A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch （Glimmer Falls, #2(26)
He dug through the fabric as she started driving again. She’d picked up a pale blue shirt, an oversized hooded sweater, undershorts, socks and trainers, and black leather trousers. Or faux leather, as a check of the tag indicated it was made of various synthetics. Still, he raised a brow at the bold choice. “Do you enjoy a man in leather?” he asked. It matched his horns, and the blue shirt was close to the shade of his eyes. Simple garments, but functional, and she’d given at least some thought to aesthetics.
Was it his imagination or had her cheeks flushed? “It’s the only thing I thought would fit. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Ah, yes. Manners. Important when buttering up one’s enemies. “Thank you for buying me clothing,” he said. And he meant it, truly. She’d used her own money to make him comfortable, and a warm, fuzzy feeling filled him at the gesture, growing warmer as he put the jumper on. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“Don’t bother. Secondhand stores are cheap.” She slid him a glance. “Let me guess, you hate the idea of secondhand stores. That suit probably cost a fortune.”
He couldn’t say how much it had cost, but he resented the first bit of conjecture. “Excuse you. Shopping vintage and used is an excellent way to craft a unique style, as well as be more sustainable for the planet.” He smirked and gestured at his torso. “As evidenced by myself, the best things are built to last.”
Calladia let out a startled-sounding laugh. Her teeth dug into one side of her lower lip, and her eyes were bright. It was a real smile, surprised out of her, and it was just as stunning as he’d imagined.
She shook her head. “Ridiculous,” she said, but for once, it didn’t sound like an insult.
TEN
It was full dark by the time they arrived at Mariel’s house. “Stay here,” Calladia told Astaroth. “Head down.”
“It’s like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me,” he marveled. “How odd.”
“That’s exactly it.” Ignoring Astaroth’s huff, Calladia exited the truck. “I’ll be back.”
Mariel flung open the door a few seconds after Calladia knocked. The short, curvy brunette witch launched herself at Calladia, knocking her back a few steps. “I was so worried!” Mariel cried as she hugged Calladia fiercely. “I can’t believe someone blew up your house.”
“Me neither.” Calladia squeezed Mariel tightly before releasing her. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”
Mariel scoffed as she ushered Calladia in. “You know you can just walk into my house whenever you want.”
Mariel’s home was cozy and charming, full of colorful knickknacks and woven rugs. They passed the den where Oz had spent days sleeping on the couch after Mariel had accidentally summoned him, then continued down the hall to the kitchen and adjacent dining nook. The air smelled like spices and cooking meat.
“Take a seat and tell us everything,” Mariel said.
Calladia smiled at the people gathered in the kitchen. Themmie, of course, who was zooming toward her, but also the werewolf Ben Rosewood, a good friend and Mariel’s boss at the garden shop he owned. Oz was chopping onions at the counter; he waved the knife in greeting, looking watery-eyed. “I would offer a hug,” the demon said in his rumbling baritone, “but you might start crying from these cursed onions, too.”
Themmie was so agitated she didn’t land before hugging Calladia. The pixie’s wings thrummed as she lifted Calladia off the ground. “I’m so glad you weren’t barbecued,” Themmie sobbed.
Despite everything, Calladia laughed. “Me, too. I hope you’re ready to plot revenge.”
Ben came to hug her next. The werewolf was tall and broad with shaggy brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but he eschewed the badass biker look a lot of werewolves enjoyed in favor of dressing like a math professor, a lumberjack, or a combination of both. Tonight was all math professor, complete with sweater vest and gold-rimmed glasses. “We’ll pitch in to help you rebuild,” he promised. “No detail’s too small.”
Calladia’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “Thank you.”
The group was completed by Alzapraz, Mariel’s great-great-great-times-a-lot grandfather. When Mariel had heard there were demon issues afoot, she’d offered to invite the ancient warlock, who had more knowledge than the rest of them combined. No one knew what century he’d been born in, but he looked as old as he was, since he’d mastered enough life magic to extend his life span indefinitely, but not enough to preserve his health. He was more wrinkled than a pug, with a hunched back and a white beard that dangled to his waist. A pointy purple cap topped with a yarn pom-pom perched on his head.
Alzapraz waved a fork. “Glad you didn’t die,” he said in a creaky voice.
“Same!”
Oz was finally done with the onions, and after washing his hands, he came to give her a brief hug. “Sorry about the house.”
Calladia smiled at Oz. “Thank you.”
She’d mistrusted the big, serious demon at first, but she’d come to realize that behind his reserved exterior was a tender heart and a strong sense of loyalty. What he lacked in fancy words he made up for in actions, and his solid, protective presence was exactly the anchor flighty, dreamy Mariel needed.
They sat while Mariel resumed cooking coconut chicken curry. To Calladia’s delight, Mariel had incorporated magic into her meal prep and was summoning ingredients with ease. A week ago, that had been nearly impossible due to Mariel’s unpredictable spellcraft, but Mariel had finally realized her magic wasn’t the issue—the pressure exerted by her overbearing family was. Set free to explore magic on her own terms, Mariel had begun to flourish.