Since Sophie had offered to let her stay, Layla decided that the offer entitled her to look around; she knew she ought to be tired, but the crazy events of the night had left her antsy. She got up and started exploring the house, half expecting to find cauldrons, wands, and pointed hats. Instead, what she found was a normal kitchen with the usual food and appliances, the comfortable living room, and a few unremarkable bedrooms. Only two of them looked lived in, and she wondered why Sophie didn’t have more roommates.

She even went into the attic, sure she’d find some witchy thing there—a book of spells, perhaps, or maybe some ancient artifact. There were dusty boxes, most of them containing books, but even these were frustratingly normal. Just romance novels, a few thrillers, and an autobiography of someone she hadn’t heard of. She couldn’t bring herself to go in the cellar, however; the darkness there was enough to make that area less appealing. At least for now.

Defeated, Layla settled back down in the living room. She couldn’t say why she’d been hoping to find something out of the ordinary. It just felt weird, this ordinary house inhabited by these extraordinary people.

She went to the window and looked out at the view. It was a good one. There was a fountain and a lot of leafy plants outside, which made her fingers itch for her pencil and sketchpad.

Layla was almost out the door before she remembered Sophie’s dire warnings to stay inside. But surely it would be okay just to walk to Sophie’s car, since she saw they’d taken another? Still, maybe not. Deciding she’d rather not risk finding out what Sophie had looked so scared of, Layla instead rifled through the desk drawers until she found a pencil and notebook.

As she sketched, she mulled over everything she’d been told. Drawing had always helped her think. What she really wanted to do was to call her mom, to confront her about why she’d never told her own daughter she was a witch, but now wasn’t a good time. This early, her mom would still be drunk, and talking to her while she was drunk was always an exercise in frustration.

Maybe it had been her grandmother or someone else who’d created the deception, and her mom really was innocent, but Layla wouldn’t put it past her to keep a secret like that. She’d always told Layla she was weird and not good enough. Maybe her mom resented the magic she knew ran through her daughter’s veins?

Thankfully, time slipped by as she sat drawing, as it always did. It surprised her to realize that she didn’t have anywhere to get to, and no reason to pull herself out of her pleasant rhythm of sketching. There was no work to get to, no mom to deal with, no errands to run. It was a strange feeling, but not an altogether unpleasant one.

She’d just been considering getting another of the cold chicken sandwiches out of the fridge when the doorbell rang. Forgetting her hunger, Layla jumped to get to the door, eager to see that Sophie and the others were okay, as well as to get some more information about what they’d been doing. It didn’t occur to her until after she’d opened the door that the women she’d met wouldn’t have bothered with the doorbell, and she stopped up short at what greeted her.

It wasn’t Sophie. It was a man in his mid-twenties…but ‘man’ might have been the wrong word. He looked like lust incarnate. His black hair just brushed his broad shoulders, and she could see the muscles of his arms under his tight shirt. His eyes were a dark, dark brown, almost black.

He was also tall—so tall that Layla had to tilt her head up to look at him. Her eyes roved over his face, taking in his long nose and perfect cheekbones.

She opened her mouth to say hello, but nothing came out. What was wrong with her? The last time she’d felt like this was when she’d asked Billy to the junior dance when she was thirteen.

“Hi, my name’s Hunter. Is Sophie in?”

Layla shook her head and frantically tried to get her voice to work. She managed to fix her eyes firmly on his face, though she wanted to keep taking in the larger picture; the peek she’d gotten of his body suggested he was in excellent shape.

“Not right now. I’m not sure when she’ll be back.” Layla looked out to the driveway, wishing the women would pull back up. Would the wards have kept someone unwanted from getting onto the front porch? Would Sophie have wanted her to let him in?

“You mind if I wait?” the man in front of her asked, drawing her eyes back to his. He looked as harmless as a guy of his size could, Layla thought uselessly, and she didn’t want to start off her stay with Sophie by keeping out one of her good friends.

“You’re good friends with her?” she asked awkwardly. Doesn’t hurt to ask, right? And maybe he’ll tell the truth?

“You can trust me,” he answered simply, his lips quirking up in amusement.

Layla decided to let him in before he started laughing at her. At this point, she’d rather something happen than nothing, and she couldn’t help wanting to spend more time with him, arresting as his eyes were on hers. “You’re welcome to come in,” she said, opening the door wide before she could doubt herself.

Hunter followed her inside, and she hurried to resettle herself on the couch, trying to find some composure.

Instead of sitting opposite her in Sophie’s armchair like Layla had expected, Hunter sat down next to her—the move wasn’t something that made her feel more collected, but she reminded herself that this was a friend of Sophie’s and to focus on his face and nothing else.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

“Layla,” she blurted out, relieved that she hadn’t stuttered or blushed at least.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he commented, and Layla couldn’t help noticing that he was checking her out, as well; his eyes weren’t quite staying on her face as he spoke. It made her feel slightly better about her own ogling.

