Spellcaster All-Stars, page 33
“Unfortunately, not for this, but I’ll do more research.”
“Thanks, Zane.”
“Anytime. That’s what friends are for.”
“Well, swimming is a good activity with achy joints.”
“You didn’t bring your wand to practice in the pool?”
I shake my head. “Malachi advised me to spend time getting a feel for the movement and timing of moving through water to add authenticity to my performance.”
Zane studies me. “Have you told him about your hands?”
“No. I was able to use my left hand in practice. It only started giving me trouble before I came up to the pool.”
Zane frowns. “If it’s not any better tomorrow, you should tell your coach.”
“If you can’t help me, I doubt he can.”
“True,” Zane says cockily. “But he could have suggestions for how to perform with a handicap.”
“Hm, maybe. I suppose I should tell him.”
“I get why you didn’t. He’s a vampire.”
That’s not the reason, but I don’t feel like explaining my complex relationship with Malachi or the constant anxiety that Jovi will find an excuse to pull me from the show.
Instead, I twist around and dive under water.
Before today, I was never interested in swimming. I used to like baths, not pools and the extra exposure of my body weight in a bathing suit.
Now that I can remain underwater as long as I want, it’s a newfound experience that gives me a thrill.
As I swim below the surface, jellyfish flicker to life around me, their translucent bodies pulsing with ethereal blue light. I smile as Zane transforms the pool into an ocean filled with sea creatures. His hands move with fluid gestures above the water’s surface, murmuring spells that ripple through the water like sonic waves.
“Oceanum phantasma,” his voice echoes, distorted through the water.
A dolphin swishes past, its sleek body gliding effortlessly through the water. I reach out, but my fingers go through its tail. Brightly colored starfish hang out on the sandy ground at the bottom of the pool. Vibrant green sea plants sway in the water, dancing to currents that exist only in this magical space, while seahorses with bodies like living jewels swim around bright coral.
A school of rainbow-hued fish darts between my arms, their scales catching the light like thousands of tiny mirrors. I feel weightless, free from both gravity and the earlier pain in my hands.
I shoot up to the surface, laughing, water cascading from my hair and shoulders. “It’s incredible,” I say, my voice filled with delight.
Zane grins back from where he now sits on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. Tiny ripples of magic still emanate from his fingertips, maintaining the illusion below. The strain of the spell shows slightly in the tension around his eyes, but his smile is genuine.
“Just a simple illusion,” he says modestly, though we both know it’s anything but simple. “Sometimes the best healing comes from forgetting the pain for a while.”
I don’t know if he’s talking about the ache in my finger joints or my past or both, but it hits home. We share a meaningful look before I dive back under. Down here, surrounded by impossible beauty, my hands and heart don’t hurt so much.
A shadow passes overhead, and I look up to see Zane diving down to join me. His movements are graceful, controlled, as if he belongs in this underwater realm he’s created. The jellyfish part around him like luminous curtains, their blue light casting ethereal patterns across his face and bare chest.
He swims closer, and for a moment we’re suspended together in this impossible ocean.
But then his chest rises, a reminder that even magical underwater worlds require actual breathing. He gestures upward with a small smile, and we surface together, breaking through the illusion into the chlorinated reality of the hotel pool.
The sight of the hour hand on the round wall clock jolts me back to the present. I need to return to my room soon to shower and get ready to meet Kace for dinner. As magical as swimming with spectral creatures is, I can already picture his waiting smile.
I swim to the shallow end of the pool, stand, and walk carefully up the steps, looking at the illusions from a new vantage point, then smile at Zane.
“Thanks. That was amazing.”
“Just what every guy wants to hear,” Zane returns in a sultry voice and a jump of his brows.
I huff and roll my eyes. As I walk along the pool’s edge, the sea creatures fade back into the ether. I put on my robe and step into my flip-flops, lifting my hand. “Have a good evening.”
“Yep. You too,” Zane replies casually. “Bon appétit. I think I’ll order the sea bass for dinner.”
Chapter Forty-Three
I still have my room to myself when I return from the pool, so I waste no time washing the chlorine out of my hair and scrubbing it off my body. The scent of ripe mangoes and passion fruit fills the steamy bathroom as I lather up.
After I’m dried off, I slip into a sky-blue spaghetti-strap midi dress and wear my gold H disc pendant with it. I’m finishing up my makeup when Kace texts that he’s on his way over. Now that his girlfriend’s gone home, we meet Tripp for dinner in the hotel café.
