“See, isn’t that annoying?” I give him an obnoxious grin. Who knew needling a werewolf would be so much fun?
“You’re playing with fire here.” The heated look he sends me doesn’t slow me down.
“And of all the cool kinds of books out there, why are you interested inclassicliterature? Why not something from this century? Or at least something with sex or violence in it? Do werewolves age slower than humans? Are you actually hundreds of years old and that’s why you like boring things?”
“No—”
“Then you have no excuse. Of course it doesn’t matter when exactly you were born. You’re still ancient compared to me.”
He glares at me. “I am not.”
“What was that, old man? You better hurry up and win this. It’s past your bedtime.”
Harper growls, a real honest-to-God growl that should be terrifying, not thrilling. He steps up to the machine, golden eyes flashing, jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his forearms flex as he grips the hammer and I can’t tear my eyes away. There’s something mesmerizing about watching him like this, all controlled power and determination.
His whole body moves in one fluid motion as he brings the hammer down. The marker shoots up, climbing higher and higher until it hits the bell with a resounding ding.
“Nice job. I’m not even mad.” The satyr claps. “That was a good show.”
Harper sets the hammer down and turns to me with that same intensity still burning in his eyes. My throat goes dry. I’ve seen him serious, I’ve seen him professional, I’ve even seen him annoyed, but I’ve never seen him worked up this much. He’s seriously hot. I can’t even pretend otherwise.
“Happy now?” he asks, voice a low rumble that does things to my insides I refuse to acknowledge.
“Ecstatic,” I manage to say, hoping my face isn’t as flushed as it feels.
When the satyr hands Harper the music box, he lifts the lid and immediately a harsh melody fills the air between us. It sounds like an angry heavy metal song. Totally not what I expected for the beautiful box with notes carved on the outside.
The satyr laughs. “The music matches whatever you’re feeling inside.”
Oh. Harper’s still coming down from the anger I coaxed out of him, so the music matches his heated mindset.
He snaps the lid shut, looking embarrassed as he holds it out to me. “Here, take it. It’s for you anyway.”
I accept the box cautiously. Sure enough, a different melody pours out when I lift the lid, nothing like what we just heard. A happy, bouncing tune, like a sappy pop song.
My face heats up instantly. Shit. Is that really what I’m feeling? I shove the box back toward Harper. “Here, take it back.”
Harper accepts it, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I need his angry tune to fill the air so we can forget the positively sweet melody the box played for me. But the song hasn’t changed. The same happy tune plays as he holds the box this time, like making me happy made him happy.
On the Same Page?
Dodger
Navigating the streets of Concordia at night is surprisingly relaxing with the man at my side. The city is winding down as shop windows go dark one by one. Few others are around as we walk back to our hotel, just the occasional late-night reveler stumbling home or car full of people leaving the carnival.
“Where can I get a guitar that plays magical musical notes?” Because I need one yesterday. “Is there a magical music store somewhere?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Harper answers. “I’ll have to look into that.”
“Nah, that’s okay. It’s probably out of my price range anyway.”
“Maybe you can channel your powers into the guitar you have now?” he suggests.
