The Shoppe of Spells by Shanon Grey Read Free Book Online Page B

sent a jolt, but before she could pull away, he gathered her close, resting his chin atop her head. The energy changed. It seemed to pulse—to catch and match a rhythm from him.
    “Close your eyes,” he commanded, his voice husky from sleep. Points around the room began to glow, including the edge of the rug on which they stood. She quickly obeyed, closing her eyes. He whispered soothing words to her, his voice taking on a crooning tone. She began to relax, become lethargic. The pulse changed to a hum.
    She could smell the heat of his bed warmed body. She could feel the beat of his heart. For a moment, she felt like she could hear both hearts, then one, as if they’d become attuned. She breathed him in and snuggled closer. His arms tightened around her, then loosened. Slowly, he released her. She blinked, stepped back and looked around. Nothing glowed. Not the stones. Not the rug. She didn’t hear a pulse or a hum.
    He stood before her, watching her. Except for the fact that he was shirtless, in pajama bottoms, with mussed hair, he looked fine. Actually, he looked more than fine. She had an incredible urge to step back into his arms. Instead, she turned away.
    She walked to the window and looked out. Nothing stirred. Warm scents wafted in through the still open door.
    “What the hell was that?” She point toward the garden. “And what did you just do?”
    “You were frightened,” Dorian said simply.
    “I wasn’t born yesterday,” she snapped at him.
    His brow furrowed.
    “Something happened here.” She waved her arm inclusively. “I’m not stupid.”
    She faced the dog. Meesha sat three feet from the rug, ears forward, staring in rapt attention at the rug beneath Morgan’s feet, as she had the day before. Morgan hopped off the rug. “What’s that?” she pointed at the dog.
    “Meesha?”
    “No. Yes. But, what’s she staring at?”
    Dorian stepped off the rug, lifted it to reveal the wood floor. Meesha looked up at him and moved over to the sofa where she hopped up and settled down, resting her head on her paws.
    He walked over to the door. “You must’ve had a bad dream. I’ll go and let you get some sleep. Meesha,” he called. Meesha looked up at him but didn’t move.
    “No!” Morgan’s voice came out in a yelp. “I’m not staying here alone.”
    He smiled at her.
    “You can have the couch.” She walked into the bedroom, retrieved the blanket from the bench, and grabbed a pillow. “Here,” she shoved them at him, marched into the bedroom, and closed the French doors firmly behind her.
    “Oh…yeah…thanks for staying,” she called from behind the safety of the closed doors.
    “Meesha, down.” She heard his command. A few grumbles followed and then silence.
    Maybe he was right. It was so similar to her nightmares. They seem to be returning. She was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. She pulled the covers up and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
    Outside, a pair of violet eyes stared at the cottage.
    ****
     
    Morgan woke sprawled across the bed, the quilt piled in a heap on the floor. A heavy fog clouded her mind. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. There was something flitting just beyond her consciousness. She turned her head. She stared at the closed French doors…and bolted upright, remembering that Dorian was on the other side.
    She crawled off the bed, grabbed clothes off the bench and crept into the bathroom. Trying not to make too much noise, she bathed and got dressed, pulling her still damp red hair up off her neck and fastening a large silver clip to hold it. The jeans were a little loose, but when she tucked the chambray shirt in, they were just fine. She started out and turned back, pulled her make-up kit out of her purse. A little lip-gloss wouldn’t be going too far.
    She pushed on the doors. With a thunk, they finally pushed open. There lay Dorian, asleep, one long leg hanging over the end of the sofa, while the other was bent and resting on the