I could sleep on the sofa. That might be safer.
But then again, Hex found me on the sofa just fine. So maybe it doesn’t matter where I sleep.
I climb into bed and pull the covers up to my chin. Just like I used to when I was seven years old. Hiding from the monster.
Except the monster isn’t so scary anymore. He is just offended and huffy and apparently survives on a diet of human emotions.
And he is also devastatingly attractive and capable of making me blush with a single look.
Which is a whole different kind of terrifying.
I close my eyes and wait for sleep to claim me.
My mind races. Replaying the conversation. The way Hex looked at me. The heat in his voice when he saiddesire, pleasure, passion. The cold press of the wall against my back. The feeling of being utterly trapped and somehow not minding as much as I should.
I bury my face in my pillow and groan.
Tomorrow. I’ll deal with all of this tomorrow.
It takes a long time for sleep to come. And when it finally does, I dream of glowing red eyes and shadows that smell like winter and have voices like honey.
Chapter 4
Blocking Him on Everything
I’mstresscleaning.Whichis ridiculous because my flat is already clean. But I can’t just sit here doing nothing while I wait for Felix to arrive.
I wipe down the kitchen counters for the third time. They gleam. They were already gleaming. I fluff the sofa cushions even though nobody has sat on them. I straighten the books on the shelf, organising them by favourite author and then by spice level and then genre because I can’t decide which looks better.
I pace back and forth like a caged animal. Five steps to the window. Five steps back to the kitchen. Turn. Repeat.
What if Felix’s witch stuff doesn’t work? What if it makes things worse? What if Hex gets angry?
The thought makes my stomach clench. I don’t want him to be angry. Which is stupid. I should want him to go away and leave me alone. I should be hoping the cleansing works perfectly and I never see him again.
But the memory of his offended expression keeps replaying in my mind. The way his shoulders stiffened. The outrage in his voice when he declared he was not a duckling. I almost feel bad.
Almost.
I shake my head violently. Focus. I need to focus on surviving tonight.
I check the time on my phone. Six fifty-eight. Felix said seven o’clock. Two more minutes.
I go to the bathroom and check my reflection. I look terrible. My hair is a mess. There are dark circles under my eyes. I look like I haven’t slept properly in days.
Which is accurate.
Should I change? Put on something nicer? But it’s just Felix. He’s coming to do witchy protection stuff, not judge my fashion choices.
I’m overthinking this. I’m definitely overthinking this.
At exactly seven o’clock, the doorbell rings.
I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart hammers as I rush to the door and yank it open.
Felix is standing there in full goth glory. Black dress that looks vintage, with lace at the collar and cuffs. Black boots with silver buckles. Black lipstick perfectly applied. His hair is styled into perfect victory rolls. He looks like he’s about to attend a funeral. Or summon a demon. Possibly both.
“Hey,” he says brightly, as if this is completely normal.
