I narrowed my eyes at her. She always knew how to push my buttons.
She tilted her head, watching me quietly for a moment, then softened. “If you’re planning on keeping me here, I at least need to go home and grab a bag.”
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. She wasn’t wrong. “Fine,” I muttered. “But I’m goin’ to see Jameson. We’ve got things to handle.”
Her eyes lit up, victory flashing across her face. “So that’s a yes?”
“It’s a ‘don’t make me regret it,’” I warned. “You go home, grab what you need, and meet me back at the Midnight Wytch before sunset.”
She grinned, setting her empty mug down on the porch railing. “Sunset. Got it.”
“Grace,” I said, catching her gaze, serious now. “Don’t mess around. If you see anyone you don’t recognize, Scorpions, strangers, whatever, you call me. Understand?”
She nodded, but there was that spark in her eyes again, the same one that made me want to both throttle and worship her.
“Yes, Father Hellsing,” she teased, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
I couldn’t help the low growl that rumbled out of me. “Smartass.”
She smirked. “You like it.”
She wasn’t wrong.
As she turned to head back inside, sunlight poured through the open door, outlining her in gold. My shirt shifted against her curves, her bare legs moving with a grace that made my throat dry. I forced my attention back to the Harley before I did something stupid, like follow her upstairs and forget why I was here.
I’d been around plenty of women in my life, but none of them made me feel like this, like I was walking a tightrope betweenheaven and hell. Grace Desdemone was fire, and I knew it. And still, I couldn’t stay away.
When she disappeared inside, I exhaled hard, dragging my hand over my face. I looked down at my palms. They were scarred and calloused, stained from years of riding and fighting, and wondered how long I could keep them off her.
Sunlight hit the chrome of my bike, blinding me for a second, and I took it as a reminder. I had things to do, a club to answer to, and a demon to deal with.
But as I swung my leg over the seat and started the engine, I couldn’t stop thinking about her standing barefoot on my porch, wearing my shirt, looking at me as if she could see right through the walls I’d built.
I told myself I’d see her before sunset.
What I didn’t tell her was that I wasn’t sure which one of us I was more afraid of, the demon hunting her, or the fire she’d lit in me that I couldn’t put out.
GRACE
The sweet smell of powdered sugar hit me before I even stepped inside.
Seraphine’s beignet shop sat on the corner of Dauphine and Chartres, two blocks from theMidnight Wytch, and it always smelled like temptation. Fried dough, chicory coffee, and something a little more wicked humming beneath the surface. Magic lived here. It coated the walls, soaked the tables, and clung to Seraphine’s skin like soft perfume. And only those who shared that power, recognized it.
She looked the same as she always did with her tight black curls framing her pretty face, and her gold hoops swaying as she wiped sugar from her hands. She kept yelling out orders to the staff between customers, her voice smooth but sharp enough to keep them on their toes. Every sentence ended the same way, soft and honeyed,“Thank you, suga.”
That was Seraphine. Sweet on the surface, steel underneath. She could hex you and hug you in the same breath, and you’d thank her for both.
She wore a blood-red headwrap, a low-cut top that showed off the tattoo crawling up her collarbone, and a grin that could both bless and curse you.
When she finally spotted me, her grin softened. “Well, look who crawled outta the fire. Come here, beby.”
I went straight over and received the warm hug she had for me. Pulling me away, she gave me a once over, then called back to the kitchen. “Two café au laits, extra sugar! And don’t forget the powdered top!”
I slid onto the stool across from her, my fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “You heard what happened?”
“Everyone in the Quarter heard,” she said, sliding a coffee mug at me. “Bloody Scorpions hittin’ a Bastard princess’s shop? That’s not just gossip, cher, that’s suicide.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, stirring my cup, “they made a mess of things.”
