White Charms and Dark Secrets (Grey Witch Book 2)

by Cece Rose

“Definitely not,” he agrees, looking at the black dress in a mixture of horror and concentration, as if he's picturing the sight he’d make getting into it. “A friend left it here a while ago. I doubt she'll miss it if she hasn't yet.”

  A friend? What kind of friend leaves a dress like this in someone's house?

  “Is she still your friend?” I ask, trying to act casual as I move to get up and change. The dress may be more suited to a nightclub than post-fighting attire, but it beats wearing a blanket.

  “Not really,” he answers, sounding guarded, before turning away to give me privacy. “I'll sort our drinks while you get changed,” Kier calls, already heading out of the room. He moves fast, but not so much to look like he’s running away. I know better though, and I can't help but wonder why he's acting evasive.

  I drop the blanket onto the sofa and pull off the ruined remainders of my new clothes, mourning the loss of them already. I really hope Rhydian wasn't expecting to get them back. Grimacing at the thought, I pull on the black dress. By some miracle the dress fits, but only just. I tug it down a little more, frowning when I realise the back of the dress touches the floor already. The dipped hem in the back of the dress is floaty and low, and it contrasts with the shorter front that sits tight against my thighs. My legs aren’t the ideal length or size for a dress like this. I marvel at the smoothness of the skin on my legs and arms, you’d never know that an hour ago it had suffered horrific burns.

  I try to adjust the dress a little, hoping to get just a little more coverage on the front of my legs, but I have no luck with it. With no other option for something to wear, I sit back down on the sofa, pulling the blanket across my legs for warmth and coverage. Just as I settle, Kier walks back in with a glass bottle and two tumblers.

  “Really?” I question, gesturing at the bottle. It's ridiculously late, and with everything else going on, I'm not so sure now is a good time to get drunk.

  “Yes, really. We can drink a few, we deserve it,” he replies, unperturbed by my query. He takes a seat next to me and hands me the glasses to hold. My hands still tremble a little as I take them, but I try my best to keep it under control. I'm grateful he chooses to ignore it, silently filling both the tumblers with an amber liquid before taking one of the two for himself.

  “What are we drinking to?” I ask, as I clink my glass against his with a smile, deciding to unwind a little, even if only for a little while. Even if it’s mostly faked relaxation too. Fake it till you make it, I guess.

  He considers it for a moment, staring at the drink in his hand as if it will somehow give him an answer. “We're alive,” he toasts finally, clinking his glass back against mine.

  “Well, mostly,” I correct him, pointing in his direction before miming fangs in my neck with my spare hand. He chokes on his drink, and I pat his back, laughing with him before draining my own tumbler. It burns a little but is smoother than I'd expected going down. I smile as he refills our drinks without pause.

  A few drinks never hurt anyone, right?

  * * *

  “Wait, how did I not know that Dracula is real?” I challenge through my laughter at the story Kier just told me.

  “To be fair, until I met his grandson, I thought it was all bullshit too. The whole pale skin, Transylvanian castles, it sounds like a bunch of human nonsense, right?” he agrees, before downing the rest of his drink. He quickly pours himself another and tops up mine too. Glancing over, I notice that the bottle looks almost empty. My head’s a little dizzy, and I'm feeling a good buzz, so I suppose I shouldn’t feel so surprised.

  “Maybe I shouldn't drink that,” I mutter, nodding at the nearly empty bottle to indicate just how much we’ve drunk.

  “Maybe you shouldn't,” he agrees, before downing his drink again in one long gulp. Against better judgement, not wanting to be outdone thanks to my stupid competitive streak, I grab mine and down it too. I slam the empty glass back down onto the coffee table.

  “What happened to you not drinking more?” Kier taunts with a knowing smile.

  “I said I shouldn't drink it, not that I wouldn't,” I answer with a grin.

  Kier glances down at his phone, his eyes widening.

  “What?” I demand, going from joking to filled with fear in an instant.

  “Relax, it's nothing. I just noticed that it's already gone four in the morning. I have to be up at eight,” he answers, waving off my concern.

