“Even while you’re eating, all you can think about is where the next meal will come from,” Polina said.
“You’ve been there?” Logan asked, surprised.
Polina nodded. “When I was human, my village was ravaged by illness. Plague. Many of the adults died, and children like me weren’t as experienced with farming. There were too many lean years. I lived on turnip pottage for months. It was heaven when my suitor would catch a rabbit or down a deer.”
“Your suitor?”
Polina spread her hands. “I was an only child. My parents were dead. As I was not yet married, the man who wanted me was my suitor and my only source of meat. I knew nothing of hunting and was too busy farming my land to learn.”
Logan scratched the slight stubble of his jaw. “When was this Polina?”
She stiffened. “It’s rude to ask a woman her age.” She gave him a tight smile.
“I didn’t ask your age, just around what year you were left orphaned.”
“The 1530s.”
Logan broke into a fit of coughing.
“Are you all right?”
He held up one hand as he stumbled to the refrigeration unit and retrieved another bottle of water. Twisting off the cap, he guzzled. Shook his head. When his chest stopped spasming, he stared at her, an impassive expression on his face.
“Hunger drives us to do things we never thought we’d do,” she said absently under the weight of that stare.
The timer buzzed, rousing Logan from his thoughts. He jabbed his hand into an oven mitt and pulled out the pan, setting it down on the grate. “I usually let it cool, but since it’s just us, I’ll introduce you to the chef’s way.”
“Is it better warm?”
“The best.” He used a spoon to gouge out a massive piece and tip it onto a plate. With a hop, he scooted onto the counter, dangling his legs and holding the cake in his lap. “Are you ready to regret every other cake you’ve ever eaten?”
She laughed and approached him. “I’m ready.”
He spooned a bite of gooey, steaming chocolate and held it out to her. The smell alone was heavenly.
“No frosting?”
“Doesn’t need it.”
She reached up to take the utensil from him, but he jerked away. Did he intend to feed her like a child? With a wry half smile, he offered the spoon again, bringing it to her lips. His eyes were fixated on her face.
“Open,” he said.
Goddess help her, she did, like a helpless baby bird. Logan spooned the cake into her mouth. Cocoa and butter rippled over her tongue. Moist but not dense. She closed her eyes, her tastebuds coming alive as the flavor permeated her mouth. Any sweetness bloomed as an afterthought to the fudgy chocolate that hit her palate first. Rich. Decadent. The velvety texture was as much a pleasure as the flavor. She swallowed, almost dizzy with delight.
A moan vibrated in her throat. Her eyes opened. “I was wrong,” she said. “I can’t handle it.”
Logan’s green eyes were hooded, his face so close. She opened her mouth again and he obliged, spooning in another bite. He set the dish down on the counter next to her hip.
“You are magic, Logan Valentine,” she said. “You’ve ruined me for all other cakes.”
She meant it as a joke, although every word was true. He didn’t laugh. His hands reached out to cup her face. Inhaling deeply in surprise, her nostrils flared with the scent of warm male and chocolate.
And then he kissed her, pressed his lips against her mouth softly, as if tasting the cocoa on her breath. The kiss grew more urgent, his fingers threading into her hair, his hips pressing against hers, knocking her backside into the counter.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, relying on his him to hold her up because her head was spinning with pleasure. The room rippled with magic, her skin tingling, her lips burning. Chocolate and heat. Pleasure. Wanting.
There was something she was supposed to tell him. A warning. Several reasons this was a terrible idea. But when she parted her lips it was not to protest, but to invite him deeper inside.
Chapter Eleven
The Kiss
Red flags and warning lights flashed in Logan’s brain, but he found them easy to ignore. All his blood had rushed south, to the place where his hips circled against her belly. His first kiss was soft, a question. When Polina pulled him closer, he took that as his answer. He dug his hands into that bright red hair.
