She offered no smile. No parting threat. Just her unshakable confidence, like she had no doubt I would do as she suggested and leave.
And I?—
I didn’t speak.
Which was…unusual.
This was the part where I smiled and said something sharp and devastating. Where I laid my adversary bare with words and threats that had brought many others to their knees. I could have done it too. I could have destroyed her with a few simple words, ruined her dreams of restoring this bar within hours, left her standing in the rubble of her confidence.
But I didn’t want to.
Because that damn word kept echoing in my head. Monster.
For all her grandstanding and pretty speeches, I saw—and scented—the hurt beneath the surface. Her ex had clearly broken her. And for the first time ever, I wanted to protect rather than destroy.
I just wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
So, instead of reacting, I let the moment stretch while I adjusted my cuffs with slow, deliberate grace. Then finally, I smiled.
Isadora’s breath caught, though I wasn’t sure why.
I met her gaze and held it. “I’ve also heard a fair bit about you since you entered our town, Miss Laurent. But I must say, no one mentioned your biting wit and sharp claws.”
She didn’t reply, but a smile played at the edge of her lips.
I let my gaze linger on her. Not leering, but to assess. “I look forward to seeing you use them.”
And with that, I walked out.
Chapter
Six
ISADORA
I didn’t need bleach.
I needed a blowtorch.
Unfortunately, fire wasn’t a sanctioned renovation method in Eternity Falls—even when completely justified—so I resigned myself to the industrial-strength cleaner I’d unearthed from beneath the leaking sink.
Regrettably, the bar had not transformed overnight into the glittering jewel of the supernatural nightlife I envisioned. A pity. One would think the resident ghosts might prefer haunting luxury over filth, but alas—every time I relocated a rotted chair or splintered table, it mysteriously returned to its original position the next time I looked. As if the specters were staging a silent protest in an attempt to break me.
Spoiler alert: they wouldn’t.
Even Bernard—the one ghost I’d considered an ally in this mess—had turned on me. Every time I dared to walk beneath him, he gave the chandelier a hard tug. I was beginning to think he was trying to drop it on my head and call it a day.
Rude, right?
I’d be lying if I said Bernard’s reaction didn’t mildly offend me, but I refused to let him scare me. If I needed to, I would call in every last Ravenspell to exorcise these beasts—a threat I’d verbally issued to them more than once now. Nothing—not ghosts, not mildew, not even my resident toilet demon—would stand in my way of success.
Nor would a St. Germain.
Or perhaps I should amend that to say especially not a St. Germain.
I attacked a stain on the bar’s surface and growled under my breath.
Lucien St. Germain.
