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“Thank me by making sure we save Poppy and getting your genie butt out of my apartment before I need it back,” Helen retorted with a playful wag of her finger. “I need my beauty sleep, and trust me, darling, it takes a lot of sleep to look this beautiful.”
The room filled with a chuckle that seemed out of place given the circumstances, but it was a welcome release. It reminded me of the warmth of hearth fires, not the destructive blaze we were up against.
The laughter drained from my voice. The night’s failure pressed on my chest. “Okay, y’all,” I said. “Go get some sleep, okay? We take tomorrow off, then regroup the next day after lunch. And by ‘after lunch,’ I mean no later than two—sharp.”
“You rest up, too, Tessa,” Riker said, giving me a nod as he finally turned to leave.
“Likewise, Riker. Don’t let the bed bugs bite—unless you’re into that sort of thing,” I replied, the corners of my mouth tugging upward.
As they shuffled out, my gaze flickered to the clock—its hands creeping toward an ungodly hour—and I stifled a yawn.
But then Riker turned around and stepped closer, and I could almost feel the electricity crackling between us—a dangerous undercurrent. The air seemed charged with a blend of tension and unspoken desire, thick enough to slice with one of the many enchanted blades hidden around my office.
“I know this is beyond anything we’ve faced before.” His voice dipped lower, sending a chill through me that tightened my nipples. “But I’ve seen you pull off miracles with nothing more than sheer stubbornness and a bad attitude.”
“Hey,” I protested weakly, but the smile that tugged at my lips betrayed me. “My attitude is one of my most charming features.”
“Exactly.” He flashed a smile, white teeth briefly visible in the dim light. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
A surge of warmth spread through me, but it was a different kind of heat—not from the battle ahead but from the man standing before me. Why did Riker always have to sound like a walking inspiration poster? And why did my rebellious body insist on reacting every time he flexed those leader-of-the-pack muscles?
“Maybe you should bottle that confidence,” I suggested, hoping my voice sounded more teasing than breathless. “Could make a fortune selling it to hopeless cases like me.”
“Who said you were hopeless?” Riker stepped back, breaking the spell. “You’ve got fire in your blood.”
“Fire, stubbornness, bad attitude...” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Sounds like a winning combo.”
“Let’s add ‘survivor’ to that list.” His gaze held mine, intense and unwavering. He reached out and cupped my cheek, and heat zinged through me.
For a moment, I thought he might close the gap, press his lips to mine.
Instead, he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Now go get some rest. We’ll need all the firepower we can muster tomorrow.”
“Rest,” I echoed, thinking of my lonely apartment, the restless energy coursing through me. “Sure, that sounds feasible.”
“Goodnight.” He turned to leave, and I watched him go, feeling a confusing mix of relief and disappointment.
“Night, Riker,” I murmured to the empty room, already missing the reassuring solidity of his presence. Sleep was probably a fantasy at this point, with King Zayn lurking in the shadows and Riker haunting my overly heated thoughts.
“Damn djinns,” I muttered. “And damn distracting bounty hunters with their pecs and promises.”
Alone now, the silence seemed to echo too loudly.
“Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew,” I whispered to the empty office, thinking how this case tangled around us. “Poppy doesn’t need a hero; she needs a damn army.”
I thought of my team. “An army of misfits,” I muttered. “Guess it’s better than going solo.”
As I reached over to turn off the desk lamp, the shadows stretched across the room, dark tendrils reminding me of the ever-present threat King Zayn posed. Closing my eyes, I could almost feel the scorch of his magic, the sizzle in the air before flames erupted. And there I was, armed with little more than a stubborn streak and a penchant for attracting trouble.
Mañana, Tessa, I told myself, channeling Mami’s favorite procrastination mantra. Right then, it sounded less like putting things off and more like self-preservation. With a decisive flick, the light went out, and I plunged the room into darkness—a fitting metaphor if there ever was one.
I flicked off the remaining lights. “Right,” I muttered to myself, grabbing my keys off the desk. “Home. Bed. Attempt to sleep.”
I locked up the office, the finality of the click echoing louder than I would have liked, and headed out into the night, wondering if I’d ever get used to the perpetual blaze of hunting supernatural monsters—or the burn of attraction that seemed just as untamable.
I made my way back to my apartment, the streets empty and echoing with the secrets of night. Once inside, I tossed my keys onto the small entryway table and surveyed the quiet stillness of my place. It was neat, too neat, like a hotel room waiting for its next guest, not a home that saw laughter, spilt wine, or midnight dance parties.
“Maybe I need a pet,” I mused aloud, picturing a little ball of fluff bounding toward me with unconditional love—or a sleek cat that would ignore me with such finesse it bordered on art. Something to fill the silence, to greet me when I came back from chasing phantoms and fighting fires both literal and metaphorical.
