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“Oh, it went amazingly. You’re the talk of the town. Everyone is throwing money at the Refuge. You’re a hit.”
Lark breathed in deeply, then exhaled in relief.
“I know that Mayor Allende donated over a million to sustain the operational costs, but the community coming together… It’s important. And it ensures continuity in case…” Lark trailed off, suddenly realizing she might’ve offended. “I didn’t mean she’d leave the Refuge hanging—”
“I know you didn’t, and yes, she’s been funding the place almost singlehandedly, but the community putting their money where their mouths are also signals to the beneficiaries that they belong. That no matter who is mayor, or who runs the show, the town will always come together to help them. It’s crucial. For them to know that Crow’s Nest and Dragons will stand up and protect them in their hour of need…” Seren wiped her palms on her trousers, clearly looking for words, and Lark took a few steps toward her, stopping at an arm’s reach. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed the warm cheek, feeling the skin stretching under her touch as Seren smiled once again.
“It is vital for people to know they are accepted. And supported. And not alone. I’d know. I’m new here, and I’m… well… new and…” Lark finished rather pitifully.
“You’re no longer new here, Lark, and if the next word was supposed to be ‘alone,’ you’re not. If you could only see how many people are rooting for you, how many people are proud of you, how many people are grateful that you are here.”
Lark chewed on the inside of her cheek and took a tiny step even closer to Seren, who pushed away from the door. They were standing chest to chest now, Seren’s head slightly bowed and Lark looking up into the earnest and chiseled face. All the angles, all the sharp, beautiful lines. Lark lost her breath, found it, and blushed.
“I don’t care about all these other people, Seren. I only care about you. Do you…” She narrowed her eyes slightly, staring at Seren from beneath her lashes. “Are you grateful for me? Are you proud of me?”
Seren dipped her head lower, her lips hovering just above Lark’s.
“I am. Grateful. Proud. I’m also ensorcelled. Are you sure you’re not a witch? Because all evening I could only watch you, think of you, feel you. My sisters all came to talk to me, my friends wanted to chat, and I’m fairly certain I was totally useless to them all. All I wanted was you.”
Lark smiled against Seren’s lips and felt the answering stretch of lips meet hers.
“Well, then how about…” Lark felt bravery and desire surge in her, sweeping away the last vestiges of fear and doubt. There was no place for any of these. Seren Crowhart—her smile, her luminous smile, and her honest, true eyes—banished them. All that was left was joy. And Lark decided she’d allow herself to revel in it. “How about you take me home, Seren Crowhart?”
Seren reached for her, and then—
The back door banged open, and a man in rumpled clothing almost fell in.
“Where is she? Where is that bitch? Rose!” The man’s voice was hoarse, and he smelled of cheap alcohol. Everything about him screamed vile and dangerous, and Lark’s instincts went immediately into overdrive. None of the beneficiaries of the fundraiser were here, not in the ballroom, as they were safely ensconced at the Refuge, where steel doors were much harder to break down than the town hall’s, and yet she was immediately in motion.
Lark had no idea when her hand reached for the closest thing—the closest thing being the wood oven poker—but the heavy cast iron rod was suddenly in her grasp, and she was by the broken-down door in a second.
She knew Rose. The sweetest woman at the Refuge. Quiet. Beaten down, quite literally, as she had arrived with bruises the size of saucer plates all over her body. Lark had been the one to help her into the building. The one to sit with her during the medical exam. The one to input her data into their system. The one to accompany her to court to get a protective order. So Lark knew very well who this particular specimen of so-called male prowess was.
“Donnie Furlong.”
He stumbled, cursed, then lifted his spooked, drunken eyes at her. She raised the poker like a baseball bat, and he scowled. Next to her, Lark could see Seren bare her teeth, but the man looked only at Lark.
Good. Keep looking.
“I want my wife! I love my wife!” His words were slurred.
“I’ve seen what you did to your wife, and it has nothing to do with love.” Lark’s fingers flexed on the handle.
One more step from him. Line up just right…
“You can’t hide her from me forever! No restraining order that bitch can take out will keep me away!”
The ballroom door swung open again, and this time, half a dozen cops and the mayor—as well as what seemed like the entire Crowhart family—spilled into the kitchen just as Furlong made a grab for Lark.
Well, halle-freakin-luja! There’s that step!
Lark swung—one clean motion, just like her big brother taught her, down and up, perfect follow-through—and watched his scrawny, bony body fly. She must’ve gotten him under the jaw, because as the iron connected and he took the dive, so did several of his teeth right out of his mouth. The sound of bone shattering made her skin crawl and yet the satisfaction of getting the job done, of standing her ground, of protecting someone who could not do so for herself, even if she wasn’t here, kept Lark’s hands steady.
He fell to the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes.
Someone whistled, someone applauded, someone laughed. Lark turned around to see the cops rush toward Furlong and the Crowharts high-five each other. The mayor reached her first and gave her a hug.
“The town hall has a softball team. We really need a first baseman.” Paloma Allende was looking at her with amused awe. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Lark couldn’t tell if she was serious, so she just shrugged and dropped the poker as her hands sought the only thing she needed.
