Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 134501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
‘Oh, I know,’ she said, feeling her lips hitch up. ‘I wasn’t too crazy about the fact that I wanted you, either.’
‘Why not?’ he asked, clearly offended.
‘I didn’t believe that anything would ever come of it, so it was just annoying.’
‘If we hadn’t become allies, I wouldn’t have gotten to know you; wouldn’t be in your bed right now. That pisses me off. I should have seen before now that a lot of the rumors about you are just that – rumors.’
‘You had a blind spot when it came to witches who aren’t so well behaved,’ she pointed out.
‘It’s gone now.’ His finger lightly tapped her lip. ‘I see you.’
‘You do.’ She felt her nose wrinkle. ‘I’m not sure I like it.’
A smile blotted his gaze. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
Emberlyn only hmphed.
He whispered his lips over hers. ‘Sleep, baby.’
She let her eyes fall shut. ‘Night.’ She groaned when his hand roamed to her butt once more. ‘Seriously, give my ass some peace.’
‘Tried. Can’t.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ she challenged.
‘Both. I mean, it’s right there.’
She inwardly rolled her eyes. This was what she got for accepting an Alpha in her bed and life. She really only had herself to blame.
Stalking into the consultation room the following afternoon, Ripper found Emberlyn stood at the altar, her gaze on an open old text – a grimoire, maybe? He couldn’t tell. And if he was honest, he wasn’t trying to figure it out, distracted by the sight of her in a tan, V-neck dress with matching strappy heels.
When he’d declared that he’d make lunch – well, they’d already established that he liked feeding her – she’d told him she’d ‘go work on some potions’ while she waited. The scents of various herbs were strong in the air, giving him an idea of what she’d so far thrown into her bubbling cauldron.
Casting a quick look at the cat curled up on the stool near the fireplace, Ripper set his hands on his hips. ‘The basement door is jammed.’
Emberlyn slowly flipped the page. ‘Why are you trying to get into the basement?’ she asked without looking at him, her tone a little absent.
‘I can hear noise coming from down there.’ As if small animals were skittering around and wrestling or something. ‘I want to check it out.’
‘No need.’ An airy response. ‘All is fine.’
‘I want to check.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Pale-hazel eyes briefly slid his way as she opened a drawer behind her. ‘It won’t let you in.’
‘It?’
‘The basement.’
‘How can it not—’ Cutting himself off, he shook his head. ‘I don’t understand this house sometimes.’ It seemed alive to some degree. And it was definitely haunted.
Honest to God, he’d opened a particular door upstairs when taking a wrong turn looking for the bathroom a few weeks back and that door had slammed in his face while someone – or something – inside the room had hissed in warning.
When he’d told Emberlyn, she’d simply said, ‘Yeah, you don’t want to go in that room. Best to pretend it’s not even there.’ Then she’d gone back to sipping her tea while reading a book . . . like it was no biggie that not only was she clearly not alone in this house, but the entities weren’t all harmless.
Right then, having fished a pair of snips out of the drawer, she began making her way to the window.
That easily, his irritation leached away because . . . ‘I swear, watching you walk is straight-up porn.’
Emberlyn blinked, stilling. ‘That’s one I haven’t heard before.’
‘Only because no guy has dared say it out loud.’ They’d all been thinking it – he’d put money on it.
She shot him a playfully prim look and snipped a leaf of a potted plant on the windowsill. ‘You do a lot of things other men haven’t dared do when it comes to me.’
‘You like that, though.’
She huffed but didn’t deny it. As she returned to the altar, she held her hands above the cauldron and rubbed her palms together, letting tiny bits of crushed leaf fall into the brew.
He walked to the altar and sniffed. ‘What are you making?’
‘Potions for insomnia.’
‘You making them for the Founders’ Fair?’ The event took place the last weekend of May every year to celebrate the anniversary of the date Chilgrave was founded. ‘You usually have a market stall, don’t you?’
‘I do. And yes, I’ll be selling these at the market – along with a dozen other kinds of potions.’ She peered down at the old text again and then chanted low. Magick dust in colors of teal blue, black and silver coasted down into the cauldron. The water there fizzed and gurgled for a few seconds.
‘Are you going to let any of the witches who attacked you buy anything from you?’
‘Nope.’ She stirred the brewing potion with her athame. ‘I meant what I said to them. I’ll never lift a magickal finger for any of them again.’ She set her blade down on the altar. ‘They can go swivel.’