Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I curled up under one of the thick knitted throws the cottage kept providing and cracked open the familiar pages. The scent of old paper and adventure filled my nose, and I was instantly lost in the tale I hadn’t read since I was ten years old.
Halfway through, a steaming mug of hot cocoa appeared at my elbow, complete with gooey marshmallows bobbing on top and golden-brown toast sticks on a little plate.
Okay, this is ridiculous, I thought as I dipped one into the cocoa. Ridiculously perfect. I’m never going to want to leave!
By the time I finished the book, the fire was burning low and the shadows had stretched across the room, soft and cozy. I stretched my arms over my head and felt every inch of myself relax.
I haven’t felt this safe in… God, years. Not since before Craig got sick. The memory of his wan face and haunted eyes threatened to rise, but I gently pushed it back. Not now. Not when I feel like I’m finally coming back to life.
I padded into the bathroom and was unsurprised to find the clawfoot tub full of creamy bubbles again. The scent tonight was different—not honeysuckle this time, but something richer and more decadent. Like warm milk and honey laced with jasmine. I stripped out of my clothes and sank into the hot water with a grateful moan.
The bubbles were thicker tonight, the water velvety on my skin. I leaned my head back and let the warmth sink into my bones.
I should probably think about going back to my house. There are still things there I might need… I frowned, sinking deeper into the tub.
But what exactly would I need? Clothes? The cottage brought them to me. Toiletries? Already here. Books? My favorites were being summoned like magic. Even the food I love appears before I ask for it—as long as it’s something I loved when I was a kid.
And did I really want to return to that house full of sad memories? Where I’d watched my husband fade day by day until he was a hollow shell of the man he used to be? My throat tightened.
No, I thought fiercely. This place is mine now. This is my fresh start. My clean slate. I’m not going back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I dozed in the bath, drifting in and out of sleep. The bubbles slid warmly against my bare skin, and I felt weightless…supported…cared for in a way I hadn’t been in years.
And then I heard it.
A deep voice, dark and velvet-rich, coming from the bedroom.
"It's dark outside, little witch… are you coming to bed soon?"
My heart gave a little flutter, not of fear, but anticipation.
Shadow.
The corners of my mouth turned up as warmth bloomed inside me, richer than the bathwater and sweeter than the cocoa. My fingers trailed through the bubbles and I smiled.
Yes, I was most definitely coming.
25
DANNI
His voice wrapped around me like smoke—low, warm, and sensuous. I blinked in the steamy bathroom, still up to my chin in creamy bubbles. The scent of whatever magic the cottage had added to the bath—honey and something darker, maybe myrrh or clove—clung to my damp skin.
I sat up slowly, suds sliding down my breasts, and called back,
“Just a minute!”
I could feel my cheeks getting hot as I spoke. I wasn’t sure why I felt shy. Maybe because I knew what I wanted. Maybe because I knew he knew, too.
Wrapping myself in a thick towel, I walked into the bedroom, my skin flushed from the heat of the bath—and from anticipation. Shadow was already reclining on the bed, propped on one elbow, a huge, muscular shape in the dimness. The faint glow of firelight from the living room made the sharp edges of his face inhuman—all hollows and glowing golden eyes.
He looked at me like I was dessert.
“Did you enjoy your bath?” he rumbled.
I swallowed hard, nodding.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been this clean—or this ready to be dirty again.
I didn’t say it out loud—I was still a bit shy—but I was definitely thinking it.
The towel slipped as I walked toward the bed, damp fabric clinging to the curve of my hips. Shadow lay sprawled across the mattress like something carved from midnight, his enormous form relaxed but alert, golden eyes gleaming softly in the dim light. He held one clawed hand out to me.
“You don’t need that,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Drop the towel and come give me a hug, little witch.”
A flutter of nerves flitted through my body, but excitement chased close behind. There was no pressure in his tone—just invitation, open and warm. He wanted me. That much was clear.
And I wanted him just as badly.
Taking a deep breath, I let the towel fall to the floor. It landed in a soft heap at my feet, and Shadow’s gaze tracked every inch of bare skin I revealed, slow and hungry, as though he was imprinting the image into his memory.