Page 54 of Woods of the Raven

“But you might scare him in your uniform, when all we’re doing is making a neighborly house call.”

“Fine, but I’m taking my gun,” he snapped. “Whether you think it’ll do anything or not.”

“Whatever you want,” I huffed out, and moved toward the fire.

I was surprised when he grabbed my arm and whirled me around to face him. “Listen,” he said tersely, “I’m sorry I accused you of using magic on me. I’ve had, like, half a day to wrap my brain around all this, and I made a mistake.”

“Sure,” I said under my breath.

“No,” he clipped the word, “don’t get all defensive now and give up and say sure, all flippant and hostile. And don’t start thinking you were right all along about me not being good for you.”

“I didn’t do—”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” he stated, letting my arm go and taking my face in his hands so I couldn’t move away again. “The last few times I’ve seen you, you’ve been moving me back and forth in your head, thinking I was an asshole one minute and okay the next.”

“No,” I lied.

“Yes,” he countered. “It was just weird that day when I was introduced to the town, that’s all. It was like you were all I could see, like I was hit with lightning or something, and that’s never happened before.”

I searched his eyes for the truth.

“I’ve never had that reaction to anyone,” he confessed, taking a breath, “and finding out you’re capable of magic—actual magic—of course my brain went straight to you bespelling me, because what else could it be?”

I could see, from his point of view, where that conclusion could be a logical one. It would all make sense, how he was feeling, if I’d cast a spell on him. “I would never cast a spell on you that wasn’t for your highest good,” I promised him. “If you belonged to me, I would cast a protection circle around you before you left my side every day.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nodded.

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“To keep me safe?”

I scowled at him.

“I’m sorry I accused you,” he muttered, and it was abrupt and short and he sounded a bit grouchy, so it was certainly sincere.

“Thank you.”

“I should have known better anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were going to cast a love spell on someone, why the hell would it be me?”

He was fishing.

“Why’re you squinting at me like that?”

“Are you being serious?”

“Of course I’m being serious,” he nearly yelled. “I’m way older than you. I’m—”

“I’m thirty-two, and what’re you, thirty-five?”

“I’m thirty-nine!”