Page 63 of The Royal Street Witch
“Why did you take two?”
He looks caught, folding a pair of jeans, eyes flitting around the room.
“Traffic in the Bay Area is tricky. We don’t want to get stuck in a bad situation.”
“Then we should have left tonight, like I suggested.” Anger simmers inside me at how reckless he’s becoming, how concerned I am.
“I didn’t want to leave tonight. We only have a few days left. I don’t want to waste any time.”
“We don’t have Cassius’s blood here to save you like last time. I told you it’s too much. You need to be careful.”
“You think you know what I need?” he roars and it jolts me like a thunderclap. His fangs catch my eyes and I step toward him, my body electric with shock at his reaction.
“I may not know what you need, but I know what the fuck I’m talking about. Magic can undo you. I can take this all away.” Stabbing my own chest with my pointer finger, face flushed with heat.
His head falls back with a cold laugh, eyebrows dark and raised.
“Are you fucking laughing at me?” I rush to him, fighting every urge to push his chest, slam him to the floor, anything.
“No, no.” He raises his hand in surrender, laughter on his lips. “You are just something. God, you are fierce.”
My blood thrashes, a bitterness coats my mouth at what feels like mockery. Like I’m some kind of joke. An irrational child. I raise my arms, power collecting in my hands, and swing them to the mattress. It lifts and I spin it, then slam it upside down on the floor, our bags flying with it.
“Laugh again and see what happens,” I threaten, and he looks at me. Rage pulsates off him—all impulse and emotions—and he pushes into me until I’m against the wall.
“Really?” he presses, fangs out, breath hot. “Really?” he says again, and I jerk my chin up. We both know I could shoot him through the window if I wanted to, but there’s something in his eyes that keeps me grounded. It’s hurt. “You threatening me?”
I stay silent, the obstinacy I was born with tearing me apart inside. I’m like a pit bull in a fight—when I bite down it’s hard to let go.
“Are you?” he demands and I blink, fighting the urge to push him away and pull him harder against me. “You’re not the heartless witch Cassius warned me about. You’re spiteful, fuck yes, you are. But you have a heart. Don’t threaten me. It breaks mine.” His fist clenches the fabric near his heart, his eyes bore into mine, and his fangs puncture his pillowy lip, causing a small drop of blood to bubble on top.
And he’s right, I am spiteful, but I’m not wrong for being upset. I just said the wrong words and I don’t know how to say the right ones. So instead of saying words, instead of saying I’m sorry for taking it too far, I dig my lips against his. Hard and rough.
He reacts quickly, rubbing my hips with his hands, pressing me into the wall, kissing me like he owns me.
I love him and I never want him to think I’m heartless. With him I’m all heart, I’m all emotions and all his. So I whisper, “Yes,” when he pulls down my panties and presses into me right against the wall. And finally, with each thrust, I can say the words I couldn’t say before.Sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.And he says them too.
Our spat has us off schedule, and Bastian had been right about Bay Area traffic. By the time we get to the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco, we both are worn out and exhausted. It’s close to dark when we arrive, but I manage to still see a few sights. We pass Grace’s Cathedral, a gothic and elegant church only minutes from where we’re staying. Some streets are so steep, the sidewalks have steps in them. Cable cars of red bustle by, their passengers buttoned up from the chilly air.
My phone buzzes in my hand while Bastian pulls into the parking garage. I expect it to be my mother because if I don’t respond to one of her messages soon she will file a missing person’s report, blast my face all over Facebook, have Chantal hunt me down, and then possibly kill me.
But it’s not my mother, it’s worse. It’s Aunt Violetta.
Darling, we are running out of time and excuses. Rosemary and I will be there Wednesday to go over where we go from here. I will be informing your mother soon.
My body goes cold, my phone slipping from my lap onto the car floor. I bolt down to grab it, Bastian studying me. He grabs my hand once he’s pulled up to the valet. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh,” I stammer, pushing my phone into my purse pocket, trying to pretend it didn’t just happen. “Not a thing,” I lie with a tight smile and he side-eyes me, but thankfully the valet approaches and I’m saved from further interrogation.
My head draws back, taking in the extravagant lobby. Lights twinkle from chandeliers that hang from a ceiling so high, my entire building could fit inside it.
“You’re tired,” Bastian says, collecting his credit card from the concierge.
“I’m starving,” I respond as he dips his finger into my waistband, pulling me against him. He’s warm, but his color is a little off and it sends a chill down my back. “You okay?”
“Perfect.” He winks.
We go to our room to change and back down to the dining room to get some sustenance and then hopefully some much needed rest.