“And then there were three,” Kace says with a grin as we settle into the booth. He sits beside me, reaching for my hand under the table and holding it.
Tripp lets out a low, distracted chuckle, more breath than sound, like his mind is still half-tethered to his phone. He sets it face down on the table, eyes skimming the menu. A moment later, he sets the menu aside and reaches for his phone again, the flicker of a smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Did you have a nice time with Alice?” I ask politely.
Tripp’s face lights up instantly. “Yeah, it was great.”
“I bet you’re both looking forward to the end of the competition and being together again,” I say.
Still smiling, Tripp nods his head up and down.
“How was practice today?”
“Good,” Tripp says.
Without Tracie around to help carry the conversation, it’s painful. At least Kace is an expert at chiming in and lightening the mood.
“The wolf bros are gonna have viewers howling when they see us shift. Am I right, homie?”
Tripp just smiles.
“Wait, you’re shifting on stage?” I turn and gape at my boyfriend.
He laughs and bumps my shoulder with his. “Nah, I’m just playin. It would be cool, though.”
“What song are you doing your group performance to?”
“Duran Duran—‘Hungry Like the Wolf.’ It’s an 80s song.”
“Right on.” I bob my head.
Kace chuckles. “Next week will be extra fun with our friends returning.”
“Yeah, I’ll be happy to see them. Others, not so much.” I screw up my face.
Kace puts his arm around me. “Don’t worry. You’ve got the entire pack on your side. And you’ve got me.”
A waiter walks up and takes our orders. The guy is tall and skinny with tired eyes, like he’s already halfway through the dinner rush and running on fumes. His black apron is slightly askew, and he gives us a polite but distracted smile as he pulls out his notepad. There’s a brief pause after I order, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll get this right in,” he says, jotting down the last of our order.
Kace flashes his teeth. “Thanks, my man. You’ve got some starving wolves and one hungry zombie here.”
I glare at Kace after our waiter heads off toward the kitchen. “You don’t need to go advertising what I am.”
“Pretty sure your order gave it away, Z.” He lifts his brows and grins at me.
“We’ve got other diners around us,” I remind him.
“Screw ’em,” he answers.
The arrival of Jovi and one of her werewolf producers cuts his laughter short. I’m pretty sure the werewolf beside her is the one named Dennis. He’s broad-shouldered, tan, and always dressed in fitted black—like he’s her security detail instead of a co-producer.
“Didn’t know you dined here,” Kace says, his tone edged with suspicion.
“We don’t,” Jovi replies curtly. She looks at Tripp. “Mr. Peters, we need you to take us to your room.”
Tripp frowns and blinks several times. “What’s going on?”
Kace presses his arms onto the table and flexes his tattooed fingers, his muscles coiled with tension. “What’s this about?” he asks, eyes narrowing on Dennis.
The werewolf producer remains silent, his jaw tight. He gives nothing away—just stands there like a warning.
“Just come with us,” Jovi says to Tripp, already turning.
“We just ordered,” Kace says.
Jovi turns her cool gaze to him. “Mr. Warren, don’t butt in where you don’t belong.”
“Butt into what?” Kace mutters.
Tripp hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s doing an excellent impression of a freeze spell.
“Let’s go, Mr. Peters,” Jovi says impatiently.
“I’ll come too,” Kace announces.
“No, you won’t,” Jovi hisses at him.
“It won’t take long,” Dennis says in a slightly less hostile tone.
“Okay,” Tripp says uncertainly, sliding his phone along the surface of the table as he scoots out of the booth.
Kace catches his arm as he starts following Jovi. “Hey, I’ll tell the waiter to keep your meal warm until you return.”
“Thanks.” Tripp blinks several more times.
“Text if you need me to come up,” Kace says.
“Okay.”
“I wonder what the hell’s going on now,” Kace grumbles while they walk away.
I shake my head. No idea what’s happening. But I’d like to know.
When we’ve finished our meals and Tripp still hasn’t returned, Kace requests a to-go box. We walk out of the café, holding hands, into the lobby, where we’re swarmed by reporters.
They materialize like a mirage come to life, pressing in with flashing cameras and jabbing microphones. The questions come rapid-fire, each word slamming into us.
“Mr. Warren, what is your reaction to being hexed by your own werewolf teammate a couple of weeks ago?”
