“We’re a weird coven,” she admits.
That’s when I take in the rest of her. Her pretty face, bare of any cosmetics, makes her freckles the brightest I’ve seen. The familiar pink crawls across her skin the longer I take her in. I couldn’t look anywhere else if my life depended on it.
Not when she’s in a silk nightgown, one of the thin straps slipping down her arm. The soft gray complements her porcelain complexion by emphasizing the wispy, soft way she has about herself. I try not to stare—fuck, I try—but I want to make sure every little detail of her is engraved into my memory for the rest of eternity.
She sucks in a breath, about to cross her arms over her chest, but thinks better about it. “What do you want, Archer?”
Dragging my eyes up her body, I say in a low, husky voice. “There’s something I found in the library I want to show you.”
She looks unsure, glancing all around the hallway and back into her room. I don’t let myself lean forward to see if Nestor is watching us, on the brink of a meltdown. My attention quickly comes back to Renata when she closes the door in my face.
I’m too stunned to run back to my room and lick my wounds in private.
After a minute, I’m glad I didn’t.
The door swings back open, revealing Renata trying to catch her breath. This time, she has a knitted cardigan on, a pair of short bootsin one hand, and Hexate slithering up the other arm to coil around her shoulders.
“This better be good,” she demands and walks past me to the stairs.
It’s not good.
To be fair, it’s not bad.
It’s just… nothing.
I haven’t come across anything worth pulling her out of bed in the middle of the night, but we needed to get out of that inn with all their watching eyes.
As we sneak out the front door like two school-age witches, I become fully resolved in my decision. The giddy smile she tries to hide clues me into how much she’s enjoying this ridiculous mission to sneak out of the innsheowns.
At the bottom of the stairs, she makes a beeline toward the front gate, going to Sybil’s truck. Before I can think better of it, I grab her forearm and turn her back to me.
Furrowing her brows, she doesn’t ask questions as I guide her to a shed toward the east side of the property. I’ve made this walk a few times now, so I keep her close under the excuse of not wanting her to trip or step in any of the weird, slimy mud. The way she rolls her eyes tells me she doesn’t believe me, but she lets me anyway.
“I’ve never been this far,” she admits, sounding a bit frustrated with herself.
Shrugging and pushing the sliding door up, I say, “To be fair, Clover said Clementine found it.”
She lets out a low, dry chuckle that quickly turns into a full, sarcastic snicker as I pull the sheet off of my motorcycle. “Of course you have one of those death traps.”
“I don’t think I ever mentioned that,” I murmur and give her a meaningful look.
She shakes her head and reluctantly steps closer. “You haven’t—it was just expected.”
“Have you ever been on one?”
“No,” she says.
Holding her gaze, I grab the extra helmet off the nearby shelf and hold it between us. “Do you trust me?”
She looks between the helmet and me before sharing an intense look with her snake familiar. “I’m trying to.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise. It’s the most important oath I’ve ever made.
Her face almost crumples in response. “I’m not worried about me.”
“You keep saying that,” I muse and set the helmet on her head. She’s quiet as I buckle the strap under her chin, but I don’t push. I help her get settled on the back of my old, scrapped together motorcycle, and wrap her sweater tighter around her shoulders.
It’s cold out since we’re just past mid-spring, and I silently scold myself for not warning her to put on something warmer—though I’ve never seen her in pants. The cardigan is warm against my fingers, so she must have used a heat charm on it, or maybe Rowyn did. It’s something she’s probably done for all of their outerwear.
