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She laughs sharply. “You’ve known me for what? Two days?”

“Long enough.”

“You don’t know what I’m made of.”

I know she’s soft when she lands in my arms.

I know she smells like cinnamon and honey.

I know she sleeps in a ridiculous little mask.

I know someone has spent years convincing her she should apologize for taking up space.

And I know that if my control snaps while she's anywhere near me—no.

She doesn't know what I'm made of. That's the problem.

“You have no idea what lives in this town.”

“I can handle it. I’m a Witch!”

“Who jumped a fence because of a snake.”

“Seven snakes!”

“One was barely six inches long.”

“It was fast, and it still has teeth!”

Despite myself, my mouth twitches. She catches it.

“Do not laugh at me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You are laughing.”

“Internally.”

Her eyes narrow to slits. For half a second, I forget why I’m trying to push her away. Then my wing twitches behind me.

The reminder hits like ice water.

I need her safe.

Safe means gone.

“This place will eat you alive, Sweet.”

Her chin rises.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of, Mr. Damian Leeds, so you can take your opinions about me and my B&B and shove them where the Texas sun doesn’t shine.”

I stare at her.

There she is.

Fire blazing in those big brown eyes. Bare feet planted on my kitchen floor. Wearing my fucking clothes.