Hungry, he was so fucking hungry for her. He’d dreamed about kissing her a hundred times and hell if the real thing wasn’t better than anything his sex-deprived brain had produced. Her lips were soft, full, eager against his. She followed his lead, adapting to his cues in a way that gave him the impression of inexperience, although her immortality meant that couldn’t be the case.
She opened for him, took the kiss deeper, and he responded in kind, showing her with his mouth exactly what he’d like to do to the rest of her. He stoked her tongue with his, cupped the delicate bones of her neck in one hand. Her scent was enough to tip him over the edge, chrysanthemums and pumpkin spice. It mixed well with chocolate. Intoxicating. Combusting. Damn, she practically melted in his arms.
His erection kicked. He wanted her, all of her. Tracing her ribs with his hands, he rounded her ass and scooped her up to set her on the counter. He slid between her thighs, the skirt of her dress bunching around her hips. In response, she arched into him, the full contact of her torso as much an invitation as her open and enticing mouth.
His hand coasted up her inner thigh. Smooth, milky-white. The tips of his feathered over the thin strip of cotton he found covering her core. He wanted to kiss her there, lick and touch until she screamed. He circled his thumb. She groaned.
But then his brain played a dirty trick on the rest of him. He pictured Dream Silas in his head saying, You respect her too much to use her, even in your dreams. He did respect her, despite the fact she was a witch who didn’t normally care for humans. The way her lips moved, he suspected he’d changed her mind on the subject.
As painful as it was to stop, he retracted his hand and threaded his fingers behind her neck. Pulling back, he stroked her jawline with his thumbs. She looked at him with hooded bedroom eyes and swollen lips. The pulse in her neck throbbed against his palm. “Go out with me, Polina. A proper date. I want to know you better. I want to know everything about you. Before we do this.”
She blinked three times quickly and straightened. She seemed to shake herself from a trance. “This was a mistake,” she said.
“No. It’s not a mistake. Just too soon.” Logan groaned. “Is this about the human thing? Maybe if we got to know each other, you’d change your mind. I thought I’d never trust a witch again, but I’m willing to take a chance. I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Tears had formed in her eyes, causing them to glow sapphire. He almost gasped at the color, the contrast with her pale skin and deep red hair. Why was she crying? He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t.” She swallowed. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.” She drew her wand.
“What are you doing?” Logan held his hands up, the wand’s crystal tip glowing like a purple sun between them.
“It’s for the best, Logan. If I wipe your memory, it will be easier for both of us.” Her voice cracked.
A white-hot rage came over Logan. “Wipe my memory? Like I’m some kind of animal to use for your pleasure and then cast aside? Tell me, Polina, is this the first time we’ve made out or just the first time I remember?”
“It’s the first time,” she said. “And the last.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if we’d had a torrid love affair and you’d simply struck it from my mind when things got tough. That would explain why I can’t stop dreaming about you or thinking about you. Fuck, you’re like a disease with no cure.”
That made her take pause. “A disease?” she asked through her teeth.
“Yeah.” He pointed a finger at her face. “Yo
u are a fucking flu that keeps on hanging on. You know something else, sweetheart? This is why I hate witches. You all think you’re so goddamned superior. Rules don’t apply to you. You take what you want, do want you want, and don’t give a damn how it hurts people. If you wave that thing and wipe my memory, I will never forgive you, Polina. You will have proven to me you are no better than—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it. I am nothing like her,” she said, shaking. She lowered her wand. “You think I take what I want when I want? I can assure you I’m not doing so now. As much as it seems like I’m acting superior, if you had half a brain in your head you’d see this for what it is, taking responsibility. Relationships between witches and humans never work out—”
“Seemed to work okay for Grateful and Rick.”
Polina tipped her chin up. “She was a reincarnated witch! You of all people should understand the complications.”
“Complications? I kissed you and asked you on a date. It’s not a marriage proposal. Why do we have to overthink it? Why can’t you just go with it and see what happens?” He tossed up his hands in frustration.
