Ansel’s hand flexes around mine.
“That’s the women’s bathroom!” Celeste protests as I pull Ansel through the door.
But before she can come closer, I flick the lock and lean against the wood, letting out a breath.
Ansel is already moving forward, checking underneath all the stalls and ensuring they’re empty. Thank fuck they are.
We seem to realize at the exact same time that we’re alone. Really, truly, finally alone. I know it won’t last for long—Dyson and Celeste are witches, for fuck’s sake, and can snap their fingers and open the door—but at least for now, it’s just the two of us.
The skeletal hand gripping my throat releases, and it feels like I can breathe again.
Ansel rushes for me at the same time I hurry towards him. We meet in the middle, our lips inches apart…and then we both pause, uncertainty saturating the air. My heart batters my rib cage as I stare up at his striking face, all sharp angles and porcelain skin. A tiny furrow rests between his brows as he studies me just as intently.
I want him to kiss me.
I want it more than anything.
It’s like I’m suffocating, and he’s the oxygen I need to breathe.
Ansel is so handsome that I sometimes find it hard to stare directly at him. He exudes a type of ethereal, flawless beauty that both intimidates and enthralls me. His light-brown hair is tousled just enough to look effortlessly charming, like a fairy-tale prince plucked straight out of a storybook. The brown strands of his hair catch the light, adding depth to the rich, earthy hue.
His face is strong and angular, with high cheekbones and a square jawline. His features come together in a way that is undeniably handsome, not just because of his looks, but because of the energy he carries—a blend of confidence, warmth, and something intriguing just beneath the surface.
Kiss me, Ansel. Kiss me.
But just when I think he’s going to breach the final distance between us, going to place his lips against mine, he steps away, clearing his throat.
My heart sinks, but I force my expression to remain placid.
“I…I missed you,” he confesses, his cheeks turning pink, the color migrating to the tips of his ears.
“What are you doing here? What happened?” I flick my eyes towards the door, but it remains shut.
But god, why do I feel so paranoid?
Oh yeah, maybe it’s because I have no fucking idea what these witches and warlocks are capable of. For all I know, there’s a spell to amplify voices, and the two of them are listening to our conversation right now.
Ansel takes a step closer and lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. “Dyson showed up at my house. Drugged me. Took me here.” He licks his lips. “I had a meeting with the Trinity. The Mother…”
“Looks exactly like me but is older and crabbier?”
“And that’s your aunt?” Ansel frowns. “She’s not exactly the friendliest woman in the world, is she?”
“I think a porcupine crawled up her butt,” I confess, and Ansel snorts, the tiniest hint of a smile appearing on his face.
“That would explain why she always looks like she’s in pain,” he says. Then his smile fades. “But that’s not all.” When he speaks next, his voice is so soft I have to lean in to hear it. “I wasn’t adopted as a baby.”
“What do you mean?” I gauge his expression carefully.
This close, I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the pale, barely noticeable freckles on his cheeks. Strain is evident in the lines around his mouth, which is currently curled downwards.
Ansel swallows. “I wasn’t adopted… I was kidnapped.”
“WHAT?” When I realize my voice has risen in volume, I work to lower it to a more acceptable level. “What the fuck?”
“Right?” He takes a step away from me and rakes his fingers through his brown hair. “And that’s not all. Apparently, my mom and dad were Hunters, and they kidnapped me from my birth parents.”
I stare at him, stunned, struggling to wrap my head around all of this information. Dozens of questions flood my mind, each one more confusing than the last.