  “Shit, I should probably get going then,” I mumble, getting to my feet. I've imposed on him long enough. I drop the blanket I'd kept over my legs back down onto the sofa and go to move, but I trip and stumble over a cushion. Kier is up in a flash and grabs me, holding me upright.

  “You don't have to rush off, Kayla. It's four in the morning, so it's too late to worry about being up late,” he says softly.

  “I really should go though, I need some sleep.” I start towards the door and find myself swaying on my feet. It seems standing up sent all the alcohol rushing to my head. Great.

  “Are you sure? I don’t think you’d get very far, nor do I think it would be responsible of me to let you leave this late when you can’t even stand up straight,” Kier states, trying to move me back towards the sofa. I shrug him off, determined to keep myself on my feet if only to prove a point.

  “I’m fine. Just stood up a little fast and got a head rush,” I lie, while trying not to continue swaying on my unsteady feet.

  “Well, regardless of how drunk or not you are—which you definitely are, by the way—you can stay in my guest room. It’s pouring down rain outside, and it’s freezing. I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me portal you home in the morning. I’d do it now, but I don’t portal drunk,” Kier insists.

  I can’t deny that not walking home in the rain sounds appealing. Not portalling around drunk is probably a good policy too. I don’t know many who would risk it after that one guy managed to leave his leg behind when portalling himself across the country hammered. His right leg stayed at John o’ Groats and the rest of him ended up at Land’s End.

  “Maybe…” I begin to relent.

  “How can I convince you to stay?” he presses, his dark blonde eyebrows arched up in question.

  “Snacks. I’m starving,” I blurt. In my defence, it’s been way too long since I’ve eaten.

  “That’s something I can help with. Follow me, there’s got to be something you’ll eat in the house.” He turns and heads out of the room, I follow him, trying my best to walk in a straight line. He leads me into a stylish modern kitchen. Shiny worktops and cabinets, a huge American-style fridge-freezer, and appliances that look brand new.

  “This could be a freaking showroom kitchen,” I babble, as I scan the area for signs of use or wear and tear, but find none. He either never uses this room, or hires an amazing cleaner, because no man maintains a kitchen this clean by himself.

  “I just had it re-done, do you like it?” he asks, heading for the fridge.

  “It looks great,” I answer. “What have you got in there?” I practically skip the rest of the way to the fridge.

  “Hmm, a lot less than I thought. Wine, milk, cheese, and some leftovers that I should probably throw out,” he responds, scowling at the barren shelves as if it’s the fridge’s fault that it’s so empty.

  “Have you got bread?” I ask.

  “Should do.”

  “Cheese toasties it is then. Can’t go wrong with that,” I tell him with a smile.

  He takes the cheese from the fridge and then grabs some bread and starts preparing two toasties. “Any objection to me cooking them the quick way?” he asks, once they’re prepped.

  “Whatever way gets food into my stomach the fastest works for me.” I shrug.

  Kier holds his hands over the two uncooked toasties, and I hear a quiet whisper before feeling heat radiate from them. He pulls his hands away, and two perfectly cooked toasties sit there. I reach down to take one, and he swats my hand away.

  “Hey!” I grumble, trying to grab i
t again, only to get deflected by his hand once more.

  “They’re hot, give it a second,” he scolds me.

  With as much grace and guile as I can muster, I poke my tongue out at him, then dart my hand out to steal the cheese toastie. It’s hot in my hand when I grab it, but I don’t want to let him know that he was right in saying to give it a second. I take a bite, feeling victorious even as it burns my tongue.

  Kier goes to seize the toastie from my hands, so I let go, holding it hostage in my mouth as I try to bat his hands away with my own. After a few light smacks on his hands go ignored as he continues to try and recapture the food, I grab his wrists, holding them away from my face. He smirks, and I try not to laugh in fear of losing the cheese toastie goodness. With no other way to take the toastie from me, Kier dips his head down and pries the toasted sandwich from my mouth with his teeth.

