Page 32 of Summertime Hexy

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Justlets it be.

“I saw you with Rowan,” I murmur.

She groans. “Oh my gods,don’t.That date was a disaster. Did you know he served me actual flowers? Like, raw? No sauce. Just petals and awkward eye contact.”

I finally look at her.

She’s already looking at me.

“Why’d you go?” I ask.

“I panicked,” she says simply. “You got under my skin and I didn’t like it. Rowan was… safe. Dull. Predictable. The opposite of you.”

I nod. “So, a better choice.”

“No,” she says, and it’s immediate. Fierce. “Just aneasierone.”

Our eyes lock.

And everything unsaid swells between us like a tide.

I don’t touch her.

But I don’t move away either.

And in that moment, I know the truth like I know my own damn name.

I’m falling.

And for once in my cursed, blood-soaked, battle-scarred existence, I don’t want to stop.

CHAPTER 13

HAZEL

If I die because of a giant frog with wings, I swear I’m coming back just to haunt the entire Council of Magical Beasts. And I won’t be subtle about it either—I’m talking full-on poltergeist glitter revenge.

“This is fine,” I mutter as I sprint through the dense underbrush. “Everything is fine.”

Behind me, something snarls.

Correction: somethingslurps—like a frog mixed with a bear, on steroids, maybe cursed, maybe just cranky because someone (me) accidentally woke it up while collecting spell-activated night moss near the eastern marsh.

The creature lets out a thunderous croak-snort hybrid that rattles the trees. I catch a glimpse as I trip over a root and duck behind a fallen log—green hide, slick and iridescent like oil in moonlight, with four too-long legs and translucent wings that flutter with a sound like a thousand cards shuffling.

Its eyes are huge. Glassy. And glowing.

I am officially out of my magical depth.

I reach for my wand.

Snap it up. Flick.

Nothing.

“Don’t do this now,” I whisper.

The wand sparks feebly. Fizzles. Dies.

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