“And secondly, I know it’s hard to trust—believe me, I know.” Trusting Declan, knowing who he is and the power he has, is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done—especially when the murkiness of his power threatens to rise up and overwhelm us both. “But no relationship is going to work out if you’re constantly shopping for his replacement.”
Travis swallows convulsively, studies his nails, taps his foot. Then says, “Somebody’s been reading too many pop psychology books lately.”
I know it’s the only acknowledgment he’s going to give my words and since the snipe doesn’t have Travis’s usual bitchiness behind it, I give him a quick hug. Then decide, what the hell. I haven’t seen Nate in a few days. It wouldn’t kill me to give my best barista a thrill.
Shoving away from my desk, I stand and gesture to myself. “Do I pass inspection, oh wise guru of all things fashionable?”
“You need a little color.” He pinches my cheeks, a bit harder than is strictly necessary, but I don’t protest. I figure I have it coming. Then he steps back and surveys his handiwork. “Well, you won’t win any beauty contests. . . .”
“Oh no. How will I live?” I pointedly glance at the clock. “I believe your thirteen minutes are up.”
“Like I’d miss this? Hurry up.” He shoos me out the door. “Meg’s good, but she can’t stall him forever.”
Travis’s words haunt me as I go to the front, but I shove them to the back of my mind. Declan and I are still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase, that’s all. And our relationship has been a lot more intense than most new couples’—no wonder things feel so scary and off-kilter. That doesn’t mean that they won’t work out, right?
I approach the counter just as Meg is wrapping up Nate’s favorite treat—one of the huge sugar cookies I make from scratch every day. I’ve thought about phasing them out for a more updated cookie, but I never have because I know how much he likes them.
“Just the woman I came here to see,” Nate says as he catches sight of me. He’s smiling and I do the same, though inside I’m still reeling.
“And here I thought you came for the French roast.” I fill a cup and hand it to him.
He takes it with murmured thanks, holds it up to his nose and breathes deeply. “I can get coffee anywhere.” He takes a sip. “Maybe not this good, but there are three Starbucks closer to the station.”
Travis nudges me and I know he expects me to say something, but I don’t have a clue how to respond to that—especially considering that Nate’s been coming here every day for well over a year.
Nate doesn’t let things get awkward, though. Instead, he nods to an empty table toward the back. “Do you have a minute?”
I’m a little confused by his easy friendliness. Not that Nate has ever been unfriendly to me, but things have been strained between us ever since he suspected Declan of murder and tried to arrest him. Still, I’ve never been one to turn a friend away, and Nate—despite Travis’s hopes to the contrary—is a friend.
I wave away the money he holds out for his coffee, and lead him to a table in the corner. As we sit, I become aware of the grim vibes rolling off him—vibes I hadn’t noticed when he was chatting amiably with Meg.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him as soon as we’re settled.
“Something has to be wrong for me to want to talk to you?”
“I can tell, Nate.”
His smile freezes in place. “Oh, right. Because of the . . .” He trails off and gestures a little awkwardly toward his head. I’m confused for a second, but then I remember how I explained my magic to him. When he demanded a reason as to why I kept showing up at different murder sites, I told him I was psychic—which isn’t exactly a lie, but it isn’t exactly the truth, either.
“No. Not because of that.” I smile at him reassuringly. “You just look . . . off.”
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” He rubs a hand over his face and I realize, for the first time, just how much this job takes out of him. That may seem stupid—I mean, everyone knows it can’t be easy to be a homicide detective with all the horrifying things they have to see—but at the same time, Nate always seems to handle it so well.
Then again, the black warlock–turned–serial killer who stalked Austin for the past few weeks pretty much defied human description. Poor Nate was stuck hunting him without having a clue as to what he was really up against. I’m a witch, soulbound to one of the darkest warlocks around, and I still have nightmares of being raped and murdered by that monster.