Page 23 of The Tracker's Secret
“Take a seat wherever you want,” Damien said from his place in front of a huge, stainless steel gas range fit for a restaurant.
We picked tall stools in front of the wide island, which featured a normal-sized sink and built-in cutting board.
“Nice place you have here,” I said, watching him stir the contents of a pot as tall as a toddler.
He grunted in response, too intent on his cooking to acknowledge me. If his idea had been to put me at ease with his domesticity, he had accomplished his goal. It was a genius plan, really, because I couldn’t muster any fear for a man wielding a ladle and wearing a dirty apron.
My nose twitched as I tried to identify what he was cooking, but there were no scents in the air. Odd.
“There,” he said, making a racket by beating his ladle on the edge of the pot. “Now, it just needs to simmer for a bit.” He covered the pot, lowered the heat, and finally turned to face us.
His coppery eyes focused on Rosalina. He raised a thin eyebrow, which made me notice, for the first time, that they were completely white, like his hair.
“Um, this is my friend, Rosalina,” I said.
He quickly removed his apron, placed it on a hook near the stove, and came around the island. We were forced to turn in our stools to face him.
With a smile he extended a hand toward my friend. “Nice to meet you, Rosalina.” No smirk, no smugness, just genuine interest.
She lifted her hand hesitantly as if she were afraid Damien might bite it off. But he only squeezed it gently and deposited a slow kiss on her knuckles, his strange eyes never deviating from hers. Color rose into her cheeks as she mumbled a reply.
Really? The creep was flirting with my best friend. What the hell?Maybe shifting and killing someone wasn’t entirely out of the question.
“Can I offer you anything to drink?” he asked after finally releasing Rosalina’s hand.
“No, thank you,” we both said in unison. We had agreed not to drink or eat anything that he might offer. Mages could be tricky like that, and we already knew this one couldn’t be trusted.
“Mmm.” He scanned us carefully, judging, understanding the full meaning of our response.
I shifted in my stool, feeling uncomfortable. We were practically accusing him of trying to turn us into toads—or whatever evil mages did to their unsuspecting victims.
To my relief, he simply shrugged and said, “Your loss.” He walked toward a fancy espresso machine and began grinding coffee that smelled heavenly. “I figured you would eventually come. Shifting involuntarily when you least expect it can’t be any fun.”
“I actually haven’t shifted again. Just the once,” I said.
Damien turned from the machine and faced me. “You haven’t?”
I shook my head.
“That’s... interesting.” He pronounced the word interesting as if he actually meant “weird” instead.
We sat quietly for a moment while he considered, only the bubbling of the pot filling the silence.
“What do you mean?” Rosalina asked at last.
Damien’s attention shifted to her, and his coppery eyes seemed to sparkle, becoming more vivid. “Because it would take a reasonable amount of strength to prevail over a wild animal that has been caged for twenty years. Though, my spell hasn’t completely worn off, and it’s still keeping the wolf somewhat in check. But I would be lying if I hadn’t expected to read about some awful massacre in the newspapers this morning.”
“What?!” I said indignantly. “You mean I could have gone on some sort of rampage and you just let me go as if...” I waved my arms around at a loss for words, then turned to Rosalina. “What is wrong with this guy?”
“I normally don’t involve myself with werewolf matters,” Damien said. “I only did it with you to help your mother. You know, she and I had a thing back in college and—”
I put a hand up. “Hold your horses. I don’t want to hear about any of that.”
That was just disturbing, especially since I kept forgetting that he and Mom had been classmates in college. Despite his white hair, he didn’t look a day older than thirty. I wondered how old he really was, though, and how many spells it took to keep him looking so young.
“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes, then went back to his coffee machine and pressed a few buttons. Soon the entire kitchen filled with the unique scent of coffee.
As if he’d forgotten we were there, Damien went about the kitchen gathering plates and utensils, then pulled out several containers from the six-foot-wide refrigerator and started preparing breakfast.