“What?” Kace’s voice detonates—sharp and furious. His body tenses, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Do you think Tripp Peters is also responsible for drugging Tracie Cox last week?” another voice shouts from somewhere in the crowd.
Kace’s fingers tighten over my hand. It’s not a lot of pressure, but it’s still enough to cause me to wince and jerk away. He doesn’t notice—his attention is locked on the reporters, brown eyes blazing. His upper lip curls back in a snarl, a deep growl vibrating in his chest. The reporters don’t even flinch. They just push in closer, feeding off the spectacle.
Panic coils in my gut, sharp and electric. The press of bodies and the relentless noise make my limbs go cold. My thoughts scatter. I’m back in my old bedroom with the zombie horde, their decaying hands clawing at me, sealing off my only exit. No room to move, no way out. Just the crushing sense of being trapped and eaten alive.
“Haylee!” a reporter yells. “Are you and Kace together? What do you think about another competitor attempting to eliminate your boyfriend using dark magic?”
Yet another reporter takes up the cry. “Haylee! Jen Rogers with The Hex Appeal. How long have you and Kace Warren been romantically involved?”
A man races over from the front desk, waving his arms frantically. “You can’t be in here. I’ve called security.”
“Kace, what does your pack think about you dating a zombie?”
Like a tide, the reporters collectively draw away from the subject of Tripp and join the wave of questioning about my relationship with Kace.
“Haylee, do you feel safe dating a werewolf?”
“What does this mean for interspecies relationships going forward—do you see yourselves as trailblazers?”
“Kace, would you give up your place in your pack to stay with Haylee if forced to choose?”
Each voice drills into me, and the crowd feels closer with every second. My fingers twitch uselessly at my sides. I’m tempted to get my wand out of my purse and disappear, but I won’t leave Kace alone with these vultures. We’re in this together.
I press into his side, close enough to feel the tension in his body like a taut wire. His presence is solid, grounding—like stepping behind a wall right before the storm hits. My shoulder brushes his arm, and he shifts just slightly, widening his stance like he’s ready to shield me from the whole damn lobby.
I blink hard, trying to steady myself, but the questions keep flying. Each one feels like a shove, and Kace is the only thing keeping me upright.
Then an elevator opens, and Jovi steps out with Dennis. The werewolf’s high-pitched snarl drowns out the questions.
For a heartbeat, the silence is total—as sudden as a cut cord. The reporters freeze, cameras half-lowered, mics still extended. Then Jovi’s voice crashes down like a thunderclap.
“Reporters aren’t allowed in the hotel!”
“Security is on the way,” the front desk clerk calls out, breathless and flushed.
Panic flips the mood instantly. The reporters scatter like startled birds, their bravado dissolving in a flurry of tangled wires and pattering footsteps. One nearly drops his camera. They retreat toward the hotel’s sliding doors.
Kace turns to me and searches my face. “You okay, Z?” I nod. He plants a quick kiss on my cheek before addressing Jovi and Dennis. “They were making up lies about Tripp.”
“We are looking into the matter,” Jovi says evenly.
Kace folds his arms. “What’s there to look into? Tripp would never do that. Do a truth spell on him if you have to.”
“We already tried. He has a rune tattoo protecting him from any kind of mind manipulation.”
“Well, good on him,” Kace says. “We could all use one, with the wizards out to get any creature or human who dares use a wand.”
“Mr. Warren, you can’t say things like that,” Jovi snaps.
Kace shoots Dennis a help me out here look, but the werewolf producer just stands beside Jovi with his arms crossed and a watchful glare.
Jovi purses her lips and turns her attention to me. “We actually came down to talk to you.”
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“Have you experienced any pain in your hands?”
My jaw drops. “How did—?” Jovi glances from my fingers to my face and lifts her slender brows. I swallow. “Um, yeah. I’ve had some discomfort, but nothing that would prevent me from performing.”
“I think you should come take a look at something in Mr. Peters’s room. Not you, Mr. Warren,” Jovi adds roughly.
“I’m not leaving Haylee’s side,” Kace says. “Besides, I’ve got Tripp’s to-go order.” He lifts the white bag containing a cardboard box.
“Let him come,” Dennis says.
Jovi meets the eye of her co-producer, holding his gaze. When he doesn’t back down, she sighs. “Fine. Just try not to make a scene.”
Dennis presses the button for the elevator. When the doors open, he motions us to get in first and tells a hotel guest, “Get the next one,” when she tries to join us.