“Can we agree to pretend tonight never happened?” she asked.
Logan planted his hands on his hips. “I only wish it hadn’t.”
She raised her wand again.
“Fine. It never happened.”
She tucked her wand back into the neck of her dress, into the holster sewn into her bra strap—always next to her heart and within easy reach. “I wish I could ‘go with it.’ I wish I didn’t know what happens. But I do. You might not believe this, but I think about you too. And, despite what you might believe, I don’t feel superior, Logan. Especially not now. Not to you. But I am embarrassed, because I should know better.” Wiping her eyes, she reached into her bag and grabbed a handful of gold dust.
“That doesn’t make any sense. How can you say you know what happens? You can’t possibly tell the future. Not for sure,” Logan said.
She shook her head, looking as sad as Logan had ever seen her. “No one can see the future. Tomorrow isn’t an absolute, aside from its coming and going. Witches like me don’t see, we predict. And almost five centuries of living has made me quite good at noticing the patterns of things. I had a very nice time tonight. Can we leave it on a positive note? Remain friends?”
Logan could still smell her flesh, still feel her silky hair in his fist. He did not want to be friends. “Sure. Why the hell not?”
She nodded once and raised her fist over her head, then paused to snatch the pan of cake from the counter.
“Hey!” Logan said.
As she released the gold dust in her hand, it swirled around her, breaking her and the cake apart into floaty bits of metal that blew up the faucet of the stainless steel sink and out of his kitchen.
“I could have covered that for you,” he yelled, wondering if the cake would arrive intact. He picked up the plate with the remains of the slice he’d fed her a moment ago. As he stared at it, the sense of being victimized stung in his chest.
“Best fucking cake I ever made.” He hurled the plate into the sink, watched it shatter. And did nothing to pick up the pieces.
Chapter Twelve
Aurorean House
“Oh dear. Oh, oh, dear,” Hildegard said worriedly from the bedpost.
“What? You’ve never seen a grown woman eat an entire chocolate cake?” Polina shoveled in another bite, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. As a metal witch, mirrors usually accentuated her power. But today, all they reflected was a wild-haired woman in pink flannel pajamas with a mouth covered in chocolate and a half-empty bottle of wine on her bedside table.
“What happened? You opened the Bordeaux. It must be serious.”
“He kissed me, Hildie.”
“Who kissed you?”
“Logan.”
“The human?”
She picked up the pan from her lap. “He made me this cake.” She dropped the pan and scooped another forkful of moist chocolate deliciousness.
“Looks tasty.”
New tears streamed down Polina’s face. She lifted the bottle of wine and sipped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she returned it to her bedside table.
“That was rather unattractive,” Hildie said.
“Who cares? Nobody here but us chickens. There’s never anyone here but us.” By the goddess, she was lonely and every fiber of her being wanted to fly straight back to Logan and dull the ache of it.
“This has really upset you. Was he unkind or inappropriate in some way?”
“No, he was sweet. Watch.” Polina waved her hand in a wide arc toward the cheval mirror and said, “Reveal.”
Logan’s face appeared in the silver, even more handsome than she’d remembered. “Go out with me, Polina. On a proper date. I want to know you better. I want to know everything about you.”
“A perfect gentleman. Why the tears?”
“It’s the spell, Hildie. Even Grateful thought so. You can’t touch someone’s soul and not feel some attraction. It’s not real, and even if it was, I know better than to get involved with a human again. It isn’t worth the heartbreak.”
“This is so much better?” Hildie cried. “Eating yourself sick on chocolate cake and wine while wearing granny jammies?”
“There are worse ways to pass the time.” She raised another forkful to her lips, but Hildegard swooped down and snatched the utensil from her grip.
“Pull yourself together, my lady! We have trouble in the realm.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The werewolf pack staying in Renegade Caverns has grown to twelve, if I’m counting right. New wolves. Young men and women who look like they’ve never shifted before.”
