Witch Way to Turn (10 page)

He sat frozen, staring at her, his eyes full of…hunger?

“What?” Breena asked. Had she completely misread the moment?

“Kissing you takes a lot of self-restraint.”

“Don’t hold back then.” Her voice was low and more sultry than she would’ve thought possible.
 

Oh Lord, did I just say that out loud? And like that?

Desire turned the gold rim of his eyes molten. Hesitation gone, he leaned into her, molded his hand to the back of her neck beneath her hair, urgently pulling her to him.

She surrendered to his touch, lost in the all-consuming feel of his lips on hers. Heat blazed through her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she trembled against him. What if he backed away again? Could she handle another taste of his
restraint
? She wanted to scrub the word from her mind.

Quickly, she realized her worry was for nothing when she found herself being lowered onto the couch. Orin caressed her cheek, her neck, her shoulders. He didn’t stop touching her, and still she wanted more. If this moment could last forever, she would gladly give eternity a try.

The doorbell rang.

Shit.

Here she was kissing the boy of her dreams, and the damn pizza delivery guy showed up. She wanted to pretend like she hadn’t heard anything. Maybe if they–

The doorbell rang again. Orin kissed her one last time, gentle but firm, before pulling away. Then he did another of his Houdini moves, appearing at the door. He paid for the food then spread the boxes on the couch. They sprawled on the floor and Breena switched on the TV. She turned her face to the screen as they ate in companionable silence, but couldn’t focus. Instead, she was fully occupied by a slow motion, blow-by-blow–so to speak–playback of The Kiss. She’d kissed boys before, of course, but oh Lord, it hadn’t been like that. In that instant, she would’ve given him anything. Everything. Her lips felt bruised and tender and she was shaken to the core.

She rolled onto her side for a better look at him. He had long, dark eyelashes and a strong jaw framing soft, full lips. And the way he wore a t-shirt…flawless. Not an inch of imperfection on his body. She itched to touch him again, but contented herself with watching him in silence.

A silence which was shattered by the shrill ring of a phone.

Orin wiped his fingers on a paper towel before he reached into his pocket to retrieve his iPhone and swiped the screen to answer. Breena sighed.

“Yes, she’s dead. Assignment complete.” He paused. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

Orin ended the call and turned to Breena. He squeezed her hand.

What. The. Fuck? What did he just say?

“What in the world are you talking about? Who’s dead? What assignment?” Then she remembered the other night on campus. Hadn’t he said he’d never
not
completed an assignment before? Was he telling someone Breena was dead? Holy hell. Did he
kill
someone? No. It couldn’t be. That would be too weird.

“I won’t be gone long.”

“Wait a sec. What the hell is–”

Too late. He’d disappeared. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

Now that she wasn’t staring into Orin’s eyes, she felt as if she’d been in a warm bath for hours and someone had suddenly pulled the plug. What had happened to her? All she’d wanted when she’d left Norma’s was to figure out what to do about Jenny. Instead, she’d spent the day mooning over a boy. A strange boy, for sure. A
beautiful
boy… She thought again of the ethereal golden tint to his eyes. His dark and sexy laugh. The electric feeling between them. She sighed. As great as it was, as great as he was, she didn’t have time for this now. Jenny was all that mattered to her.

She thought about what Orin had said about finding something to die for. She, on the other hand, had found her reason for living the day she’d turned eleven.

Birthdays always seemed to bring out the extra nasty in Norma.

Breena hadn’t wanted any gifts–not that Evil One would’ve gotten her something anyway–but she had wanted a cake. She’d never had one. So Breena had walked the five miles to the grocery store and bought a box of yellow cake mix and chocolate icing with the five dollar bill she’d gotten from helping their elderly neighbor clean out her garage.

No one was at Norma’s house when she’d returned, so she’d started on the cake. As she’d taken the eggs out of the fridge, the front door had slammed and she’d dropped the carton. The eggs had broken, splattering all over the linoleum and initiating one of the worst beatings she’d ever had. It might not have been as bad, but Real Daughter had “accidentally” emptied Norma’s last pack of Marlboro’s into the sticky gunk on the floor and blamed Breena.

She’d wanted to die. Instead, she’d run. She’d run, knowing what would happen when Norma found her, knowing this time she
would
swallow the
entire
bottle of aspirin. She’d run, as fast as she could into the woods, not looking back, heart hammering, nose bleeding, eye swelling, ribs aching with each step.

In the distance, Breena had heard crying. The sound of fear had pulled at her, drawing her on. Each desperate plea for rescue had voiced what she’d held in for so long. She’d followed the noise straight to the source.

A baby.

No note. No basket. Nothing. Just a baby, lying on the ground in the woods.

She’d knelt next to her and the baby had stopped crying. Turning her too-big brown eyes on Breena, she’d reached for her with chubby little arms. The baby needed her. Breena had scooped the bundle to her chest, determined to give the now-cooing infant what Breena longed for. Love.

Thinking about the day she’d found her sister brought back a flood of memories, which crashed around in Breena’s head until she felt like crying. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She might’ve in the past, but she had to be strong. For them both.

As she wrapped the leftover pineapple pizza slices in plastic that clung to her fingers, she thought about Orin. Being with him was epic, and surprisingly easy. He liked her. And she could tell they could be good together once he opened up–let go of some of his uber-cryptic side. On the other hand, there was Myles. He was so good with Jenny, but he fired up Breena’s pulse and smashed her heart into bits all at the same time. She had no idea at any given second what he was thinking or how he felt about her. Love couldn’t possibly be that hard and confusing. Could it?

