Either way, neither sight—not the professor’s surprisingly muscular frame, nor him dragging a body bag toward the loch—were things she’d have suggested or expected for today’s bingo card of life.

  Then again, the day had not gone to plan at all, which was proving to vex her to no end the more she thought about it. How the hell do people go through life, not being able to see what will happen next? Tamsin’s earlier equanimity at not being able to predict her own future had descended into severe irritation, and she was planning the lecture she fully intended to give fate when she next caught up with the mercurial asshole.

  She closed the distancer between them. “Why are you towing a dead body to the lake?” Tamsin regretted the question almost as soon as she asked it.

  Max dropped what she thought was the foot end—or at least, she hoped it was—of the black bag. “What else am I meant to do with a dead body?” He rolled his shoulders, and Tamsin did not ogle the movement.

  No, she didn’t. Absolutely not. Not once.

  She was not one to ogle, after all.

  It was highly undignified.

  Then his words registered. “What else are you meant to do—I don’t know! Bury it? Burn it?”

  “Too much effort.” He grunted as he lifted the body bag once more, thrusting his chin out at Loch Muick. Its cool waters were pristine and calm, the surface of the lake perfectly mirroring the twilit sky as the sun descended toward the horizon. The loch itself was enclosed by a treed ridgeline, the undulating mountains host to former walking trails that had become overgrown and hard to navigate. Its surroundings were bathed in shades of pink, violet, and orange, the warm hues of sunset.

  It was beautiful.

  “Do you have an ID for the body?” Tamsin asked before breathing in deeply, letting nature overcome her. The aroma of fresh water and woodsmoke always seemed stronger here, but they were mixed with a metallic scent that permeated the land around the lake itself. She had a theory that the strange odor belonged to the being who’d claimed the loch during the House of Death and Diamond’s birth, although, for some reason, not everyone could smell it.

  “Assassin. Fergus discovered him, of all people.”

  Fergus. The phantom who rarely—if ever—changed into his corporeal form. And, though no one knew for sure, he was possibly one of the very first phantoms.

  Then, once again, something absurd that Max had said earlier penetrated her thoughts. “Wait. You think burying a body is too hard, but you’ve just dragged a corpse over a mile… Actually, you know what? Not my problem. I don’t want to know.” She threw her hands in the air.

  “Eh, Krakenessie has gotta eat.” Max dumped the bag on the pebble-covered shoreline, the motion accompanied by the sound of plastic scraping against rough stone.

  Tamsin blinked. “…Right.”

  So that explained how Max had been getting rid of the bodies that kept showing up on the lawn. She probably should have asked about that earlier.

  “Does Krakenessie know they’re called that?” The being that occupied their loch was something of a hybrid between a kraken and the fabled Loch Ness Monster. Tamsin suspected they came from a world that no one from Earth had ever seen before.

  Max repositioned the body bag on the shoreline, then took a few careful steps back, coming to stand beside her. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “She dinnae need to respond to a human name.”

  He let out a high, piercing whistle.

  A delicate, wavering tentacle emerged from the water, almost querying the call.

  Tamsin took several steps back without thinking. She’d seen firsthand what happened when Krakenessie, as she apparently went by now, threw a hissy fit—and trees used like spears was absolutely not being added to today’s aforementioned bingo card.

  The tentacle dipped out of sight soon after appearing, but Max whistled again—this time in a different pitch. The purplish limb remerged, slithering toward the body bag on the bank, as if feeling its way along.

  Max moved toward the bag, the idiot. Tamsin barely stopped herself from grabbing his arm to prevent him from walking toward what had to be certain death. Her empty hand closed into a fist instead.

  If he wants to die, it’s not my problem.

  Then why did she feel as if she could barely breathe as he closed the distance to the giant tentacle?

  “I’ll just open the bag for ye, lass. I know ye dinnae enjoy having the plastic in the water.”

  Tamsin was not going to ask how he knew that.

