Magic Misled (Lizzie Grace #7) - Keri Arthur Page 0,3

was all very odd.” I made my way back to my chair and picked up my hot chocolate. “I think he needs to grab some lessons from Aiden on how to properly interview a suspect.”

“It’s not like they haven’t already got a full record of your actions when it comes to Clayton.” Belle came out of the reading room and went behind the serving counter. Like most Sarr witches, her black hair was long and straight, and her eyes bright silver. She was a smidge over six feet tall and had the build of an Amazon. Stunning was a word often used to describe her and one that was well deserved. “Maybe he really is here to follow up on what happened at Émigré and interview all the victims. The resulting reports might just be enough for the council to decide justice—however brutal—had been dispensed. You want a piece of cake?”

“If that’s not the stupidest question of the year, I’m not sure what is.”

She grinned. “Hey, it was only yesterday that you actually said no to a brownie.”

“Because it was eight in the morning and I had a hangover.”

“Serves you right for partying all night.”

“It wasn’t all night.”

Just most of it. It wasn’t every day your boyfriend turned thirty, after all, and it had to be celebrated in style. So I’d booked us a luxurious room and an eight-course dining experience with never-ending champagne at a five-star hotel down in Melbourne. To say it was a glorious evening would be another of those understatements.

Of course, there was a “proper” party this weekend with all his friends and family, but it was being held within the grounds of the O’Connor compound. I wasn’t a werewolf, so I definitely wasn’t on the invite list—which was no doubt the plan when his bitch of a mother had presented it as a fait accompli two weeks ago, just as I’d been getting out of hospital. I suspected she’d hoped I’d be so upset that I’d split with him but, in reality, it was just another indication that she really didn’t know me—or even her son—all that well. The more she tried to pry us apart, the closer we became.

“Speaking of newly ancient boyfriends,” Belle said, reaching for another mug. “Yours is just about to shove his key in the door.”

I frowned and glanced at the clock. It was just gone six. “He was supposed to be working until eight.”

“Maybe he decided to leave early so he could rush you home and have his wicked way with you.”

Home now being his house in Argyle. We’d moved most of my stuff there a few days after I’d gotten out of hospital, and he’d spent the rest of that week cosseting me.

I rather liked being cosseted.

“A girl can only hope.” I rose and headed for the door, then basically threw myself into his muscular arms the minute he stepped through.

He caught me with a grunt, kissed me thoroughly, and then said, with a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes, “Now that is a welcome a man can get used to.”

“I wouldn’t,” Belle said. “I mean, you’re old now. All that excitement and passion can’t be good for your heart.”

“I’ll remind you of that when you turn thirty.”

His voice was dry, and she laughed. “Which is a good year off yet. Plenty of time to get some action in before the senile years set in.”

“Senility isn’t generally a problem werewolves face, thank God.” He pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down, his nostrils flaring lightly. “That drink is more whiskey than hot chocolate. Any reason why?”

I wrinkled my nose. “We just had a visit from the high council’s chief investigator.”

“I’m guessing that would be the witch I just saw leaving, then?”

“Deliciously hot witch would be a more correct term,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I have competition?”

The smile playing around his lips was warm and confident. A man who knew exactly where he stood in my affections.

“If you don’t play your cards right, yes. Especially when he wears a pair of jeans almost as well as you.”

“I’m relieved by the modifier.” He thanked Belle as she placed a coffee and a plate of brownies in front of him. “What did he want?”

“He’s here to interview witnesses and follow up on the bombing. I dare say he’ll probably want to speak to you at some point.”

“I dare say.” He didn’t look overly concerned by the prospect, and with good reason. Werewolf reservations were self-governing and self-policing.