The lyrics of
Not Meant to Be
by Theory of a Deadman kept looping through her mind, which was crazy. It wasn’t like she’d ever even been anything to Myles except coworker and Jenny’s big sister. Right?

Besides, she liked Orin, with the potential to more than
like
him.

She cut off the TV and put the pizza boxes by the door to take out to the recycle bin tomorrow. She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the card table. Nine o’clock. Her night minutes had kicked in, so she dug around in her bag until she found her cellphone and dialed Norma’s house.

Real Daughter answered.

“Let me speak to Jenny.”

“This Breena?” Susan squawked.

“Who else?”

Click
.

Breena hit redial. Half a ring later she heard, “Sis?”

“Jenny, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I’ll figure something out.” Breena smashed down the quiver in her voice. “Stay in your room if you can. And if they say to do something, do it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You talkin’ to somebody?” Breena heard Norma bellow in the distance.

“No,” Jenny shouted back to Norma. “Gotta go weeping willow,” she said to Breena.

“Toodaloo ragout.”

Close one
.

Breena made a mental note to get her sister a cellphone.

Before settling on the couch to watch whatever was on channel three–because it was the clearest channel–she peeked out the mini-blinds to find the white Accord still parked out front.

Sometime after midnight, Breena found herself staring at the spot Orin had poofed away from, waiting to hear the whoosh of air that would signal his return. God, why was she still awake? She instinctively touched her finger to her lip.

No
.

She jerked her hand back to her lap.

You can’t sit around waiting for a boy. No matter how he makes you feel.

She stood and began to pace. When she found herself at the blinds yet again, she turned away in disgust.

Shit, Breena. Just go to bed!

In her bedroom, she crawled onto the air-mattress and threw the unzipped sleeping bag over her head.

* * * *

Orin apparated into his hotel room, annoyed he had to be away from Breena.

This better not take long.

Zadalia sat in the ugly striped chair next to the AC unit.

“So what did you do with the body?” Orin looked at the blonde with the wickedly satisfied grin on her face. Damn, he missed feeling what she was feeling right now–reckless abandon. Unlike her, he had to control his hunger.

It’s worth it to be around Breena.

Unequivocally. Although, when he was away from her it read like a different story.

“The body?” She batted her eyelashes in an overblown parody of innocence.

Orin cut her an impatient look.

“Oh, you mean the front desk guy? I left him behind the counter and snagged a key.”

“Was he dinner or a snack?”

She exhaled wearily. “Some of us live to eat, not eat to live. You used to be such fun. Don’t you remember those times? You and me. Playing with our food. Naked. ”

“I would rather forget those days, if it’s all the same to you.”

Zadalia walked over to his side with a strut in her step, ignoring his comment as she ran her index finger up the length of his neck to his chin. In a split second, he’d pinched her finger and twisted it back until it almost touched the top of her arm. Oops. No almost about it.

Crack.

“Fuck you, Orin. You know how I hate to heal.” Zadalia cradled her broken finger and huffed over to the chair.

“Why did you want me to meet you?”

“To see if you took out the target.”

“You asked that over the phone. I said yes.” Orin leaned against the dresser.

“It’s easy to lie over the phone.”

With arms folded, he cocked his head to the left. “Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

He stared at her.

“How did you do it?”

“Actually, I let a pack of weres do it for me,” he said, his tone all business.

“Interesting.” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “How did you know they were werewolves?”

“They work for the president.”

Chapter 8

Breena woke to the sound of her front door slamming. Sunlight seeped in through the blinds.

Orin.

She’d sat up in bed and swung her feet to the floor before she remembered–Orin would’ve just poofed in. Besides, she’d locked the door. Her thoughts raced. Maybe someone had broken in. But why would they slam the door?

She grabbed the baseball bat she kept by her bed and eased down the hall, listening for the slightest sound. She crept into the living room. No one. The kitchen was empty too.

The front door opened. Breena raised the bat, ready to defend herself.

“Only me, slugger.” Orin held up two plastic bags.

“Geez.” She lowered the bat before propping the handle against the back of the couch. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. My hands were full so the door slammed.”

“Why didn’t you just poof in?”

“I did,” he said. “I went back out again.”

“Why…” She stared at the empty spot by the door. “You took the recycling out?”

“Guilty.” He shook his head with a sly grin on his face.

“Uh, okay. Thanks.” No one had ever taken her trash out for her before. It was a small thing, she realized that, but the unexpected gesture made him seem almost too good to be true.

“You’re welcome. May I come in?” he asked, even though he already had.

“Sure.”

He walked past her into the kitchen and dropped the bags on the counter.

“So, why didn’t you just poof over to the recycle bin. Instead of using the door?”

“A preternatural has to visit a place in person first in order to apparate there later.”

“Oh.” Dang. What else didn’t she know?

“I’m not much of a breakfast person, so I bought bananas and juice. Hope you like pomegranate.” He handed her the curvy bottle.

She recognized the name immediately because she never bought the brand. Too expensive. Normally she drank the Crystal Light version. “I love POM. It’s my fave.”

“Mine too.” Opening a couple of cabinet doors, he searched until he found whatever he was looking for. “Glass or mug?”