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A vein pulses in his temple. His tail lashes harder.

Behind me, Sparky starts purring. The ornery tabby loves conflict.

Damian takes another step toward the fence. The air changes.

It gets thicker. Hotter.

He smells like smoke and something darker. Woodsy. Masculine.

Dangerous.

My magic—my pathetic, unreliable, practically nonexistent magic—absolutely sparkles in response.

I suck in a breath. Because really, I don’t mean any of this metaphorically.

Something actually flickers beneath my skin.

Like warm golden pinpricks dancing along my fingertips. For a moment, I see them. I stare at them. Then they vanish.

What the hell?

“Fine.”

His voice drags my attention back to him. Damian's staring at me differently now.

His nostrils flare. His pupils expand until the black nearly swallows the red.

“We'll see about all of this.”

The words are a threat.

So why does a delicious shiver run straight down my spine?

I lift my chin.

“Okay, Mr. Leeds.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. I hate how much I notice.

“I guess we will.”

His jaw tightens.

We exchange more words. But honestly, I’m only paying the tiniest bit of attention.

Did I mention this man is hot?

He turns sharply and stalks back toward his house, wings flexing and tail snapping behind him. I watch him go.

For neighborhood research purposes.

Obviously.

Sparky lets out a questioning meow.

“Shut up.”

The cat purrs. I look down at my fingertips.