Page 34 of Strike It Witch

“Hot tub.” I waved him into my trailer and motioned for him to sit at the table where I’d left my towel. “Coffee? Tea? Wine? Whisky? All out of beer, sorry.”

“Wish I could soak in a hot tub about now.” He handed me the damp towel and sat down with an audible sigh. Rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. “I’d love a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”

“Mint okay? I grow it myself.”

“Sounds amazing.” He raked a hand through his dark red hair and rested his head on his forearms, powerful shoulders tugging up the sleeves of his T-shirt. It was an unguarded gesture, and despite my innate distrust of all things Pallás, I liked it.

I tossed the towel over my folding bathroom door then pulled the lavender from the waist of my swimsuit and tucked it into one of his hands.

His fingers closed around the delicate flower, though he kept his head down. “Thanks.” His voice echoed off the tabletop. “The one you gave me earlier ran out of juice this afternoon. Right around two o’clock. Speaking of which, why the hell did you bring a demon into my bar?”

“It wasn’t intentional. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” I grimaced. “I think. At least, I won’t do it on purpose. I can’t guarantee anything beyond that.”

“Wonderful. Demons and deception.” He rubbed his thumb over the lavender the way I’d told him to earlier, like a worry stone. “If I ever write an autobiography, that’ll be the title. See, thedemonspart will play ambiguous. Are they personal demons? Real demons? No one will know for sure. The chapter on deception will, of course, feature you.”

I scowled. “Unintentionaldeception, which really isn’t deception at all, when you get down to it.”

“Yes, let’s argue semantics, Betty. That’s exactly what my head needs right now.”

“Fine, I’ll drop the subject,” I said, and cast around for another. “Hey, have you heard anything recently about Mictlantecuhtli?”

He groaned into the table. “You brought a freakingdeathgodinto my pub?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I laughed nervously. “I was just wondering if you’d heard anyone talking about him, seen his glyph painted on the door of an illuminati-esque cult hideout in the city, that sort of thing.”

“No. And I don’twantto hear about it. In fact, I’d like to know less about it than I do right now.” The lavender released its fragrance as he stroked it. “Stop talking about it. I beg you.”

Ronan still hadn’t looked up. I was an earth witch. For all he knew, I could’ve handed him wolfsbane instead of lavender.

He trusts me.

A flutter of warmth started in my stomach and spread throughout my body.

Ilikedthat he trusted me.

Ronan was kind, and funny, and hotter than a Smokethorn sidewalk in July. I’d never met anyone quite like him. He was nothing like his bastard of a father.

Oh no.

Oh hell.

Oh hell no.

I would not,couldnotstart anything with Ronan Pallás. It was the king of bad ideas. I hated his father every bit as much as I hated the coven and trusted the elder alpha and the wolves in his inner circle even less.

Falling for the son of your sworn enemy was a bad idea at the best of times, and with my magic slowly weakening, this was far from the best of times.

Chapter

Ten

“Bad day?” I did my best to shake away the warm feeling, but it clung to me. I decided to blame the wine and move on.

“It started off great. Slept in for the first time in months, someone else made the coffee, and when I came down for a cup, a beautiful woman with a flower in her hair offered to dance on my bar. Then an invisible demon visited, half my afternoon staff called out, and I rounded out the day arguing with my alpha.”

I poured filtered water into a pot and set it on my stove. “Get it right, Pallás. I offered to sing your praises on the bar if you convinced your father to let Gladys move in here. No dancing will be involved.”

“This day keeps getting worse,” he muttered.

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