” No way was he taking this anywhere while covered in blood with the stench of Reevo’s poison still swirling in his nostrils.
“Okay,” she whispered. Her phone buzzed. And buzzed again. She pulled it from a pocket at the side of her sexy sundress, typed a quick reply and clicked it off. “My people are worried and persistent.”
He took her hand and led her through the master bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. The sunken tub beckoned, but he didn’t have the patience to wait for it to fill. Maybe later.
He flipped on the shower and stripped off his shirt. A glance down found a lot of crusted blood on his lower abdomen. The knife’s entry point, now closed and healed, didn’t have residual bruising. None of the expected blackened skin from poison. Not even a scar. He was okay with whatever she’d done, but that didn’t eliminate his need to get questions answered. When there was magic involved, he needed to know exactly what transpired.