“There’s enough room for me,” she insists.
Jovi takes a step forward. “Get the next one,” she repeats.
The woman blinks and takes a step back. “I’ll get the next one,” she says in a dazed voice.
Pretty sure the vampire just used illegal compulsion, but I’m not about to call her out. I hope Kace holds his tongue, so Jovi doesn’t change her mind about allowing him to join me in Tripp and Nathaniel’s room. Whatever she’s about to show me, I want him there to see it too.
Kace keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he glares at Jovi’s back the entire way up to floor eight.
We walk with heavy footsteps down the hall. Kace’s large frame walks protectively close beside me, his jaw clenched tight. The bag with Tripp’s to-go order dangles from his left hand, filling the hall with the faint scent of burger and fries. We turn a corner and continue halfway down the hallway, stopping at room 803. Dennis raps on the door with three sharp knocks, his knuckles white against the dark wood.
The lock unclicks with an ominous sound, and the door opens on its own. Dennis walks in first, his shoulders tense, then stops and holds the door against the inner wall. His expression is guarded, eyes darting around the room as he positions himself like a sentinel.
Tripp sits wide-eyed in a chair, his normally confident posture replaced by rigid tension. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. Nathaniel stands in front of him, towering over Tripp’s seated form, glaring down with his arms crossed over his chest. The wizard’s eyes narrow dangerously when he sees Kace, and his lips curl into a contemptuous sneer.
“What is he doing here?” he demands, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. His gaze flicks between Kace and me, disgust evident in the twitch of his eyebrow.
“He was with Haylee. Mr. Warren isn’t my concern right now,” Jovi answers impatiently.
“You’ll forgive me for being leery of werewolves,” Nathaniel says, his tone dripping with disdain. His eyes, cold as ice, slide to Dennis. He adds, “With the exception of Spellcaster producers and staff.” Though the words sound forced through clenched teeth.
Dennis gives the barest nod, his expression unchanged except for a slight tightening around his eyes.
A muffled sound comes from Tripp, a strangled protest from deep in his throat. His face reddens with the effort to speak, but Nathaniel must have some kind of gag spell placed over him. Tripp’s eyes bulge slightly, pleading with anyone who will look at him.
“Thanks, Zane.”
“Anytime. That’s what friends are for.”
“Well, swimming is a good activity with achy joints.”
“You didn’t bring your wand to practice in the pool?”
I shake my head. “Malachi advised me to spend time getting a feel for the movement and timing of moving through water to add authenticity to my performance.”
Zane studies me. “Have you told him about your hands?”
“No. I was able to use my left hand in practice. It only started giving me trouble before I came up to the pool.”
Zane frowns. “If it’s not any better tomorrow, you should tell your coach.”
“If you can’t help me, I doubt he can.”
“True,” Zane says cockily. “But he could have suggestions for how to perform with a handicap.”
“Hm, maybe. I suppose I should tell him.”
“I get why you didn’t. He’s a vampire.”
That’s not the reason, but I don’t feel like explaining my complex relationship with Malachi or the constant anxiety that Jovi will find an excuse to pull me from the show.
Instead, I twist around and dive under water.
Before today, I was never interested in swimming. I used to like baths, not pools and the extra exposure of my body weight in a bathing suit.
Now that I can remain underwater as long as I want, it’s a newfound experience that gives me a thrill.
As I swim below the surface, jellyfish flicker to life around me, their translucent bodies pulsing with ethereal blue light. I smile as Zane transforms the pool into an ocean filled with sea creatures. His hands move with fluid gestures above the water’s surface, murmuring spells that ripple through the water like sonic waves.
“Oceanum phantasma,” his voice echoes, distorted through the water.
A dolphin swishes past, its sleek body gliding effortlessly through the water. I reach out, but my fingers go through its tail. Brightly colored starfish hang out on the sandy ground at the bottom of the pool. Vibrant green sea plants sway in the water, dancing to currents that exist only in this magical space, while seahorses with bodies like living jewels swim around bright coral.
A school of rainbow-hued fish darts between my arms, their scales catching the light like thousands of tiny mirrors. I feel weightless, free from both gravity and the earlier pain in my hands.
I shoot up to the surface, laughing, water cascading from my hair and shoulders. “It’s incredible,” I say, my voice filled with delight.