  Sure enough, Max calmly unzipped the bag with precision, opening it wide, all while a giant tentacle approached him. Heart beating wildly in her chest, Tamsin watched as the limb slithered into the bag, paying no mind to the phantom crouching beside it, its bruise-colored skin wrapping around the body like a constrictor curling around its prey. In a flash, it twisted the corpse into the air and yanked it back into the water, the body disappearing into the depths of the once-pristine loch, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake.

  “You’ve trained it to respond to whistles?” Tamsin asked, skin flushed as the sudden—and unexpected—fear subsided.

  Max zipped up the currently empty body bag with a grimace. But he didn’t answer her question. “Death’s always disgusting.”

  “Says the dead man,” Tamsin muttered. She was being a bitch, but she didn’t care. He’d just frightened her, and she didn’t like it.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Half-dead man.”

  Tamsin shook her head. “You turn into a ghost. I think that counts as fully dead.”

  “Well, I’m alive in all the ways that count.” He lifted the bag and folded it carefully.

  She squinted at him, not sure if he’d intended for the comment to ooze innuendo the way it did. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “As ye wish, lass.”

  Tamsin slammed her foot down on the ground so hard a pebble cracked underneath her heel. “I am not your ‘lass’. Stop calling me that.”

  “It’s just a term. Dinnae mean anything.”

  She glared at him.

  “I’m Scottish.” He shrugged, like that explained everything.

  And maybe it did. But she didn’t have to like it. “Sure thing, Charm-aggedon.”

  Max spluttered and his grip loosened on the plastic bag. “Charm-a-what?!”

  The sound of his outrage soothed some of the sharp edges inside her. “You heard me.”

  Tamsin marched back toward the house, not sparing the man behind her a second glance. Sure, she could’ve portaled herself inside instantly, but she didn’t want to waste magic on trivial crap. Even if it would’ve gotten her away from Max faster.

  He followed, holding the body bag out to his side like it was infected. In all honesty, it quite possibly was. “I dinnae ken what burr went up your arse, but ye need to calm down, lass.”

  Tamsin stopped so abruptly that the beads and bells on her body jingled in protest. She spun toward him slowly, her expression one of serene fury. “Calm. Down?”

  Max seemed to realize his mistake immediately. “Ahhh⁠—”

  “Listen, you Tartan Tyrant—” She jabbed him in his chest with a finger. “If I don’t dump you in some hell-based dimension on the way back to the Crossroads, it will have been my good deed for the decade.”

  His gray eyes widened slightly behind those fake glasses of his. “Ye could do that?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Tamsin was one of the few portal-makers who didn’t have to sacrifice an eye, a limb, or some other godsforsaken personal item to open a gate. But that didn’t mean she did it for shits and giggles either.

  She could. She just…didn’t.

  Temper roiling, she turned her back on the phantom once again and strode toward Braemar Castle, her fury practically launching her there. Her plan for the remainder of the day was this: Ignore Max. Portal to Ball. And finally: Do not kill Max.

  If she could achieve those things, then the day wouldn’t be a total waste. She hoped.

  However, ignoring Max was proving harder than she thought, because his heat nipped at her back as he hovered just behind her and to the side. “What are you… Are you trying to protect me?” she asked, when she realized he maintained the position no matter how fast—or slow—she walked.

  “…Nae.”

  “Then why are you hovering next to me?”

  “I dinnae know what yer talking about, Tammy.”

  She huffed and almost tripped over her own feet. “Tammy?”

  His expression was pure, false innocence. “What? Ye dinnae want to be called ‘lass’.”

  By the time they reached the castle, she’d decided that ignoring him was the superior strategy. The more he knew he got under her skin, the more he wanted to. She didn’t understand the logic, but there it was.

  “Let me just get rid of this,” Max held the bag up after they strode through the entry.

  “Hurry up. I’m leaving soon.”

  Her bags were already by the door, packed and ready to go. Not that she’d really unpacked from her last trip—that made it all the easier to re-pack. She’d just added a ballgown—or three—to the mix.

  Max disappeared down one of the many hallways, his broad shoulders retreating.

