Page 49

NOVEMBER 1ST

Ikeep my eyes squeezed shut.

I know it’s stupid. I know closing them isn’t going to change anything about what’s going to happen next, but sue me. I guess I’m just not ready to look yet. I’m not ready to open my eyes and find a giant black cat trapped between my arms instead of the man who spent the last twenty-four hours driving me absolutely insane in all the best ways.

So I just stand there and wait until he goes furry on me.

My cheek is pressed against Vincent’s hard, muscular chest. My arms are wrapped around his waist. His are still squeezing me tight, too, and I tell myself that I’m imagining the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear because that’s easier than admitting that something isn’t quite right.

Or, actually...

Something is very right.

“Kate?”

That’s Vincent’s voice. It’s also very definitely not a meow.

I peek my eyes open. A moment later, I slowly lift my head, turning to peer up at him. Because I can. Because Vincent… he’s staring down at me, a twinkle in his deep brown eyes, his expression pulled in a familiar yet surprised smirk as he rubs my back with his human fingers.

Not Mr. Whiskers.

Vincent.

For a second, neither one of us says anything. My mouth falls open, and I don’t know what to say. I wonder if maybe the clock in the kitchen is off, if the chimes rang a couple of minutes early, and I swivel my head, searching for the cable box. The neon-green numbers always match my phone so if any time is right, it’s that⁠—

The clock reads 12:01. As I stare in wonder at it, it switches over to 12:02.

He’s still Vincent.

“Oh my God,” I breathe out. My gaze snaps back to his. “Do you see that? It’s after midnight and you… you’re still you.”

“I didn’t change.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t change, Kate. I’m still human. I’m still me.”

The wonder has found its way to his voice. I try not to giggle as I squeeze him on the side. “I can see that, baby.”

“But...” He releases me suddenly, staring down at his hands. He flexes his fingers once. Twice. Then he touches his face, his chest, pats at his thighs as though he expects to discover fur hiding somewhere. “I didn’t change.”

Screw it. I laugh.

I didn’t really mean to. Vincent looks so stunned that I probably shouldn’t, but after spending the last fifteen minutes trying not to cry because I thought I was losing him for an entire year, I can’t help it. The laugh escapes, and another one follows. Suddenly, I’m grinning so hard my freaking cheeks hurt.

Vincent looks at me—and then he laughs, too.

He grabs me around the waist and hauls me against him, kissing me so hard that my feet nearly leave the floor. I throw my arms around his neck, laughing against his mouth before kissing him back.

When we finally separate, both of us are breathing hard, and as the joyous laughter fades some, I’m beginning to think that this breathlessness has more to do with the arousal I’ve been doing my damndest to ignore than because of how deeply he kissed me.

But I have to ask. I have to know.

“How?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

That’s not the answer I expected to hear. “What?! You’re the warlock, Vincent.”