Zane grins back from where he now sits on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. Tiny ripples of magic still emanate from his fingertips, maintaining the illusion below. The strain of the spell shows slightly in the tension around his eyes, but his smile is genuine.
“Just a simple illusion,” he says modestly, though we both know it’s anything but simple. “Sometimes the best healing comes from forgetting the pain for a while.”
I don’t know if he’s talking about the ache in my finger joints or my past or both, but it hits home. We share a meaningful look before I dive back under. Down here, surrounded by impossible beauty, my hands and heart don’t hurt so much.
A shadow passes overhead, and I look up to see Zane diving down to join me. His movements are graceful, controlled, as if he belongs in this underwater realm he’s created. The jellyfish part around him like luminous curtains, their blue light casting ethereal patterns across his face and bare chest.
He swims closer, and for a moment we’re suspended together in this impossible ocean.
But then his chest rises, a reminder that even magical underwater worlds require actual breathing. He gestures upward with a small smile, and we surface together, breaking through the illusion into the chlorinated reality of the hotel pool.
The sight of the hour hand on the round wall clock jolts me back to the present. I need to return to my room soon to shower and get ready to meet Kace for dinner. As magical as swimming with spectral creatures is, I can already picture his waiting smile.
I swim to the shallow end of the pool, stand, and walk carefully up the steps, looking at the illusions from a new vantage point, then smile at Zane.
“Thanks. That was amazing.”
“Just what every guy wants to hear,” Zane returns in a sultry voice and a jump of his brows.
I huff and roll my eyes. As I walk along the pool’s edge, the sea creatures fade back into the ether. I put on my robe and step into my flip-flops, lifting my hand. “Have a good evening.”
“Yep. You too,” Zane replies casually. “Bon appétit. I think I’ll order the sea bass for dinner.”
Chapter Forty-Three
I still have my room to myself when I return from the pool, so I waste no time washing the chlorine out of my hair and scrubbing it off my body. The scent of ripe mangoes and passion fruit fills the steamy bathroom as I lather up.
After I’m dried off, I slip into a sky-blue spaghetti-strap midi dress and wear my gold H disc pendant with it. I’m finishing up my makeup when Kace texts that he’s on his way over. Now that his girlfriend’s gone home, we meet Tripp for dinner in the hotel café.
“And then there were three,” Kace says with a grin as we settle into the booth. He sits beside me, reaching for my hand under the table and holding it.
Tripp lets out a low, distracted chuckle, more breath than sound, like his mind is still half-tethered to his phone. He sets it face down on the table, eyes skimming the menu. A moment later, he sets the menu aside and reaches for his phone again, the flicker of a smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Did you have a nice time with Alice?” I ask politely.
Tripp’s face lights up instantly. “Yeah, it was great.”
“I bet you’re both looking forward to the end of the competition and being together again,” I say.
Still smiling, Tripp nods his head up and down.
“How was practice today?”
“Good,” Tripp says.
Without Tracie around to help carry the conversation, it’s painful. At least Kace is an expert at chiming in and lightening the mood.
“The wolf bros are gonna have viewers howling when they see us shift. Am I right, homie?”
Tripp just smiles.
“Wait, you’re shifting on stage?” I turn and gape at my boyfriend.
He laughs and bumps my shoulder with his. “Nah, I’m just playin. It would be cool, though.”
“What song are you doing your group performance to?”
“Duran Duran—‘Hungry Like the Wolf.’ It’s an 80s song.”
“Right on.” I bob my head.
Kace chuckles. “Next week will be extra fun with our friends returning.”
“Yeah, I’ll be happy to see them. Others, not so much.” I screw up my face.
Kace puts his arm around me. “Don’t worry. You’ve got the entire pack on your side. And you’ve got me.”
A waiter walks up and takes our orders. The guy is tall and skinny with tired eyes, like he’s already halfway through the dinner rush and running on fumes. His black apron is slightly askew, and he gives us a polite but distracted smile as he pulls out his notepad. There’s a brief pause after I order, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll get this right in,” he says, jotting down the last of our order.
Kace flashes his teeth. “Thanks, my man. You’ve got some starving wolves and one hungry zombie here.”
I glare at Kace after our waiter heads off toward the kitchen. “You don’t need to go advertising what I am.”
“Pretty sure your order gave it away, Z.” He lifts his brows and grins at me.
“We’ve got other diners around us,” I remind him.
“Screw ’em,” he answers.
