“Lala is an old friend of the Academy and a formidable adversary to any who dare cross her, though you wouldn’t guess it to look at her.” Devane turns to face me, and here in the waning sun, he looks tired, weighted by some burden I can only guess at. His smile holds the ghost of a much younger man, but those flint-colored eyes are ancient.
Splitting the difference, I decide he’s in his early forties. Not quite old enough to be my father, but definitely too old to be… ahem… anything else.
Not that I’m thinking about ahem anything else.
…the cold, midnight sea nipping at bare skin as a hot, wet mouth devours mine…
“Come,” he says, snapping me out of the fantasy and stepping onto the concrete step before the door. “She’s expecting you.”
I step up next to him, hoping my rank smell isn’t too overpowering. He lifts his hand to the door, but before he can knock, I’m hit with another wave of magick, stronger than the last. This one is way more invasive. Assessing.
“Wait.” I put my hand on his forearm as the magick dances over my skin like a hundred tiny fireflies. “The weigh station… Lala… Is it some kind of test?”
Isn’t that how it works? The whole guardian-at-the-gate thing? Only the worthy shall enter the enchanted forest and search for the magickal elixir, save the princess, slay the dragon, etcetera, etcetera?
Why else would he have dragged me to a witch’s cottage in the middle of the desert?
“A test?” Devane eyes me close, his gaze raking down my entire body before coming back up to my eyes. Then, with a wink so fast I’m not even sure I catch it, “Only for the soap.”
Eleven
STEVIE
It’s the little things, really. Fragrant lavender shampoo. Hot water and handmade oatmeal soap to scrub away the filth of desperation, the rough hands of the guards. Fluffy white towels still holding the faint scents of bleach and sunshine.
And lotion. So much luxurious, vanilla lotion. I feel like I’m in a spa rather than a witchy hideaway in the desert, and if I could hit the pause button, I’d stay in this steam-filled bathroom oasis for the rest of the day.
Alas, the good doctor and my mysterious hostess await.
For a so-called “old” friend of the Academy, Lala doesn’t look a day over twenty, with shimmering black hair, golden-bronze skin, and wide, expressive eyes the color of melted chocolate. She doesn’t speak, either—at least not to me.
When she opened the front door, she looked right past me to Dr. Devane. He put a hand on my shoulder, and she nodded brusquely, as if the two of them had a whole conversation about me in their minds. Entirely possible, given all the weird shit I’d already seen Dr. Devane pull today. I was about to ask to be let in on the big secret when she gasped suddenly, grabbed my hands, and dragged me to the back of the tiny house.
Maybe the wind had changed and she got her first good whiff of the filthy beast formerly known as me, because suddenly I was being ushered into the bathroom and shown the towels and toiletries, along with a set of clean clothes folded neatly on the vanity.
I didn’t even have time to get a read on her energy before she zipped out of there, but hell, she was offering a hot shower to a road-weary fugitive. Automatic friend in my book.
Now, clean and refreshed, I dress in the clothes Lala left—a pair of dark jeans, a sports bra, and a short-sleeved black V-neck. Her jeans are a little snug, and there’s no underwear, but so what. I’ll take a little chaffing and a muffin top over the orange jumpsuit any day.
Back in the main part of the house, there’s no signs of life, but the place smells like the best Mexican restaurant ever.
“Doc?” I call out, my mouth already watering.Please, please say we’re staying for lunch.“Lala?”
“Out here,” he says.
I follow the direction of his voice to the back patio, where I find him sitting alone at a small outdoor table already set for lunch—yes, dreams really do come true—his eyes closed, face turned toward the sun. He’s lost the jacket and tie, his white dress shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to reveal smooth and well-defined forearms.
Behind him, the property stretches out for miles, nothing but rolling red-dust hills dotted with scrub brush and the bent-arm silhouettes of the saguaros.
It’s all so still and peaceful, and I take a moment to just breathe. To soak it all in before finally joining him.
When I pull out a metal chair, he opens his eyes and looks up. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of me, and for a brief moment, his energy wall slips. His feelings wash over me, stirring something inside me—a strange connection, almost, like the one I felt in the prison. His own energy is a mix of surprise and heat—an attraction he’s trying desperately to fight.
The combination of his sensual energy and the hungry way he’s looking at me sends tendrils of heat spiraling through my insides, making my heart race.
Still gazing into his eyes, I bite my lower lip, afraid he might break our connection. Afraid of what I might do if he doesn’t.
“Starla,” he says softly, no more than a gentle sigh on the breeze.
