Page 14 of Happily Ever Witch
“He said something about a Magic Matrix, but…”
Trevelyan cut her off. “I scored very well on his new matrix. You…didn’t.”
That was more lousy news heaped onto the pile. Trevelyan lived and breathed magic. It was all he cared about and his non-dragon, disloyal, incredibly irritating True Love barely had enough mystical powers to make balloon animals. Thank God his parents weren’t alive to see what had become of the family name. It would kill them.
“Like I give a shit about Professor Bunny and his fake tests.” She was standing by the wall, watching him like he was a horrible nightmare made real. Which improved his mood, a bit. “We don’t even know how they work.”
“The Rabbit is weighing how much Good and Bad is in each of us.” At least, that’s what the files said. “Apparently, he’s been listening to Marrok’s Goody-Good True Love and decided that nobody is all one thing or the other. We’re all a little bit Good and a little bit Bad.” (Except Trevelyan. With the two percent margin of error, he was safely evil, through and through.) “The Rabbit wants to know exact proportions.”
Esmeralda scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t break apart people into neat and tidy percentages. He’s a quack! You might have noticed by his secret, underground lab, filled with incompetent henchman and bubbling test tubes.”
Trevelyan sent her a look through his lashes. “Guess how wickedyourmagic is, witch.”
“Magic and math havenothingto do with one another. You may as well ask me what imagination tastes like or how big the color blue is.”
“Fifty-one percent wicked.” He held up the graph so she could see for herself. “Your magic is barely half evil. Another point or two in the wrong direction and you’d be a fairy godmother.” He arched a brow. “With the margin of error, you don’t evenqualifyas Bad.”
(And there was surely a margin of error.)
“Of course I’m Bad!” The witch objected, rightfully insulted by the alternative. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been arrested?”
“Being arrested a lot just proves you’rebadat being Bad.”
“Yeah, well, you were locked up in the same prison as me, dumbass. So look who’s talking.” She was genuinely affronted now. “Why are you even reading that crap? Some kidnapper in a bowtie gives you a stack of files and you just believe what he says?”
“The fact that I’m no longer in a mystical coma lends some credence to the man’s scientific abilities.”
“You’re not in a coma, becauseIwoke you up. Me! Esmeralda, thewicked witch.” Her lovely crimson eyes narrowed. “And fifty-one percent is aclearmajority.”
“Fifty-one percent is fucking tragic.” He flipped the file closed, totally discouraged. His head was pounding, but he wasn’t about to show weakness by rubbing at his temples. “Whatlevelmagical powers do you have?” Rankings gave everything context. Maybe she was somehow very powerful, which would offset the taint of Good. “The files don’t say. Tell me it’s above a three.”
“None of your business.” She gave her wild hair a toss and Trevelyan’s attention instantly shifted.
He had no idea why she wore a tiara, but he liked the look of it in her thick tresses. Black curls bounced around the twinkling diamonds in unholy ways. The one promising part of this situation was the woman’s undeniable beauty. Not even magic could’ve created a body as perfect as hers, a fact that she apparently wanted to show off in glorious detail. Her clothing was ridiculously small, revealing acres of lush, pristine skin.
Witches had the most incredible skin of all the species. It was green and luminous and so soft that men fought to touch it. It was also extremely delicate. Bruising easily and melting in water. Like all rare and special things, it required care.
Trevelyan had no idea how to care for anyone.
He also wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or pleased that Esmeralda was comfortable exposing so much of her translucent flesh to the world at large. Vast portions of her hourglass figure were on display, for anyone who cared to look. …Andeveryonewas going to look.
On the one hand, Trevelyan certainly liked the view. The woman was a work of art. (If you considered pinup calendars “art,” anyway.) Again and again, his gaze went to the tall boots she wore, admiring the shape of her thighs disappearing beneathher too-short skirt. He’d always appreciated a woman’s legs and hers seemed to have been sculpted from fishnet stockings and male fantasies.
But, contradictorily, it also bothered him thatothermen could behold her ample curves and radiant skin. Some cosmic force or another had given Esmeralda to Trevelyan. Her magic was ordinary, and she was his adversary by association, and he found her high level of Goodness to be dismal. But none of that made a bit of difference. Now that the witch was in his clutches, every other male needed to stay away.
Dragons didn’t share.
“Tell me about that imaginary record store boy, again.” He ordered, leaning forward on the bed. “The one you were hoping would be your True Love. Did he mind your powers were so very… average?”
“Fuck yourself, Trev.” Crimson eyes gleamed. “Sideways.”
He felt his body hardening under her challenging glare. Inside of him, the dragon roused. Liking her rebelliousness. Dragons were drawn to women who didn’t just meekly obey. They desired strength.
They liked the hunt and the fight and the conquest.
For the first time since the WUB Club, the dragon focused on something beyond rage. It stared at the witch, from deep within Trevelyan. The smoke and hate in his mind cleared slightly. For a blessed moment, there was calm.
Perhaps things were looking up.