  “Ye shouldnae let him annoy ye so much, dearie,” Granny Kim said, suddenly appearing behind her in the entrance hall.

  Tamsin turned to find the woman in her phantom form, wearing the same clothes as the day she’d died. Granny Kim always had wisdom to share—and usually a baked treat to go with it. Tamsin was especially fond of her scones. Unfortunately for her, Kim appeared to be treat-less this time, since she didn’t have corporeal hands with which to carry said delicacy.

  Disappointed at the lack of scones, Tamsin said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kim.”

  “Keep telling yerself that, lass.”

  Tamsin bit the inside of her mouth at the nickname—but somehow, Kim’s use of ‘lass’ didn’t make her want to hex anyone. Not like it did when Max used it.

  She wasn’t going to think too hard about that.

  Tamsin rolled up her sleeves. “Just make sure there’s a fresh batch of scones waiting when I get back. I’m going to need it.”

  Granny Kim batted her eyelashes. “But aren’t ye going with a sweet treat already?”

  Tamsin shook her head. “Did you just call your son a ‘sweet treat’?”

  “Max isnae my son,” Kim said with a smile, then floated away from her, down the hall, apparently deciding to let Tamsin figure out how those two were related.

  Tamsin sighed. She was never going to get used to working with such a big family. The connections were impossible to map. Actually, she thought, I’ll make Sabrina draw up a family tree. That’d make things easier.

  She pulled out her magic-powered phone and fired off a message:

  GET YOUR ASS TO THE DOOR. WE’RE LEAVING IN FIVE.

  Tamsin was done waiting.

  The three pulsing dots appeared, indicating Max was typing a reply.

  KEEP YOUR UNDIES ON, I’LL BE THERE IN FIVE.

  Her ‘undies’? No. She was not engaging. Was. Not.

  The dots appeared again. What the hell was he typing this time?

  … PRESUMING YOU’RE WEARING UNDIES.

  Tamsin let out a noise halfway between a screech and a growl and jammed her phone into her pocket so hard she might’ve popped a stitch—or five. The asshole.

  Maybe tomorrow he’d wake up with a nice case of hex-induced syphilis. Or better yet, toxoplasmosis.

  Checking her watch, she wondered if she had time to add the spell ingredients to her bag.

  Chapter 4

  Max

  THE CROSSROADS

  It was the motherfucking honeymoon suite.

  Sabrina and Kieran had booked a room in a historic hotel—something he hadn’t believed still existed out here in the Crossroads. Then again, he’d only been to the new portal town a handful of times since the gate to Tartarus had opened. Tamsin had been largely in charge of managing external House politics, leaving him to deal with internal House issues, so she was far more familiar with the town.

  Max let out a low whistle as he took in the suite. Decadent. That was the first word that popped to mind. Complete with a four-poster bed, heavy damask curtains, renaissance-style paintings, and heavy wooden furniture, along with protection charms already spelled into place. The room was designed for a couple, not two solo travelers being forced to share.

  No wonder Kieran had looked so smug earlier.

  “This is swishy,” he murmured to the still irritated witch.

  “Did you just say the word ‘swishy’?” Tamsin asked, one eyebrow arched. She dropped her bag to the floor and rolled her neck from side to side. He knew from experience that she could open portals easily, but she looked tired. Had making one so soon after her return to the House worn her out?

  When he noticed her staring, he realized she was waiting for him to respond to her taunt.

  “Does it matter what I say?” Max asked. “Yer gonna take umbrage with it nae matter what.” He placed his leather suitcase beside the bed. The only bed. Which meant they were about to have an argument.

  One he was determined to win.

  “That’s not true,” Tamsin muttered.

  Max crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a look. “Point proven.”

  His prickly witch leaned down and opened what he called her Mary Poppins bag. It seemed to hold an impossible amount of crap. Then again, Tamsin manipulated space and time; who knew how much stuff she could shove into what appeared to be a fabric bag?

