Night Witch (Weatherstone College, #2)(11)

He didn’t even need to flex his power to command respect; it came from the aura he presented to the world. Others instinctively recognized the apex predator in their midst.

“So, your favorite shows are K-dramas and anime,” he said as he stirred the cream base of his sauce, thickening it with cornstarch. “Your favorite food is salmon sushi, which I already knew because you eat half the tray at Weatherstone each meal. And you’re an absolute coffee addict. Even if you do fill it with cream and sugar.”

“Addict is a little harsh,” I said, groaning as he dropped a basket of fresh bread rolls and churned butter before me. My stomach rumbled as I buttered a piece and bit into the bread, which was crispy on the outside and soft in the middle. “Rich people have better bread,” I noted around another huffy groan.

Logan watched me intently, his hand stilling on the spoon in the sauce. “I went to the local markets today before I tracked you down. I wanted to make sure you had the best.”

That level of care and consideration was enough to have strong waves of want and need erupting within me. I’d always craved the same soul-deep love my parents had, and on occasion Logan gave me a glimpse of what life with him could be like.

A life I desperately wanted.

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked, attempting to bring myself back to reality.

Logan fucking Kingston was not the soulmate I could bring home to my family. He might have used the word mate, but it had to be some sort of game. Playing with my emotions before he went in for the kill.

“Pizza. Any sort of pizza, provided the base is crispy and wood-fired.”

Rich-person pizza as well. “And your favorite movies? Let me guess . . . action?”

“Yep. I don’t mind anime as well. If there’s a lot of fight scenes.” He added the cooked chicken to his sauce, along with fresh spinach and sundried tomatoes. “What’s your favorite music?” He was the one asking questions now. “Do you listen to any particular genre?”

I pulled off another piece of bread and scooped butter onto it. “I enjoy country and pop. Dance if I’m out in the clubs. Eighties if it’s Roller Derby. You?”

He’d had multiple guitars in his dorm at Weatherstone, so I had to assume he was a music lover too.

Logan took a second to answer, draining the pasta first, before he returned to the stove, mixing it all together. “Rock and heavy metal. I’ve been in a band with Noah and Tobias for a few years. It started as a way for us to have a break from life and responsibilities, and somehow we’ve picked up quite the underground following.”

I blinked at him, trying to wrap my mind around this piece of information. “You have an actual band?” I was suddenly desperate to see this rock star side of him. “That’s amazing. I’d love to see you perform one day.”

“I think I can arrange that,” he said as he gave me a soft smile, and I was hit with a sudden urge to jump over the island between us.

Before I could follow through on that intrusive but not altogether unpleasant thought, Logan placed a bowl of pasta in front of me. A second dish landed on the spot to my right, and then he poured us both a glass of red wine from a bottle he’d had breathing for about ten minutes.

I took a sip of the tart but delicious merlot, watching as he quickly and competently slid a bowl of parmesan cheese between us, along with napkins and cutlery. “Usually, I’d set us up in the dining area,” he said as he finally sat down beside me, close enough that I could feel his magic and heat along my skin. “But I’ve always enjoyed eating in here. It’s just . . . warmer.”

“I love this kitchen,” I said, my guard falling in the face of Logan’s openness. “It’s right out of my dream house.”

He brushed his thumb across my cheek. “It’s your house too, so it’s good that you love it.” His words were casual, but the meaning behind them . . . This was connected to his mate bond comments, and I needed those answers. Now.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

My fork was in my hand, but I hadn’t had a chance to taste the dish yet as I stared at him. Logan twisted his fork in the pasta and lifted a bite to my lips. “Eat, Precious,” he said, meeting my gaze. “You’ve lost weight since All Hallows’. Now, I personally don’t care what you weigh. You’re perfect no matter what. But I do care if you’re not taking care of your health.”

Without thought, I opened my mouth and accepted the bite. A wash of cream, pesto, garlic, and spice coated my tongue and I moaned softly. “Holy goddess. This is incredible, Logan.”

He smiled, looking genuinely happy. He nudged my bowl toward me, and I decided a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt to wait for answers.

We ate in companionable silence, and it wasn’t until my bowl was almost finished and I was taking a sip of wine that Logan spoke: “Why is your power muted?”

I jerked, spilling a few drops of red across the counter. “You can tell it’s muted?”

He shot me a look that said, I’m a spellcaster, of course I can.

“Mom gave me a potion to suppress my power. She’s growing these ancient herbs, and she had these letters from my gran, who was like me, and there was a spell in there. It’s been working.”

Logan’s expression didn’t give a lot away, but I felt his energy grow stronger. “What else did she tell you? Have you made any ground in trying to figure out your power and how to control it?”