Page 38 of Snips, Snails and Werewolf Tails

Treyton asked me to create the birth chart for his clan leader as payment for the most recent secrets he told me. My birth charts are renowned for the great powers of foresight imbued into them. They are a pain in the ass to make but are powerful tools of prediction once completed. And although they usually take a good deal of time to complete, I'm drawing the creation of this chart out so I can spend more time around Treyton.

He sits down in the chair beside me, glancing only briefly at the magic light emanating from my palm, and then looks down at the birth chart.

"It's stunning," he says with a look of awe on his chiseled features. "I had no idea that these things could be such beautiful works of art."

I can feel myself blushing, even in the dark. Most birth charts have illustrations on them—zodiac symbols at least. But I like to make mine more decorative, with drawings of the planets and stars, and the creatures and figures that represent the zodiac signs. It helps the magic sink deeper into the paper, I think.

I thank him for the compliment and then spend a few minutes pointing at various things to explain them. This way, he will be able to relay the chart's interpretation to his clan leader in a way that will sound impressive.

"What is this?" he asks as he touches the side of my forearm.

The slight caress sends a sizzle sliding up my arm. I look down at the place on my skin that he touched and realize that because I have my long sleeves pushed up so the fabric doesn't drag across the ink, the tattoo on the side of my arm is visible.

"As above, so below," Treyton reads, reciting the words of my tattoo under his breath. The way that he says it sounds sultrier than it should.

"It's a phrase that reflects the tie between things in the spiritual plane and things here on earth, and the tie between things that happen in the celestial bodies and things that happen within us," I explain. "Like how the seasons change and the phases of the moon affect us. It's derived from an ancient Hermetic tablet."

"So, likekarma?" he asks with a raised brow.

Normally, I would shoot down a simplified explanation of such a complex and meaningful phrase. But somehow, his simplistic reference to karma makes perfect sense to me.

"I guess I've never thought about it quite like that, but yes, in a way I suppose it's very much like karma."

Treyton looks at me and smiles, pleased with himself that he gave a witch new insight on her own tattoo. But I am too disarmed and enchanted by the way his jawline is half covered in shadow in the dim light, and his mouth is curved upward, to be vexed about it.

"What kind of witch are you, anyway?" he asks. This time his raised brow looks more inquisitive than playful.

"I'm a cosmic witch," I say, unsure why he's asking me something that he already knows the answer to.

"No, no, I know that part. I mean what can youdo, besides enchant birth charts?" he clarifies.

"Alot."

I keep my answer short and almost sharp, hoping to add a layer of mystery to my image even as I wonder why I care. But then, just as I begin to scold myself for acting like a giddy teenager instead of a grown-ass woman, Treyton ruins my self-reprimanding silent lecture with his honeyed tongue.

"I guess that explains why your eyes look like they are filled with stars then, doesn't it?" he says with a lingering grin.

The light coming off my hand begins to flicker as I try to retain control over the emotions that are pounding in my chest like a rushing dam. I'm caught off guard, speechless, and much too flustered to say anything. I look down at the paper in front of me and pick up my pen to finish the chart. With a few more strokes of ink, the chart is complete.

I look up, breathless even though nothing other than my hand has been moving—writing furiously against the paper—and for a moment, it almost seems like Treyton wants tokissme.

Or maybe he just wants to bite me.

With vampires, it can be hard to tell. One passion is easily mistaken for another, or so I've heard.

I stare at him with frozen, wide eyes, the room perfectly still, like framing the opportunity for our lips to meet. But then, before I can decide whether it's just a fantasy in my head or Treyton reallydoeslook as though he wants to kiss me, there is a knock on the door.

A knock here, and now, with me inside the vampires' den where I shouldn't be, is more than just startling—it'sdangerous.

"Hide!" Treyton whispers with urgency.

I look around in a panic. The room is small, and dark, and there aren't many places to hide. There are only the table and chairs where we're sitting and a thick, red curtain covering the window.

Treyton pushes against my arm like guiding me silently toward the curtain, and I rush to hide behind it. The curtain is a thick, opaque velvet and too long for the window, the excess material collected in heaps of fabric on the floor. But whoever made them didn't make the same mistake with the width. For the first time in my life, I wish my plump breasts were just a bit smaller; they protrude even as I press my back against the wall.

Unfortunately, none of this will matter if whoever is at the door cansmellmy blood. I've heard from multiple reliable sources that vampires have an uncanny ability to smell blood and delineate it by species. If that's the case, then I'm screwed.

The supernatural factions are at peace right now. It helps that the vampires, who have always been the most volatile among us, have a new clan leader. The last one was atrocious. Word has it that their new leader is more open-minded and wants the supernatural factions to live as equals. Even so, this is still the vampires' territory, and I am not welcome here. No one is welcome inside the vampires' den without an invitation. Not unless they want to be considered a snack.

---