  “You stole my cheese toastie!” I exclaim, after swallowing the remainder of the sandwich still in my mouth. He shrugs his shoulders and starts chewing. Bastard.

  I try to reach to snag it back, but he turns my hold on his arms against me by grabbing onto my wrists. Two can play at that game. I lean up, stretching as far as I can to try and bite at the toastie hanging from his lips.

  I just about bite the edge of it, when he pulls back. I fall into him, and he's startled enough that he drops the sandwich, causing it to fall to the floor. Thankfully, he holds onto me and keeps us both upright at least.

  “You had to go and ruin a perfectly good sandwich, Harlow,” Kier teases.

  “That was your fault!” I look up at him, narrowing my eyes.

  “Prove it,” he retorts, grinning. I can't help but smile back, the light-hearted banter infectious between us. Detective Asshole has a playful side, who'd have known?

  “You're the Detective,” I point out. “Plus, the evidence is right there,” I gesture to the toastie on the floor, when I move my eyes back to him, I notice that his haven't left my face. “And I'm a witness to the incident.”

  “Well, maybe this is the evidence of your crime, and I'm the witness,” he counters.

  Did he move closer? Or did I?

  “Bullshit,” I deny, holding his steady blue gaze.

  “I'm sure I could wrestle a confession out of you,” he whispers, his cool fingertips grazing up my arm, and I shiver.

  “Try me,” I goad.

  His lips brush against mine, startling me for a moment, but the shock is soon washed away by a feeling of heat rushing through me. My arms encircle his neck as his arms wrap around my waist as we deepen the kiss. I feel something sharp drag over my bottom lip, and I jump back, drawing in a sharp breath.

  I stare at him wide eyed, my eyes fixated on his teeth. On the fangs that have descended.

  “Shit, I'm sorry,” he stammers, stepping towards me.

  I jerk back, swallowing thickly. I want to say something, but what can I say?

  “I didn't break the skin, it just brushed across,” Kier says gently, but I know all too well the look of pain in his eyes. It’s the same look Darren gets when I try and tell him things won't work between us. Rejection. Hurt. Sadness.

  Speaking of Darren, what the hell am I doing here?

  “It's okay,” I finally reply, letting out a deep breath. “I’ve just got to go now. I'm sorry.”

  “You don't need to leave—” he begins.

  “Yes. I do,” I cut him off, my decision made. I turn and walk out of the kitchen, heading back to the sofa to grab my boots. I put them on in silence, unable to formulate any more words, despite hearing Kier follow me into the room. I glance around, trying to figure out which way the door is, considering we portalled in.

  “I can show you out,” Kier grumbles, turning away. He leads me through a different door and out into a hallway. He walks right down to the front door before pausing at it, his hand against the handle. He lets his hand fall back to his side, looking at me with a serious expression. “I'm sorry about the fangs. Sometimes it's hard to control, but I promise I wouldn't have bit you. I would never hurt you.”

  “I know that,” I respond quietly, my eyes darting around everywhere trying to avoid looking into his. “It's not you. I promise it's not you. I just can't do this. I know it sounds stupid and cliché, but I'm a hot mess. I'll call you tomorrow about Elias so we can figure out what's next, but could we maybe just, pretend this didn't happen?” I plead, not afraid to pout to help my argument.

  “Sure, of course we can, Harlow. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” He opens the door and steps aside, giving me enough room to pass.

  “Thank you, Kier,” I murmur, as I step past him and out into the rain wearing only a borrowed black dress and my boots. The icy rainfall drenches me in seconds as I walk away, hearing his front door close behind me.

  Twenty-One

  How To Break A Curse

  When I step through my front door, I’m completely drenched and sadly most of the buzz from the alcohol has died. Of course it had to rain the entire walk home, how could I expect anything less from the universe? After kicking my boots off, I head for my bathroom, deciding that a nice, long, hot bath is the only remedy for the day I’ve endured.

  After turning on the taps, I run back downstairs to pour myself a large glass of incredibly cheap wine, then head back up to wait for the bath to fill. By the time I’m ready into climb in the bath, my wine is gone, and my light buzz has returned. I leave the door between my bedroom and bathroom open, letting the cooler air circulate. My bathroom always gets way too warm when I don’t.

