Crowned by Fire by Nenia Campbell Read Free Book Online Page B

rolling up her sleeves. “Witch!” She pounded on his door. “Open up the—”
    It swung open the moment her fist made contact with the paneled wood.
    “Door,” she said weakly, taking a slight step back.
    The witch was standing in the doorway, with his usual expression of scorn. He was toweling off his still-damp hair. He was wearing jeans, the chatelaine of potions lashed through the loops and—she swallowed—no shirt.
    With his chest bare, he looked even more dangerous. Lean and lightly muscled, he moved as lithely as a jaguar, causing the vials at his waist to shudder with movement as he shifted his weight to one hip. He had hair on his chest—not a lot, but more than she would expect. She had to look away from the line disappearing into his pants. Predator stirred a little, blinking her eyes sleepily, and wasn't at all displeased by what she saw.
    He was studying her just as intently. Muscles in his arms bunched as he wadded up the towel and tossed it aside. When he turned away, she noticed the front of his jeans bulged oddly, baring the zipper track of his fly, and she wondered, with a start, if it was because he had an erection.
    “What are you doing in my bedroom, shifter mine?”
    Catherine's mouth went dry. She slammed an imaginary cage door in her mind, locking Predator away. “Looking for you.” The witch—and his errant cock—were none of her concern.
    The witch raised one of his auburn eyebrows—they were the same color as the hair on his chest. “Is that right.”
    “ Cassandra said to call you down for dinner. That's real classy, by the way, locking her out of her own house. Hey .” He had let his eyes slide from hers and was looking around, doing his best to ignore her as obviously as possible. Her temper flared. “Hey!”
    The witch turned, his nostrils flaring a little. “I thought we were done here.”
    His cool dismissal stung more than it should have. “Well, we're not . What happens now? We've seen your half-sister. She's told my fortune.”
    He frowned. “I don't know.” He glanced away from her again, apparently intent on ignoring her.
    Catherine snapped her fingers to reclaim his attention. “What's your problem?”
    “ I'm thinking,” he said. “You said you can see auras?”
    She blinked, thrown by this apparent non-sequitur. “Yes. I told you that.”
    “And you said that all shifters can do it.”
    It wasn't a question the way he said it. Not quite. He was obviously probing for information to support an assumption he had already made. But for what? And why?
    Carefully, Catherine said, “All the shifters I know.”
    “ Your family?”
    “ Yes, my family.”
    This answer finally seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded, although the frown hadn't left his face and he still looked troubled. “Hmm.”
    Asshole. He was goading her on purpose. Impatient now, as well as annoyed, she said, “Why do you want to know?”
    The witch shrugged and stepped away from her. His sides flexed as he did, and she was angry at herself for noticing, for looking. He mistook her snort for impatience; when he turned around, his face was hard. “Your reaction to Cassandra's reading was strange. I was merely curious.”
    “What do you mean, strange?”
    “ As she said, it isn't supposed to hurt. But were picking up on her readings. You read her mind as she read your future.” The witch's eyes narrowed and she made a small sound when he slammed his hand against the wall behind her. “Weren't you?”
    “ I—I'm not sure.” She wished he was wearing a shirt.
    “ I am.” He leaned in, his hand curling into a fist as he bore his weight on that arm. “It's just as I've been telling you all along. There is witch blood in your veins. You can no longer deny it. The proof is everywhere.”
    It made sense. Too much sense. But she couldn't accept it. To do so meant death. She shook her head furiously. “You're wrong .”
    “ You can stop pretending,” he said. “I knew you for what you