“I’m not so sure about that,” he adds, his voice playful, even though his accent—Slavic, maybe, Northern European definitely—and deep baritone could easily make it something serious and inflexible.
I look away from his maddeningly toned neck to find a knowing smirk slapped across his obnoxious face. He hasn’t tried to close the distance between us, and yet every time he speaks, his words make me want to edge a bit closer…
“Would you shut up. The more important issue is…well…” I gesture behind him. “The dead…man? Leopard? Thing?”
I swallow, bracing myself as I tilt to peer over the strange man’s shoulder, dread cooling me. I don’t really want to see anything again; the thought alone has my stomach churning, but surely I can be brave enough to confirm what happened?
But it doesn’t matter which way I tilt my head, the infuriating man moves with me, his grin in place and blocking my view of the…
A chill creeps down my spine, and I place my feet firmly on the ground. Maybe seeing doesn’t mean believing. The awfulsnapof a neck breaking was proof enough.
“He was a leopard shifter, a supernatural creature. But the fucker is dead now, so don’t think about it,” he says, shrugging.
“How can younotthink about this?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. Suddenly feeling very tired. “We need to report this to…to the police!”
His eyes dance with laughter. “The police? Think about how that conversation would go.”
I chew on my bottom lip, realising that he’s right and no one would believe me. I don’t even believe meself. “Why was he after you, anyway?”
“Ketill.”
I glance to my left and right, as if confirming with my reflections in the dark windows that I heard right. “You…you have his kettle?”
He lets out a laugh, deep, husky and way too inviting. He could be mocking me, but the easy way he throws his head back has me fighting back a smile.
“My name, treasure, is Ketill.” He takes a step closer. I should be scared, I should want to run away—I don’t want either. Instead of questioning myself, I fix him with a hard stare. Which only seems to delight him further. “Now, tell me yours.”
Maybe if we were anywhere else, I’d be charmed by the way his single dimple makes him both endearingly cheeky and unpredictably exciting. But here is exactly where I find myself. So, lacking in information, I go off the only tool I have at my disposal—my mind.
History and folklore often coincide, and I’ve studied enough books on myth to know that offering names to magical beings never ends well for unlucky humans. So I’d rather be an overly cautious fool with sealed lips than a fool tricked by some fae prince.
Not that I think Ketill is a prince.
More like a dangerous rogue…
Either way, I keep my lips sealed and my glare unwavering.
Ketill’s grin melts into something softer, more genuine. “Let’s get you that cup of tea.”
“Fine,” I huff after a beat. “But I expect you to explain everything, Ketill.”
“Damn. Say my name again,” he insists, eyes sharpening and leaning forward.
“Absolutely not,” I rush out, even if a part of me wants to, just to see what Ketill would do. And a bigger part is jealous of the single raindrop that’s rolled from his wet hair to rest on the curve of his lip.
“Go on,” he urges, moving closer so he can throw his arm around my tight shoulders. “Pretty please.”
“Do you not understand the English language?” I spit while he manoeuvres us down the corridor, his hand sneaking under my jaw to keep our eyes locked—the connection a shock, but also anchoring in a way that scrambles my brain.
“If I say ‘no’, will you teach me?” he wiggles his eyebrows. I puff out an annoyed noise. “I’m a very good student.”
“That I find hard to believe.”
“True, but depending on the subject, I can rise to the occasion.” Ketill’s finger strokes the sensitive skin under my chin, his voice dropping. “Then I’m very,very, good.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I let loose a long-suffering sigh like we’ve had this back and forth for years instead of minutes.
“Now I’m wondering ifyouknow English. It’s pronounced ‘handsome’.”
