Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(59)

I’m gasping when he finally pulls away, my body shaking with need and love and a bunch of other emotions I’m too wired to identify. Reaching up, I grab fistfuls of that wild black hair of his and tug, waiting until his eyes meet mine. “We’re not done talking about the Council.”

“You can talk all you want.”

I make a frustrated sound deep in my throat. “No. We’ll talk.” I narrow my eyes at him, knowing that if I give in now, it’s just an invitation for him to walk all over me later in our relationship. And while my feelings for him are often overwhelming, I’m no pushover. Better that he know that now. “I mean it, Declan. I don’t want you doing anything without talking to me first.”

He watches me closely as he says, “Fine. We can talk. But that doesn’t mean I’ll end up agreeing with you. And in the end I’m going to do what needs to be done. They will not hurt you again.”

Determined to stay on task, I brace myself not to melt at the concern and possession evident in his words. “That’s fine. I’m all for them not getting near me again. All I’m asking is that we take a little time to figure out what that is before you turn all avenging angel on me.”

“I’m no angel, Xandra.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it.” I lean over and kiss his cheek. “But you’re no devil, either.”

“I could be.” He grabs me, tumbles me into his lap. “I’ve been on my best behavior for you.”

I can’t even imagine a universe where that’s true. And if this is his good behavior, what on earth does it look like when he’s being bad?

Choosing not to go there for now, I watch him finish his sandwich. Then say, “I don’t believe everyone on the ACW is corrupt. You want to kill them all because you think they’re all involved in the soulbinding and in what happened to us. But some of the Council members are new—they might not know anything about what’s going on. You can’t tell me you honestly think they should die, too.”

“If you lie down with dogs . . .”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Sure it is.”

“No. It’s not.” Determined to win this battle, I try to stare him down. But Declan just looks at me, the left corner of his mouth lifted in a half grin that tells me he’s not budging. He looks hot and I want to jump him again, even as a part of me wants to strangle him.

“Look, can we at least think this through? Try to figure out who’s doing the killing? Because I don’t believe everyone on the ACW is corrupt and I can’t stand the idea of someone innocent dying when there might be a chance that we can stop it.”

For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me with that shit-eating grin. Then, with a shrug, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” I narrow my eyes at him. “After all that fuss, that’s all you have to say?”

“Pretty much.” He breaks off a corner of the cookie I brought him and holds it out to me.

I eye him suspiciously. That agreement came way too easily. “Really?”

“Why do you look so skeptical? I am capable of being reasonable, you know.”

“Oh yeah. Reason is your middle name.” I continue to watch him distrustfully.

“Fine.” He reaches for my hand, squeezes tight. “You said we. I liked the sound of it.”

“Enough to give my way a shot?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

His concession is the last thing I expect to hear. But as I watch him, see the pleasure in his eyes that he’s no longer trying to hide, it hits me. Declan is one of the most powerful, most feared warlocks in the world. But that kind of power isn’t exactly conducive to a real relationship—any kind of relationship. No wonder he’s so close to Ryder. For centuries, his half brother has probably been the only one he can count on to see beneath the power to the man.

“Just so you know, I like the sound of it, too.” More than I ever thought I would.





Eighteen





After Declan leaves for a meeting he “can’t miss,” one that he promises won’t end with him splattered in blood this time, I head back out to the front of the house. Help out brewing coffee, as the predinner crowd is just beginning to descend. As I do, I work hard to keep the just-got-laid smile off my face. I think I succeed, too—at least until Travis, who is working a split shift today, puts his tongue firmly in his cheek and points out that my shirt is on inside out.

So much for Declan’s transubstantiation skills.

After ducking into my office to fix my shirt, I switch places with Lisa, who’s working the kitchen orders. Actual food orders are slow right now and will be for the next hour and a half or so—which makes this the perfect time to prep my dough for the morning. Each day, I make four different kinds of cookies, two kinds of muffins and a couple of different cakes. Lots of people have told me it’s too much work, that I need to streamline or hire the baking out, but the fact of the matter is, I enjoy it.