Page 79 of Outlaw Witch

Can’t have me thinking he’s got any soft feelings behind that gruff exterior.

I’m a tool to them. And tonight, I didn’t do my job successfully.

I take one of the most uncomfortable showers ever as my skin tingles and burns until my temperature raises to something normal. When I eventually come out, my fingers are all pruned and I’m dressed in sweatpants and an oversized, slouchy hoodie.

I step into the living room, ready to distract my whirring brain with mindless TV, the kind of shit that really speaks to my trashy soul. Only to find I’m not alone.

Contrary to what I expected, Zeph didn’t leave during my shower. He’s sitting on my sofa, his boot-less feet on my coffee table with a mug in one huge hand.

Wordlessly pointing at the other mug on the table, he continues to keep his attention forward. There’s some cooking show on the TV and he keeps his attention entirely focused on it, almost like I’m not in the room.

I plop down beside him and grab the other mug, taking a deep swig of velvety hot chocolate.

It’s like he was... waiting to check that I actually did manage to survive the shower.

And now, even though I’ve given him proof of life, he still doesn’t leave. Instead, he continues to sip silently at his hot chocolate.

It’s almost like he knows I don’t want to go to bed, even though I’m exhausted. I know that as soon as my head hits the pillow, all the events of tonight will roll back through my head on a loop. I’ll be plagued by them until I either give up on sleep for the night, or fall into a restless, no doubt nightmare-filled doze.

I don’t know what Zeph is thinking. Can’t say I ever do, really.

But I find I don’t mind the company.

We barely speak a word. Sometimes Z scoffs and mutters something scathing about the contestants on the cooking show we’re watching, but that’s about it.

For some reason, his presence soothes something inside me. It’s a total conflict with the way he usually makes me feel and I don’t understand it at all.

I wake up hours later with daylight streaming in through the window. I’m alone on the sofa where I must have fallen into a dreamless sleep. Dragging myself up and into the bedroom, I then drag myself to bed and fall into a dead sleep for another few hours.

It’s midday by the time I wake up properly and prepare to schlep my way next door to the guys’ apartment. My hair’s a tangled nightmare, sticking up all over my head like a startled cat and I’m still dressed in my ugliest loungewear.

I’m out my door and halfway to their apartment when I stumble to a halt. There’s someone charging toward me. Someone I really do not fucking want to see right now.

Or ever.

Felix Hawkshead.

I don’t have time to disguise myself as a pot plant or set myself on fire. So I have to grit my teeth as he slithers toward me, like the stupid asshole snake he is.

“Ms. Clement.”

I kick myself at my stupidity. Of course that’s how Fabian knew I could absorb his power last night. Here I am, assuming that no one knows who I am, when there’s one highly untrustworthy turd in the building. I bet he blabbed to Fabian as soon as I started working with them.

Maybe even before.

“Can I help you with something?” I don’t even know why I’m keeping up a veneer of politeness with this prime asshole. Although, if I give into my true feelings, I’ll throw this guy right out the window.

“I heard about the events of last night,” he says, his eyes roaming over me with disapproval clear in his expression.

My oversized hoodie is clearly not up to his standards. Quite frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck what he thinks and I just want this entire encounter to be over. There’s a niggle of anxiety in my gut, which I’m pretty sure can only be solved by checking on Fabian.

I’m not sure when I got so invested in his well being, but here we are. The guy snuck under my defenses quicker than I ever thought possible.

“Yeah, the ritual didn’t go quite as well as we hoped,” I reply breezily.

He steps closer to me until we’re toe to toe and I can once again smell his rancid breath.

Fuck. I’m glad I haven’t had breakfast yet, or I’d be tempted to bring it right back up again. It’s like his skin is sweating a mixture of sour gin and cigarettes and his breath is much the same.

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