Page 41 of Lunar Desires
Erin ran her tongue over her teeth, tapping her foot a few times. “Everything is fine. I don’t want you to panic.”
“Easier said than done,” Isaac responded. “These pricks are about to make our lives difficult.”
“Please don’t create a confrontation,” Erin countered.
Isaac gave a curt nod, followed by a mighty diva huff.
“Please, Isaac,” she implored.
“Fine. I won’t. You can trust me.”
His mood was in the toilet, irritation rolling off him in waves. With good reason.
I swung for positivity. “It’ll be okay.”
Listen to me trying to be all level-headed and calm while my chest buzzed with the intensity of angry bees trapped in a jar.
Erin was right about wanting a cup of tea. My cravings were through the roof.
Make that a tea with a side of spiced rum.
My brother glanced at me, then nodded again. No words, but an understating passed between us. One that said,“I’ve got your back, and cheers for having mine.”
A hundred percent. We were in this together, no matter what.
Dad…
My dad…
The door opened again, the two witchcops moving into a position to flank the door.
A man walked through it, dressed in a baby-blue suit with a navy tunic shirt beneath it. Blue glasses sat on a crooked nose, green eyes regarding me as he slowly walked around the table to the remaining seat.
I heard Isaac take a sharp breath, saw his arms fold even tighter.
Stefan sat down without a word, a waft of musk tickling my nostrils.
Immediately, I wanted out of his presence, every alarm bell screaming for me to put as much distance between us as possible. But the voice of my Aurora blood whispered for me to teach him a lesson.
I was the real power in this room, not him.
With one use of my Tidal Pull, I could have him face-planting on this table.
I wriggled in my chair, teeth clamped down on my bottom lip.
The inquisitor cleared his throat, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket. I’d never seen him up close before. His wizened, pinkish face was covered in scars and pock marks, and his bald head gleamed under the bright light, more scars crisscrossing his scalp.
My throat burned as I swallowed, my anxiety making my left foot judder.
Stefan removed his glasses, slipping them into his jacket pocket. He looked at me first with burrowing eyes. I squirmed, my cheeks on fire, both feet now curled into balls in my hospital slippers.
Oh, God.
“Hello,” he said in a deep yet relaxed tone. “I am High Coven Inquisitor Stefan Rushden.” He didn’t offer me a hand, only stared and upped the uncomfortable stakes.
“H-hi,” I answered.
Get me out of here!
