Page 43 of Vengefully Matched

“Ouch, Prissy, that’s my grading hand.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “I bet grading isn’t the only repetitive motion you need it for.”

Instead of insulting her back, he just sighed, eyeing her like she was made of porcelain and might break, which was not like him. He didn’t offer any sort of retort, not even a little one.

“For the thousandth time, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been there. Telling myself that, over and over and over. If you keep repeating it, maybe it will feel true.”

“Honestly, Az. Give me a few days and the bruising will fade, and I’ll be in top shape.”

He looked at her. “I mean more than just physically fine.”

She shook her head. “Let’s talk about literally anything else.”

“You know Vickie’s book club has a handful of your Council interns in it, right?”

Prissy dragged a hand over her face. Her brother’s girlfriend ran a magical-readers-of-paranormal-romance-books club every other Thursday night, and since it was open to all manner of supernatural creatures—devil-gifted like Victoria, witches like the Council members, and an errant vampire or two—she should have predicted that gossip would get around.

“I think I know where this is going.”

“I heard a very interesting rumor about your new girlfriend.”

She blinked, hoping to look innocent. “Didn’t I mention that? I’m sure I mentioned it.”

Azrael crossed his arms. “Did you fail to mention, when you told your favorite brother you’re dating the North American Council of Witchery president, only a little bit more than six months after bolting from your intended marriage to the interim president, that someone was also trying to kill your new girlfriend, and now possibly also you, in proximity?”

“Interim and actual president are quite different,” she said, hoping her voice sounded as careless as she intended. It sounded awful when he put it that way. “And you’re my only brother. You have to be my favorite.”

He rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers so that the pair of comfortable chairs in her corner slid closer. She sighed and sat down in one, unwilling to admit how nice it was to be enveloped by the soft cushions of the thing.

“I’m worried about you. I know you’re grown, and you know what you’re doing. But you did offer me quite a bit of advice when I was in the thick of magical mayhem, and it seems like my time to reciprocate here.”

“Fine,” she said, looking at the carpet, which was shifting between a two-toned and rather haunting damask floral sprig pattern and a chevron that made her a bit dizzy. The carpet only did this when she was feeling particularly lost and rudderless. “I am dating Agatha, yes.” She hesitated, his greenish-brown eyes boring into hers, the little flecks of gold so reminiscent of her father, but the color all her mother.

It felt shitty to lie, so she sighed and went on.

“Well. You already know I’m fake dating her, and part of that, in addition to clearing my name about the hexes, is to try to find out who has been sabotaging her and to help her gain some traction. But I also want to restore my reputation a bit. You know, because of the whole about six-months-ago incident you so kindly brought up.”

He stared. Narrowed his eyes. Shook his head.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Azrael ran a hand over his curly hair.

She glared.

“It’s just—you wanted to restore your shattered reputation from dating and leaving the last Council president by dating the next one? By putting yourself in the line of fire?”

“Evelyn was an interim president! That’s different.”

He stared at her.

“Fine,” she whined. “I have a type. I like a strong woman in charge, someone who challenges me and won’t just roll over and whimper when I get testy and cruel.”

“I thought you were only fake dating,” he said, smiling wickedly, and she realized what she had said.

“Fuck.” She rubbed her eyes. “We are. It is fake.”