The arrival of Jovi and one of her werewolf producers cuts his laughter short. I’m pretty sure the werewolf beside her is the one named Dennis. He’s broad-shouldered, tan, and always dressed in fitted black—like he’s her security detail instead of a co-producer.
“Didn’t know you dined here,” Kace says, his tone edged with suspicion.
“We don’t,” Jovi replies curtly. She looks at Tripp. “Mr. Peters, we need you to take us to your room.”
Tripp frowns and blinks several times. “What’s going on?”
Kace presses his arms onto the table and flexes his tattooed fingers, his muscles coiled with tension. “What’s this about?” he asks, eyes narrowing on Dennis.
The werewolf producer remains silent, his jaw tight. He gives nothing away—just stands there like a warning.
“Just come with us,” Jovi says to Tripp, already turning.
“We just ordered,” Kace says.
Jovi turns her cool gaze to him. “Mr. Warren, don’t butt in where you don’t belong.”
“Butt into what?” Kace mutters.
Tripp hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s doing an excellent impression of a freeze spell.
“Let’s go, Mr. Peters,” Jovi says impatiently.
“I’ll come too,” Kace announces.
“No, you won’t,” Jovi hisses at him.
“It won’t take long,” Dennis says in a slightly less hostile tone.
“Okay,” Tripp says uncertainly, sliding his phone along the surface of the table as he scoots out of the booth.
Kace catches his arm as he starts following Jovi. “Hey, I’ll tell the waiter to keep your meal warm until you return.”
“Thanks.” Tripp blinks several more times.
“Text if you need me to come up,” Kace says.
“Okay.”
“I wonder what the hell’s going on now,” Kace grumbles while they walk away.
I shake my head. No idea what’s happening. But I’d like to know.
When we’ve finished our meals and Tripp still hasn’t returned, Kace requests a to-go box. We walk out of the café, holding hands, into the lobby, where we’re swarmed by reporters.
They materialize like a mirage come to life, pressing in with flashing cameras and jabbing microphones. The questions come rapid-fire, each word slamming into us.
“Mr. Warren, what is your reaction to being hexed by your own werewolf teammate a couple of weeks ago?”
“What?” Kace’s voice detonates—sharp and furious. His body tenses, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Do you think Tripp Peters is also responsible for drugging Tracie Cox last week?” another voice shouts from somewhere in the crowd.
Kace’s fingers tighten over my hand. It’s not a lot of pressure, but it’s still enough to cause me to wince and jerk away. He doesn’t notice—his attention is locked on the reporters, brown eyes blazing. His upper lip curls back in a snarl, a deep growl vibrating in his chest. The reporters don’t even flinch. They just push in closer, feeding off the spectacle.
Panic coils in my gut, sharp and electric. The press of bodies and the relentless noise make my limbs go cold. My thoughts scatter. I’m back in my old bedroom with the zombie horde, their decaying hands clawing at me, sealing off my only exit. No room to move, no way out. Just the crushing sense of being trapped and eaten alive.
“Haylee!” a reporter yells. “Are you and Kace together? What do you think about another competitor attempting to eliminate your boyfriend using dark magic?”
Yet another reporter takes up the cry. “Haylee! Jen Rogers with The Hex Appeal. How long have you and Kace Warren been romantically involved?”
A man races over from the front desk, waving his arms frantically. “You can’t be in here. I’ve called security.”
“Kace, what does your pack think about you dating a zombie?”
Like a tide, the reporters collectively draw away from the subject of Tripp and join the wave of questioning about my relationship with Kace.
“Haylee, do you feel safe dating a werewolf?”
“What does this mean for interspecies relationships going forward—do you see yourselves as trailblazers?”
“Kace, would you give up your place in your pack to stay with Haylee if forced to choose?”
Each voice drills into me, and the crowd feels closer with every second. My fingers twitch uselessly at my sides. I’m tempted to get my wand out of my purse and disappear, but I won’t leave Kace alone with these vultures. We’re in this together.
I press into his side, close enough to feel the tension in his body like a taut wire. His presence is solid, grounding—like stepping behind a wall right before the storm hits. My shoulder brushes his arm, and he shifts just slightly, widening his stance like he’s ready to shield me from the whole damn lobby.
I blink hard, trying to steady myself, but the questions keep flying. Each one feels like a shove, and Kace is the only thing keeping me upright.
Then an elevator opens, and Jovi steps out with Dennis. The werewolf’s high-pitched snarl drowns out the questions.