  He kicked his shoes off and wiggled his poor, abused toes. While his partial shift had healed his foot, he could still feel echoes of the pain. The rich brocade carpet was soft under his feet, but there was no way he was going to sleep on it, not if he could help it. “Yer sleeping on the floor.” He pointed vaguely at a spot somewhere between the bed and the wall.

  Both of Tamsin’s eyebrows rose at that. “Excuse me? I’m sleeping on the floor? Aren’t you meant to be a gentleman?”

  He snorted. “Nae sure where ye got that impression from. Ye can manipulate space. Make the floor comfy, I dunno. But I get the bed—I called dibs.”

  “Dibs?” Tamsin opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no other sound emerged.

  Max pretended to be busy with his leather-bound suitcase so she wouldn’t see the smug twist of his smile.

  “I’m sleeping on the bed,” she said evenly.

  “Then ye will be joining me, cos I am nae sleeping on the floor,” Max replied, pulse hammering at the thought.

  Fuck, what would it be like to sleep next to her? To have her scent surrounding him the moment he opened his eyes in the morning? To have her warmth and body tucked near him?

  His cock jerked at the thought.

  “Fine. You can be in the bed, too,” Tamsin grumbled. “But you lay one single finger on me, I’ll turn you into the ugliest toad the world’s ever seen.”

  “A toad?” Max turned, surprised to find Tamsin already standing within two feet of him. She rarely got this close if she could help it—not that he’d taken to noticing her positioning any time he was around. He breathed in, the scent of amber and orchid wrapping around him like an embrace, making his cock even more interested.

  Not now, he thought, trying to get the rogue appendage under control.

  If she noticed his hard-on, she’d turn him into aforementioned toad, and he had a ball to attend.

  “Ye forget,” he said, crouching down to rifle through his suitcase, “if ye cast a spell on me, it won’t last. I’ll just turn phantom and re-form human.”

  “And if you re-form butt-ass naked in the bed, expect to lose a limb or two.”

  He looked down at himself, deliberately focusing on his groin that was thankfully obscured from her view by his crouched position. “A limb? I dinnae know ye were so well acquainted with my body. I’m flattered.”

  A strange, high-pitched sound escaped Tamsin. Her right fist clenched tightly as her pale-blue eyes flashed with a burst of magic.

  He wondered if they did that when she was aroused…

  Stop wondering, or yer gonna end up missing body parts.

  “Well, I’m gonna get ready for the ball,” he muttered, satisfied now he’d gotten a rise out of her. “I’m assuming fancy is the dress code?” He stood, holding his toiletry bag in front of his waist; not exactly natural, but he wasn’t willing to take a chance. Keeping it there, he strode into their bathroom, shutting the door ever-so-gently behind him. Max grinned when he heard a solid thump against the other side.

  There was something so delightful about Tamsin in a temper.

  He placed the toiletry pack on the vanity and looked around the bathroom. The shower was mounted over a claw-footed bath, surrounded by a white curtain, and the pale pink tiles he stood on were cold under his feet. He closed his eyes and a picture bloomed in his mind, with little prompting on his part: Tamsin in the bath, the water up to her chest and bubbles obscuring her body, her long legs and arms propped on the edges of the tub. Her head rested on a towel while her magnificent hair was tied in a messy bun atop her head. Her cherry red lips curving in a slight, inviting smile.

  He swallowed and his cock grew rock hard.

  Fuck.

  He needed to get his arousal under control. He’d never been this…bad about it. Sure, he’d thought of them together, but he’d never been driven to this point before. Where he was getting aroused just being with her, near her, just from thinking about her.

  But there was something about knowing Tamsin was in the next room while he was naked that had him imagining her in here with him. Of her eyes glowing as she took in his body, his passion for her. How her red lips would part in invitation.

  Yer an idiot.

  That he was.

  Shaking his head at himself, he placed his glasses on the vanity and stripped. Climbing into the shower-bath, he turned the faucet on, hissing as the stream of cold water touched his skin. He bit his lip when it slid over his erection, the cold water not affecting the damned thing at all. Maybe he needed to take care of it; that way he wouldn’t react so strongly to Tamsin the next time he saw her. Which would be all too soon.

 

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