Page 38 of Brimstone and Broomsticks
Cassie nodded. “That what should have just been a fight to first blood was taken too far and a wolf killed more for political reasons than because they wouldn’t yield. That there might have been cases where a death was covered up as you said. This one…the challenger was a twelve-year-old boy. Who the hell accepts a challenge from a twelve-year-old boy? Then excuses his death as justifiable under pack law?”
I leaned over her shoulder. “Did your grandmother investigate the death?”
She shook her head, her hair brushing against my cheek. “She tried, but the wolves would only give her the basic information. They claimed pack law. Jurisdiction. It’s bullshit, Lucien. Twelve years old.”
“And you’re worried that might happen again?”
She closed the journal and set it aside. “Yeah. Bronwyn’s worried too. I think…I think if I want to keep the peace for the residents here in Accident, that I’m going to have to intervene. Sherriff Oakes is a skilled, dedicated man…or dryad, but there’s only so much he can do. The town needs a witch. And out of all my sisters, I’m the one best suited to do this.”
There was a note of frustration in her voice. I smoothed a stray lock of her hair to the side, my fingers brushing against her neck. “You’re not alone, you know. This isn’t like when your mother left and you had to raise six of your sisters. You’re not alone.”
She turned, her mouth inches from mine. “I know. You offered. And trust me, I’m tempted to take you up on that offer.”
I was tempted to do a whole lot more, but not now—not unless she made the first move. “Not just me. You’ve got six sisters who are ready to back you up with their magic. You’ve got a dryad sheriff, that rat-shifter of a policeman, trolls and cyclops, and fairies, and whatever else this town has. Every one of them has an interest in keeping this town a peaceful place for them all to live without fear. You’re not alone, Cassie.”
She leaned forward and touched her lips to mine. Tentative. Soft. Gentle. I held back, letting her take this where she wanted. Slowly she eased back, her eyes raising to meet mine.
“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep in Adrienne’s bedroom after all.”
“Where should I sleep then?” I murmured. “The couch? Here in the attic? Some doghouse out back.”
“My room.”
She leaned forward again and this kiss had all the runaway passion she’d held back from the previous one. Her tongue tasted mine, her hands bunching up the bottom of my shirt to feel their way up my skin. I dug my fingers into her hair and pulled her to me. She made an impatient noise, shifting to straddle me, pushing me backward onto the ground right into the bowl of pasta.
“Shit! I’m so sorry.” She laughed, trying to wipe the food from my shoulder, smearing noodles and peas in cream sauce all across my shirt.
Sitting up, I yanked the shirt over my head, tossing it to the side. She took the opportunity to do the same, revealing a lacy red bra.
“That needs to go as well,” I told her.
She hesitated. I took a chance and reached out to trace the edge of the lace with my finger.
“Or not. Your call, sweetheart. Everything we do or don’t do is entirely up to you.”
She took a breath, then smiled, slowly unhooking the bra, sliding it down from her shoulders and off to join her shirt on the attic floor. With a graceful move she stood, slowly unzipping the skirt and dropping it to the floor. Then she hooked her thumbs in the red panties and shimmied them down to join the skirt.
I stared, drinking in the view. I’d been imagining her naked since I’d first seen her from my jail cell, and my imagination hadn’t been anywhere near as spectacular as reality.
“Your turn, hellboy,” she teased, her voice husky.
I stood, shucking my pants with far less grace than she’d just done.
“All the way,” she said, waving a finger at the underwear that wasn’t doing much at hiding my desire.
I complied and she stepped forward, sliding a hand up my chest and around my neck to pull my mouth to hers. She tasted of honey and cinnamon and wine. Her lips and tongue, her body pressed against mine, the thought of her underneath me was almost more than I could stand.
Then she pulled back and I stifled a groan, torn between the desire to take her here and now on this attic floor and to let her move this at her own pace.
It seemed like forever I waited for some sort of signal from her. Finally she tilted her head and shot me a crooked smile. “Let’s go downstairs. To my room where we don’t have to deal with hard attic floors or spilled bowls of pasta or knocking over the wine.”
“Deal,” I told her, scooping her into my arms.
We somehow made it downstairs and into her bedroom, kissing all through the hallway like crazed teenagers. And once that witch got me into her bed, that’s where I stayed. All night long.