For a heartbeat, the silence is total—as sudden as a cut cord. The reporters freeze, cameras half-lowered, mics still extended. Then Jovi’s voice crashes down like a thunderclap.
“Reporters aren’t allowed in the hotel!”
“Security is on the way,” the front desk clerk calls out, breathless and flushed.
Panic flips the mood instantly. The reporters scatter like startled birds, their bravado dissolving in a flurry of tangled wires and pattering footsteps. One nearly drops his camera. They retreat toward the hotel’s sliding doors.
Kace turns to me and searches my face. “You okay, Z?” I nod. He plants a quick kiss on my cheek before addressing Jovi and Dennis. “They were making up lies about Tripp.”
“We are looking into the matter,” Jovi says evenly.
Kace folds his arms. “What’s there to look into? Tripp would never do that. Do a truth spell on him if you have to.”
“We already tried. He has a rune tattoo protecting him from any kind of mind manipulation.”
“Well, good on him,” Kace says. “We could all use one, with the wizards out to get any creature or human who dares use a wand.”
“Mr. Warren, you can’t say things like that,” Jovi snaps.
Kace shoots Dennis a help me out here look, but the werewolf producer just stands beside Jovi with his arms crossed and a watchful glare.
Jovi purses her lips and turns her attention to me. “We actually came down to talk to you.”
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“Have you experienced any pain in your hands?”
My jaw drops. “How did—?” Jovi glances from my fingers to my face and lifts her slender brows. I swallow. “Um, yeah. I’ve had some discomfort, but nothing that would prevent me from performing.”
“I think you should come take a look at something in Mr. Peters’s room. Not you, Mr. Warren,” Jovi adds roughly.
“I’m not leaving Haylee’s side,” Kace says. “Besides, I’ve got Tripp’s to-go order.” He lifts the white bag containing a cardboard box.
“Let him come,” Dennis says.
Jovi meets the eye of her co-producer, holding his gaze. When he doesn’t back down, she sighs. “Fine. Just try not to make a scene.”
Dennis presses the button for the elevator. When the doors open, he motions us to get in first and tells a hotel guest, “Get the next one,” when she tries to join us.
“There’s enough room for me,” she insists.
Jovi takes a step forward. “Get the next one,” she repeats.
The woman blinks and takes a step back. “I’ll get the next one,” she says in a dazed voice.
Pretty sure the vampire just used illegal compulsion, but I’m not about to call her out. I hope Kace holds his tongue, so Jovi doesn’t change her mind about allowing him to join me in Tripp and Nathaniel’s room. Whatever she’s about to show me, I want him there to see it too.
Kace keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he glares at Jovi’s back the entire way up to floor eight.
We walk with heavy footsteps down the hall. Kace’s large frame walks protectively close beside me, his jaw clenched tight. The bag with Tripp’s to-go order dangles from his left hand, filling the hall with the faint scent of burger and fries. We turn a corner and continue halfway down the hallway, stopping at room 803. Dennis raps on the door with three sharp knocks, his knuckles white against the dark wood.
The lock unclicks with an ominous sound, and the door opens on its own. Dennis walks in first, his shoulders tense, then stops and holds the door against the inner wall. His expression is guarded, eyes darting around the room as he positions himself like a sentinel.
Tripp sits wide-eyed in a chair, his normally confident posture replaced by rigid tension. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. Nathaniel stands in front of him, towering over Tripp’s seated form, glaring down with his arms crossed over his chest. The wizard’s eyes narrow dangerously when he sees Kace, and his lips curl into a contemptuous sneer.
“What is he doing here?” he demands, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. His gaze flicks between Kace and me, disgust evident in the twitch of his eyebrow.
“He was with Haylee. Mr. Warren isn’t my concern right now,” Jovi answers impatiently.
“You’ll forgive me for being leery of werewolves,” Nathaniel says, his tone dripping with disdain. His eyes, cold as ice, slide to Dennis. He adds, “With the exception of Spellcaster producers and staff.” Though the words sound forced through clenched teeth.
Dennis gives the barest nod, his expression unchanged except for a slight tightening around his eyes.
A muffled sound comes from Tripp, a strangled protest from deep in his throat. His face reddens with the effort to speak, but Nathaniel must have some kind of gag spell placed over him. Tripp’s eyes bulge slightly, pleading with anyone who will look at him.
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