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Chapter Twenty-One
Rowan
I wake up in my bed with Catticus Finch poking his cold, wet nose against my cheek.
“What the fuck,” I moan. Just trying to lift my arm to move him feels like a Herculean effort. I place a hand over my throbbing forehead. I’m soaking wet, both hair and clothes.
“Intense use of magic will do that to a witch. Or so I’ve heard.”
I jerk upright. Xander is in my room. Am I hallucinating?
He’s sitting at the far end, in one of the chairs. Minerva is curled around the back of the chair by his shoulders, and Circe is laying by his feet.
“I found you on the highway,” Xander says. “You passed out.”
My head is so fuzzy that thinking hurts. I remember what happened in flashes. The vision of the past. Being ambushed by the beast. And yes, magic, my magic. “I killed it,” I say softly.
“What?” Xander straightens in his chair real fast.
“The demon.”
Even as tired as I am, I enjoy the incredulous look that moves over his face.
“What the hell happened?” he asks.
His brow furrows as I begin my recount of the events, and as I continue, it turns into an outright scowl. When I’m finished, he doesn’t compliment me on my battle magic or say he’s glad I’m alive. “What were you thinking, going out there alone?”
I stand up, which is instantly regrettable, but I grit my teeth so as not to let on. “What part of our discussion last night did you not grasp?” I snap. “I am not going to just sit around and wait to be next.”
“Oh, so running out and facing a demonic murderer head-on is a smarter idea?” He crosses his burly arms over his chest and glares at me.
“The sheriff thinks you’re the killer, by the by,” I growl. “So, apparently I can’t get out of harm’s way no matter what I try.”
Xander goes very still. “You believe that?”
“I don’t know you. I’ve been betrayed before, so it wouldn’t be the first time I had terrible judgement of character.” My eyes flash as I stare him down.
He stands now, too, and he looks mad as hell. “You really think if I was the killer that I would have picked your unconscious body up off the side of the road and brought you home? Do you think I would have gotten past your protective wards?”
I stalk across the room toward him. “No. You’re just a giant asshole most of the time. Why would I be so calm if I thought you were here to off me?”
“You call this calm?” He waves a hand in my direction. “I’d hate to see you lose your temper, then.”
We’re standing a foot apart. I shiver, both from anger and because I’m still wet from the rain earlier. Because of course it had to rain when I was trying to escape the demon. Xander’s clothes are damp, too, no doubt from getting out of his truck to carry me. His dark hair is tousled and messy, which is completely at odds with the hard line of his clenched jaw, the fire in his eyes.
I feel a quiver of butterflies in my stomach. Something in Xander’s gaze changes. With my arms crossed over my chest and my tank top plastered to my skin, the curves of my breasts are on full display. I make no effort to hide them. He makes the most infinitesimal move toward me.
“How on earth did you know which room was mine anyways?”
“The cats showed me,” he says with a shrug. “Apparently they don’t find me quite the giant dick their mistress does.” A smirk flashes over his lips.
He’s right. The cats do seem to trust him for some reason. “Why are you helping me?” I ask softly.
The smirk falls, and his face is serious. “I don’t know.” His fists clench and unclench at his sides. “Witches are…”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you’ve made it abundantly clear how you feel about witches.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt,” Xander says, and the look in his eyes makes my stomach flip.