“I just got here. Sophie and the others found me last night.”

Hunter tilted his head a little to the side, a move that made him look, if possible, even sexier. “Found you?”

Shit. Layla really didn’t want to get into the whole story of her mom again, and especially not with Hunter. “I was in some trouble and they helped me out. I’m going to be staying with them for a bit.”

“You new in town? Or just new?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just new, then. A new witch,” he explained.

Layla met his eyes again, thinking she shouldn’t have been surprised—but she was. “Everyone seems to know more about it than I do,” Layla said dismally.

Hunter just looked at her, his eyes curious and open, and suddenly Layla found herself spilling out the whole story.

She told him about her mother, how she could never seem to make her proud. She told him about her job, the accidents, and getting fired. He seemed angry as she related some of the worst times with her mother, but didn’t interrupt. And even as she wondered why she kept talking to him so openly, the words just flowed out of her. When Hunter tensed as she told him about the men chasing her, his dark eyes seemed to flash, and Layla had to tell herself it was just a natural reaction that he would have had to anyone. They’d just met, after all. But by the time she stopped speaking, Layla had shared everything she’d been through, as well as how overwhelming she found it all. She’d talked herself into silence, in fact, drawn in by Hunter’s intense gaze.

He let the silence hang for a moment before responding, which she appreciated—he was thinking about what she’d said and not just jumping to react.

“It must be rough, your whole life turning upside down like that, with no one who truly understands.”

“Sophie understands better than anyone I’ve met so far. I really like her.”

And yet, something about the way Hunter was looking at her told Layla that he might understand better than anyone else, even Sophie. “What about you?” Layla asked.

Hunter shrugged. “Not much to tell here. I’m here to see Sophie about a business proposal.”

“Magic?”

“Something like that.”

Layla waited for him to say more, but he didn’t, so she decided to prod him, just slightly. She wanted to know about him. “Hunter’s an unusual name. What’s your surname?”

Hunter frowned, as though confused. “My name is Hunter.”

Layla couldn’t see what he was confused about, but let it drop. Maybe there was some tradition she didn’t know about where people didn’t give witches their full names.

“What kinds of accidents did you have?”

Layla returned his gaze, wondering why it seemed so piercing and why he seemed truly interested in her life, even though they’d only just met. It felt both awkward and natural, weirdly enough…it was something new.

At his prodding, she retold the story of the exploding beer, which Hunter seemed to appreciate even more than the coven had, and he actually slapped his thigh as he laughed; Layla thought the action might have seemed exaggerated coming from someone else, but from him…it was just honest. His smile transformed his whole face, too, and Layla couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Where do you work?” she asked after the moment had passed.

“Oh, you know, here and there. I don’t have a set job at the moment, but I’m hoping to set something up with Sophie.”

“You mean you’ll be working for her?” Layla wondered what witches would need to employ people for.

Hunter’s open expression faltered for the first time then, and he seemed to check himself. “Possibly. Has she told you about selling spells yet? You won’t miss that bar job once you’ve learned to do that.”

Layla nodded, thinking again that he’d turned the conversation back to her. He seemed oddly reluctant to give out information about himself, but Layla let it slide. She was just enjoying talking to him, however closed-lipped he might be about personal stuff.

“They told me, but they also told me about the side effects. I’m not so sure how to feel about it all right now.”

Hunter shrugged. “It would be a little unfair for the universe to give out power like that without a drawback, right?”

Layla took a minute to realize what he’d said. She’d been too busy staring at his lips to listen properly. “I guess so,” she stammered. Hunter’s gaze roved over her face, and Layla had to resist the urge to fan herself. Had it suddenly gotten hotter?

“Do you want a chicken sandwich?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“A chicken sandwich. Do you want one?”

“Sure.” The easy smile was back, and Layla rose quickly to bustle into the kitchen and put two sandwiches onto plates. She didn’t know quite what to make of Hunter, but she liked talking to him. She felt like they had a connection. On the other hand, he made her flustered, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring at his rock star looks like a lovesick schoolgirl. And, they’d just met—he was basically a stranger, she reminded herself, even as a small part of her brain noted that he wouldn’t stop staring at her, either, and he seemed fascinated by what he saw—like he wanted to spend time with her and had forgotten he’d come to see Sophie, even.

“So, what were you going to study? You said you were saving up for college.”

Layla turned to look at him. “What was I going to study? Who says I’m not still going to?”

Hunter shrugged, looking away from her. “It’s just that, from what I know, being a witch is a full-time job.”

Layla’s spirits dropped, and she kept her eyes on her own plate as she set the plates down at the table. “I still want to go to college. I get a choice, don’t I?”

“Of course.”

Hunter didn’t look entirely certain, though, she couldn’t help noticing.

