“It’s only a car,” the driver stated.
Glancing up from her soaked clothes, Bryanna examined her savior. He stared out the front windshield, but then looked at her in the rearview mirror, and she sucked in a harsh breath. It wasn’t his appearance that worried her. His short dark-brown hair, the broad set of his shoulders and even his nicely defined arms filling his pale-blue T-shirt looked incredibly nice. But it was what lay in the depths of his coal-black eyes that terrified her.
A demon.
“The name is Zeke.” He flashed a grin that, if she hadn’t been frightened, might have been sexy. At her silence, he chuckled, put the car in gear and then drove down the road. “Surprised to see a demon?”
She gulped, stunned speechless.
Demons were underworld creatures, stealers of souls and spawns of Satan. What kind of trouble had she landed herself in?
“Stop the car!” she shouted, blindly grasping for the door handle that seemed to have disappeared. She might have looked down to assist in her much needed escape, but that meant she would have to take her eyes off the demon, which she wouldn’t dare do. “Let me out. Don’t eat my soul.”
Zeke barked a shout of laughter. “I might be a demon by right, but I have chosen a different life for myself. I won’t eat you.” His chuckling faded. “And I’ll even send a tow to get your car later. What’s your name?”
His reply knocked her off her axis and made her pause. Was what he suggested even possible? Could a demon deny his heritage? “Bryanna.” She managed to look away from him and noticed they approached a town. “Where are you taking me?”
“Charmstone.”
Once he passed through the metal gates at the entrance, Bryanna spotted an old wooden sign that hung on a wrought iron stand. Charmstone was carved into the wood with Established in 1839 written below.
As the car traveled down the curvy paved road, shops of all kinds appeared. First, Duncan’s Dungeons, then Scaredy Cat Café and even Little Shop of Potions. The town had a historical feel, with aged stores that only built more character. It didn’t look decrepit, but had an incredible charm. One of those places so memorable that if she left, she’d definitely return.
After Zeke rounde
d a corner, he brought the car to a stop. Dragging her gaze from the eclectic shops and the few shifters who walked along the street, she exited the car and stared down the street to her right. She then looked to her left, totally mesmerized.
The shops were all huddled together with no sense of organization. They were nothing like she’d seen in Shreveport. It even smelled different here, almost like gingersnap cookies. Every shop appeared to be a little house and each had a different style that somehow made each one special.
“What a charming little town.” She glanced over her shoulder at Zeke and her mouth instantly went dry.
At some point, he had joined her and he was dark, dangerous, but gorgeous. He towered over her, staring down at her in a way that should have sent her running. Instead, she found herself captivated. Her breath caught in her throat as he gave a smile that was as devilish as his evil roots.
He regarded her a moment, giving her a once-over before curiosity filled his dark eyes. “If you’re a witch, why haven’t you,” he waved his hand over her, “changed your clothing?”
At the reminder of her magical flaws, her cheeks warmed. The spell he suggested was, in fact, the simplest of magic. She considered lying to save herself from the embarrassment, but why bother? A demon had no right to judge her. “Because I’m a terrible witch.”
One sleek eyebrow lifted. “How so?”
A breeze filled the air, causing leaves to flutter down from the tree above, making her slightly chilled in her wet clothes. “My powers are on the fritz. I can command the earth element, but when I do, something horrible happens.”
His eyes twinkled. “Show me.”
“That’s not a good idea.” She scanned the area and while only a couple of warlocks stood by the café and a few werewolves across the street, this seemed dangerous. Turning back to Zeke, she admitted, “It’s best I don’t use my magic.”
He closed the distance between them, studying her from head to toe. “But you are a witch.”
To call her a witch was akin to calling a black cat white. “Yeah, that’s the problem. I’m only a half-witch.”
He snorted, folding his arms over a thick chest. “There’s no such thing as a half-witch.”
“Wanna bet?” she countered.
The side of his mouth curved. “Go on.” He leaned against the wrought iron lamppost and waved her on, which flexed the muscles in his biceps. “I’m not worried. Show me.”
She cleared her throat, a little stuck on the sight of his flexing muscles, before she gave herself hell for looking at a demon that way. Focusing off him, as well as realizing he wouldn’t relent until he saw her flaws for himself, she focused inward. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He winked. “Little witch, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” Pointing toward himself, he tilted his head. “Demon, remember?”