“I’m still not ironing your underwear or socks,” I told him.
“I can do my own ironing, Cora. I’ve never asked you to do anything like that, and I’m not about to. Being mine doesn’t mean being a good little housewife. I can’t be a nine-to-five suit-wearing office worker, so why would I drag you into a similar stereotype?” He bopped me on the nose. “I fell foryou,Cora Roberts. Doctor, psychic, half angel, granddaughter of my enemy. Don’t change. You are perfect just the way you are.”
A large smile spread across my face. “Since you’ve acknowledged my perfection, I need you to build that damned dresser by following the instructions after this meeting.”
“Don’t push it. I don’t tell you how to deal with the dead, so you don’t tell me how to build furniture.”
I huffed as I pushed on his chest and escaped to our bedroom to grab a new T-shirt and bra. “It’s not the same. You aren’t a carpenter.”
He followed me and leaned his shoulder against the door frame as he folded his arms and watched me dress. “I promise to assemble the dresser and have my underwear neatly tucked inside before the sun rises.”
Pulling on an Iron Maiden T-shirt—appropriate for the company we had—I smirked at him. “We shall see, Principal. We shall see.”
He puffed out his chest. “You doubt my skill in the bedroom?”
There was a part of me that toyed with teasing him, so I got the reward of making him prove otherwise. But he wasn’t a total idiot. “In the bed itself? No. In the construction of furniture I could have put up hours ago? Yes.”
I swept past him. He followed, hot on my heels as I opened the door and we spilled out into the hallway. “What do I get if I prove you wrong?”
Unwrinkled underwear? “What do you want?”
He was playing. This is one of my most favorite things about the Principal. He wore an unflappable mask for the pack. He was tough, but fair. I got the playful male, who bartered for silly things like what we did on a Friday night, and what movie we watched next.
“You. Naked. For twenty-four hours.”
I glanced at him. His lips were set in a hard line. Oh, he wasn’t playing. I’m not entirely sure how I could lose in this situation.
“Deal. But I’m holding the instructions hostage.”
He grinned, and awareness crept down my spine. Why did I feel like I had just walked into a trap?
CHAPTER TWO
Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies.
Peace was something every soul desired. The conflict came from the differing views of what that peace looked like and how it could be achieved. Most people went about their business coveting an easy life, one without confrontation. It’s why we told white lies.Yes, that shade of neon yellow suits you; no, you do not look ridiculous with your hair like that; of course, that was the best chicken pot pie I’ve ever tasted.We wanted to make others happy and avoid unnecessary drama. The world would be a worse place if we stopped telling these tiny lies aimed not to hurt, but to soothe.
The issue came when those lies spilled into more dangerous territory by keeping monumental secrets from those you loved. Where did you draw the line? How far would you go to protect the lies you wove? Who were you prepared to hurt?
A quick glance around the ground floor showed Maggie had cleared it of guests, ready for the meeting about to take place. This was the meeting before the actual meeting; one giving the powerhouses of the factions their say before I snuck off to mysecret rendezvous—one Hudson didn’t know about. It’s not like I could tell him. We all bore a lip-locking spell, which would only release when all of us agreed. That didn’t make me feel better. Secrets were still secrets.
I flung open the door to greet Abaddon, my father, and Lucifer, my uncle. I blinked at them both. What on earth? “Why are you wearing matching pink Disneyland T-shirts?” Somehow, they pulled it off.
Lucifer smirked. “I lost a bet.”
“As did I,” my father drawled. I didn’t want to know.
“But it was worth it, because I am secure enough in my masculinity to rock a shirt declaring all I need is faith, trust, and pixie dust.”
My father slanted a look at Lucifer. “Ironic for a being that operates against faith and makes destroying trust a sport.”
I rolled my eyes, not wanting to point out the obvious. To believe in the Devil, one had to accept the existence of God. My father’s shirt had a picture of Tigger declaring himself to be the only one. Well, that was a fact. “Come in before anyone sees you and reports me for suspicious activity—again.”
Abaddon swept in, the wards shivering as his power brushed against mine. Lucifer winked as he followed him inside and handed me a rolled-up piece of sky-blue fabric.
“What’s this?” I shook it out and chuckled as the faces of the Sanderson sisters around a cauldron greeted me with the slogan, “I smell a child.”
“You know you are perpetuating the archaic belief of witches being evil?”