“I’m going to get a fine arts degree,” Layla said, forcing as much certainty into her voice as she could as he took a bite of his sandwich. “Something with drawing and writing.”

“What do you draw and write?”

What a question. Layla hesitated for a moment before pulling the sketch she’d been doing earlier out of her pocket—the one of the view from the house. She handed it over shyly. Hunter’s eyes widened when he saw it.

“You’re good. Are you sure you need to go to college?”

Suddenly feeling more confident, Layla smiled. “There’s always more to learn. I wanted to go for lessons when I was in school, but my mom wasn’t interested in paying for them.”

She found herself staring at Hunter’s lips as he studied her drawing. She’d love to draw him, she realized. She imagined how she’d get the curve of his mouth just right, how she’d show the sparkle in his dark eyes when he smiled.

Well, why not? Before she could lose her courage, Layla blurted it out. “Can I draw you?”

Hunter looked surprised only for a moment. “Of course.” He seemed pleased, and Layla felt oddly nervous as she thought about grabbing another piece of plain paper, her sandwich forgotten.

Hunter followed her longing gaze to the door. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing. I just wish I could get my actual sketching equipment, but Sophie said not to leave the house. She was pretty insistent about it.”

“I’ll come with you; you’ll be safe with me,” he promised.

Layla knew she should probably do as Sophie said and stay inside, but somehow, she did feel safe with him. It was hard to imagine anything going wrong, if he was here to protect her.

“Okay.”

Hunter grinned at her, and then shunted his eyes over to her sandwich; she took the hint and picked it up as he continued snacking on his. When they were done, he followed her to the door and she looked around nervously, wondering what Sophie had been so worried about. Glancing at Hunter, though, she felt a bit better. He looked like he could subdue an attacker with one hand tied behind his back. They’d have no chance against his muscles.

She headed down to the car and grabbed her stuff as quickly as she could, thankful that the women had taken some other transportation, and left the car unlocked. Sketchpad in hand, she hurried back inside with Hunter at her side.

“Where do you want me?” he asked.

Layla moved the couch around so that Hunter was facing the late morning light coming through the window; then she perched on a chair, her sketchpad on her knees. She was almost nervous to start. She felt like she was trying to replicate some great work of art and that she’d fail dismally.

But finally, when Hunter had seated himself and she realized he looked totally at ease, she started. First, she did his eyes, trying to show the depth in them she kept feeling when he looked at her. And he was a good model, making the process easier so that she could sink into her work. He sat completely still…and he never took his eyes off her. It had Layla a little distracted at first, but soon the familiar act of sketching calmed her, and she focused completely on the paper in front of her.

Nearly forgetting her earlier awkwardness, she moved her chair closer, examining his face’s contours. His intense eyes were still staring into hers. She was sure now that the room was getting hotter, but she focused on memorizing his face so that she could translate it onto her paper.

Hunter glanced down as she did so. Layla hadn’t gotten very far. She had his eyes, the outline of his face, and was currently working on his mouth. Maybe she should have started somewhere else, she thought now, seeing him take in her drawing. Thinking about his mouth wasn’t helping her concentrate any better.

Her eyes flicked down to the rest of his body. He was leaning back against the couch in a relaxed pose. She wanted to ask him if he was a fashion model. What else could he be, given his looks? She’d certainly want him, were she displaying clothes she’d designed.

“Where did you learn, if you never took lessons?”

Layla focused on her paper as she answered. “My art teacher in school was great. She’d see me after school even though I couldn’t pay her. I’d often get separate projects than the rest of the class, because she knew what they were doing would be too easy for me. Still, I’d love to go to proper classes. That’s why I’m saving up for college. What about you? Did you ever study?”

Hunter answered carefully, as though considering each word before he spoke. “I had a…a different kind of upbringing. I never went to college, but I was taught skills that have served me well.”

He seemed reluctant to say anything else, but surely this wasn’t an overly personal topic? Nevertheless, she let it go and continued her sketch. Hunter was staring at her again. She couldn’t quite pinpoint how she felt around him—comfortable and safe and flustered all at once. When she next looked up, though, he had moved. He was leaning forward. They were sitting so close that their faces were only about a foot apart.

Layla’s breathing hitched suddenly, and she couldn’t seem to move; she felt caught in his gaze. Hunter leaned in closer to her…so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. Her eyes went once again to his lips, and she couldn’t seem to pull away...

The heat between the two of them felt almost unbearable, in fact. Layla couldn’t decide whether she was scared or excited, but she could feel herself leaning closer to him without meaning to. Their lips just inches apart now, she could feel her heart beating frantically inside of her chest.

The door opened then, and voices flooded inside. Layla abruptly came back to reality and turned at the sound. Sophie and Damaris stood frozen at the door, staring at her and Hunter.

The looks on their faces held undiluted horror.