  Thoughts of what just happened flicker through my head, and I try to shake off the confusing feelings they bring with them. Here I am, trying to figure out my feelings and relationship with Darren, while surviving the flirtation and attraction to Rhydian, and I just had to go and make it worse by kissing Kier. It's like I live to make myself suffer.

  Sighing, I step into the bath and slide down into the hot water. As I'm slipping under, I realise my horrible mistake and snort, soon breaking out into full on laughter at myself. I managed to get into the bath still dressed. I debate getting up and taking my clothes off but realise I just can't be bothered. My entire life is a hot mess; I can't even manage to take a bath without royally fucking it up. I’m waiting for someone to turn up with my failure at life award any day now.

  I rest my head back against the head of the bathtub and shut my eyes as I allow the hot water to warm me up. My borrowed black dress sticks to my skin and makes me feel a little weighed down, but it's not too unpleasant. My mind keeps wandering, and I can't help but wish I had a nothing box. I’ve heard some blessed people possess this box of nothing they can visit in their head, enabling them to just shut off and enjoy silence in their brain.

  While my brain doesn’t have a nothing box, it does house some other boxes. The largest of which includes a crippling anxiety box, which I tend to visit often. It’s filled with every single damn thing that’s ever gone awry or that I’ve done wrong, down to mispronouncing words in public and even that time I walked into a glass door in front of a bunch of people – including the guy I was interested in at the time.

  I bang my head gently against the tub a few times as guilty thoughts sweep through me once again. Why did I have to go and kiss Kier, why? I was meant to be out on a date with Darren, which I bailed on, and then I ended up drinking with that stupid, sexy detective after he basically saved my life. It was a recipe for disaster from the start, and yet I just kept rolling with it.

  “Why are you so freaking stupid, Kayla?” I mutter to myself, releasing another sigh. I should be worrying about more important stuff than this. I mean, Kier's dad is still out there, plus I need to find a way to break this damn bad luck curse before it kills me.

  I wonder if Kier is right about it being a demonic curse, therefore making it breakable by a demon? Maybe I should ask Solas?

  Opening my eyes, I shake my head, trying to dispel the idea. No matter how much easier it may seem to ask him for answers, that would l
ikely be the dumbest idea I've had to date. Summoning a dangerous demon and asking it for yet another favour would be foolish all on its own, but considering how badly the last one turned out... Guilt rushes through me at the thought. It's my fault Elias got free. It's my fault Kier has to face him again, face the man that killed his mother, and turned him into a vampire hybrid against his will.

  Why does everything I do have so freaking many shitty consequences?

  Kicking my leg out in frustration, I watch the water splash. I kick again, making yet another splash, watching the way the water ripples out where my foot crashes back down into it.

  “You know, I find bathing much easier when I'm not wearing clothes.”

  My eyes dart towards the direction of the voice, and I see Solas standing in the bathroom doorway. The water splashes as I bolt upright into a sitting position. I just stare at him in silent, open-mouthed shock for a moment. What the hell is this damned demon doing in my bathroom?

  “How the hell are you here? I didn't summon you!” I demand as I stand up, flustered and a little angry as well. He throws a towel at me, and it hits me squarely in the face. Against all odds, I manage to grab it before it falls into the water. I step out of the tub, wrapping the towel around myself, but my black dress is still dripping water all over the floor.

  “You requested my presence, much like you did in The Tomb. No formal summoning necessary,” he answers, but it sounds like a complete brush off.

  “Like hell I did!” I snap, stepping towards him. “I didn't say the words. No request happened!”

  “Little witch, didn't anyone ever tell you that magic is more intention than incantation?” he drawls, leaning casually against the wall. Running my eyes over him, I notice that, for once, he's fully dressed.

  “You're wearing a shirt,” I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth at my declaration, my mortification immediate. I just admitted to a demon that I noticed his ink-soaked skin is hidden away for a change. Great.