Page 18 of Wedding the Werepanther

“My protection spell is excellent.” Severin glares at me. “It ensures the entire town is safe.”

“All of the photographs on the wall move constantly. Victoria bangs cupboards and doors. She locks people in whenever she feels like it.” I snort. “Your spell is very powerful, and we’re all thankful for it. But I’ve seen how it works. When regular humans are exposed to something magical, they get this confused expression on their face for a few seconds, then shake their heads and move on, telling themselves it must have been nothing. How could someone live comfortably in the place that’s supposed to be their home with that kind of constant confusion?”

Luke grunts his agreement grunt, and Severin’s glare softens as he tips his head, indicating I’ve won the point.

“Anyway, we need a better way to talk to the house. Something we can use in every room.”

“I don’t know of any sentient buildings like Victoria,” Severin says.

“Me either,” Luke adds. “But I’ll research it in my library.”

“I don’t know about buildings, but I can make my ice sculptures move.” A burst of magic fills the air as Jace breathes out a small gust of ice, catching it in his hand. With another flash of power, a tiny dragon forms. He sets it on the bar top, and it takes a couple of hesitant steps before lifting its wings.

“Is it sentient?” I lean over to get a closer look. The detail is astounding—there are even individual scales carved into the surface of the ice.

“No. It doesn’t think or feel. It’s for the best, since they don’t last long when it’s as warm as summer.” The blue dragon points to the shiny trail of melted water that makes up the miniaturecreature’s footsteps. “But it does mean I have some affinity for animating magic. And even if I can’t help in that respect, I’m something of an expert on translation spells. I can come by the house and see if I may be of service.”

“That would be fantastic.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Anything to keep the house happy.”

Because the marriage contract Victoria created is the only reason Kayla let me stay. I want my full month of living with my witchy beauty, so I have plenty of chances to seduce her and win her over.

She will be mine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kayla

Another night without a door between our bedrooms. Another flash of Shadow naked. Another round of tossing and turning and imagining him only a few feet away before finally falling asleep, my first alarm coming far too early.

I tap it off and roll over for another ten minutes, then do it two more times. I don’t care how “irrational” it seems, as Bradley, my one and only boyfriend, complained flippingconstantly. Setting my alarm to the actual time I want to get up doesn’t work for me. Getting to have three extra naps while I wake up gradually does.

Suck it, Bradley.

I blink open my eyes to find Shadow sitting up in his bed, watching me intently. The sheet pools around his waist, leaving his delicious chest bare, and his wild mane of black and silver hair looks sleep-tousled and yummy.

“Bathroom!” Calling dibs, I throw back the covers and jump out of bed, moving faster than I normally do this early in the day. No way in hell do I want to see him walk around naked in the bright light of morning.

That’s a lie.

Itotallywant to see him naked in the bright light of morning, but it’s a no-good, bad, horrible idea.

Which is why I practically run to the bathroom, leaning back against the closed door to catch my breath. The simple beauty of the white-tiled room calms me. A shower-curtain hoop hangs over the original lovely white claw-footed tub, which I outfitted with an oil-rubbed bronze showerhead that looks like something from early in the last century but works wonderfully.

By the time I make it downstairs, Shadow’s scooping up scrambled eggs with wedges of buttered toast. He gestures to the counter. “There’s coffee.”

“Thanks.” I shuffle over and pour a cup, doctoring it with milk and chocolate syrup.

“Would you like eggs? I can make more.”

I pull a box of chocolate cereal from the cupboard. “Nah, I’m good.”

We sit side by side on stools at the kitchen island, eating and sipping coffee. Sunlight and warm grass-scented air pour through the open window over the sink, and birds chirp happily outside. It’s kinda strange that it’snotstrange to have him here, doing the domestic-bliss thing.

Or maybe it’s the way Victoria fills the atmosphere with a feeling of smug contentment.

When he finishes, he cleans up and heads for the backyard. “I’m going to work on the door.”

“Yeah, I gotta get to work, too.”