“Twelve? There were only three last time I checked.”
“The gargoyles have kept an eye on them as you requested. These new additions are recent. But Nicodemus says he saw them stealing food and drink from the human campsite last night.”
“Stealing? Interacting with humans? This is unacceptable. How long until the next full moon?” She sat up, wiping under her eyes.
“Three days. You need to talk with them. Get to know their leader and make sure he has a plan. The young ones will be hard to control.”
“I know. I know.” Bounding from bed, she carried the cake pan and wine to the kitchen. “Give me twenty minutes.”
“Not a moment more. I’m worried about you.” The owl landed on her perch, her head tipped in an almost maternal way.
With a deep, cleansing breath, Polina gave the owl a gentle hug. “Don’t worry, Hildegard. I’m already over it.” The owl bobbed her head and spread her wings, soaring out the open kitchen window.
Polina hated to lie to Hildegard. Her emotional state wasn’t even on the same map as “over it.” But she loved Hildie and didn’t want her to worry. She would simply muscle through it.
She returned to her bedroom and dug in her closet for something to wear. An ankle-length black skirt, thin and flowing, would do the trick on this hot day. She paired it with a peasant blouse and red leather corset. When she reached into the shelving to retrieve a pair of black boots, a camo-green container caught on the toe and slid from the shelf. Only her superhuman reflexes saved it from hitting the floor.
“What’s this?” She rotated the container in her palm. A Duck Dynasty thermos.
Polina dropped her clothes on the floor and clutched the thermos with both hands. This was the positivity potion Grateful had mentioned yesterday. The Monk’s Hill witch had made it for Tabetha and then given it to Polina as a reward for helping her slay Salem’s sorceress. A less-educated witch might call it a love potion, but Polina knew better. Positivity potion changed the drinker’s chemistry to magically attract their perfect match. It didn’t guarantee love. True love couldn’t be created or destroyed with magic.
She unscrewed the lid and looked inside. The potion swirled within. Shades of ruby and scarlet, pale at the edges and d
eeper colored at the center, spiraled with a life of their own. As she peered through the mouth, a glittery purple heart formed and then morphed into an hourglass figure before dissolving into pinky red tones. The aroma emitted from the brew almost brought her to her knees, dark spices and leather—the scent of a man from a concoction evocative of a woman. She caught herself lifting it to her lips.
Clapping the lid back on, she shivered with the effort of denying herself. Could she take this? If she found her match, would the new attraction wipe Logan from her mind? Perhaps there was a warlock or fae male waiting for her on the other side of this potion. It could be her answer, the magic eraser to wipe her emotional slate clean of the human. She opened the container again and brought her face closer to the lip.
“Ten minutes,” Hildegard called from the kitchen.
Polina returned the container to the shelf. With a firm shake of her head, she gathered her clothing and headed for the shower. She had more important things to worry about at the moment than falling in love. Besides, the potion she truly wanted was one to make the feelings go away rather than invite new ones. Get a grip. With a deep breath, she centered herself, and then she got back to work.
Chapter Thirteen
The Real Silas
“Whoa!” Sous-chef Jonah grabbed the pan from Logan’s hand and removed it from the flame, flipping the contents onto the plate he’d had ready. “Just because they call it sole doesn’t mean it should be as tough as leather.”
Logan scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck. Thanks. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Jonah frowned. “Why not? The restaurant was closed for that private party, right? Should have been an early night.”
Logan couldn’t get into the Polina situation with his coworker. Nothing ruined a professional relationship like crying on someone’s shoulder. “Right. Just couldn’t sleep. No reason.”
Jonah nodded slowly. “Well, if you want to take off, I can handle things back here. It’s slow anyway.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll just take a moment.” He left Jonah to finish the lunch shift and did a convincing Walking Dead impression toward his office. He had to pull himself together. No woman was worth this kind of anguish.
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