Page 9 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Nine

Fire and Friction

LORCAN

Lorcan held the door of the witchy coffee shop open for Sarah Michelle, who walked in with a determined stride, almost as if resenting his gallantry. Her eyes scanned the room for a suitable spot to sit or someone to arrest—from the strict line of her mouth, he couldn’t tell which.

Inside, the coffee shop was disguised as a quaint human establishment, but the air was thick with the aroma of enchanted spices that only wizarding folk would detect under the cinnamon and nutmeg.

Halloween decorations were scattered around the room, adding a festive yet eerie atmosphere—plastic pumpkins grinning toothily from shelves, cloth ghosts dangling from the rafters, and rubber spiders clinging to fake webbing in the corners.

The shop bustled with both humans and mages, the latter easily identifiable to each other by the intrinsic recognition wizards and witches felt toward their own kind.

They shared a faint magical signature, like a humming under the skin—a tingling that was strong with him and the witch by his side.

Sarah Michelle continued to scan the room, her black-blue hair gleaming under the soft lighting.

Lorcan studied the slight furrow between her brows and the pursing of her full lips, attempting to decipher the myriad of emotions playing across her bronzed features.

Fascination mixed with wariness; determination tinged with uncertainty.

She moved with purposeful steps toward a secluded corner booth, away from prying eyes and ears.

The polished wooden table was adorned with a centerpiece of miniature pumpkins, their orange sides carved with evil smiley faces.

Enchanted black candles flickered in their hollows, casting an otherworldly purple light—just this side of human to be believable to mortal eyes, but clearly magical to any witch or wizard.

The tiny flames danced and cavorted without melting the wax, burning without being consumed.

Lorcan’s gaze lingered on the flames, musing that if he ever got close to Sarah Michelle, the fire between them would blaze so fiercely it might instead devour him whole.

As they settled into the booth, Sarah Michelle removed her coat, revealing her uniform underneath. The tailored black fabric hugged her curves, accentuating her lithe frame.

Lorcan couldn’t resist a playful comment. “I must say, Detective Callidora, black suits you. In fact, one might even add that Black ”—he paused, a smirk tugging at his lips—“is definitely your color.”

Her cheeks flushed, a delicate pink blooming underneath her golden skin.

She appeared flustered by the compliment, her usual composure shaken.

As Lorcan held her gaze, an invisible thread tugged between them, pulling their thoughts to places far removed from the investigation.

She looked away first, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheekbones.

Lorcan leaned back, secretly rejoicing in the reactions he could elicit from the unflappable detective. To defuse the tension, he gestured toward the menu. “Do you trust me on the orders? Their pumpkin spice unicorn latte with a hint of phoenix feather is the best in town.”

Sarah Michelle arched a skeptical brow, her eyes meeting his once more. “Trust you? I don’t trust you on anything. But I’ll try the latte.”

He stood, winking at her. “Yes, ma’am. Drinks are on the way.”

As he waited for their lattes, Lorcan stole glances at Sarah Michelle.

She sat ramrod straight, her posture impeccable, but her fingers drummed against the tabletop, betraying her impatience.

When he returned with the steaming mugs, she eyed the frothy concoction dubiously before taking a tentative sip.

The moan that escaped her lips was positively sinful, the sound shooting straight to Lorcan’s groin. As she lowered the mug, a foamy mustache clung to her upper lip. Without thinking, he reached across the table for a napkin. The move brought their faces inches apart.

His ribs locked mid-breath at the sudden proximity. The air between them grew thick with a heady mix of attraction and hesitation. Too slowly and too fast, Lorcan plucked a paper napkin from the dispenser and offered it to her, his eyes never leaving hers.

She accepted it with trembling fingers, wiping away the foam and dropping her gaze. When she looked up again, her eyes had hardened, the momentary lapse in her armor sealed shut.

“Mr. Black,” she began, her tone crisp and professional, “About the case… Are you aware of anyone who might have had a grudge against Elijah or your company?”

Lorcan leaned back, the spell broken. He knew that look, the one that said playtime was over. It was time to get down to business. And he wanted this murder solved just as much as she did, so he offered her the little information he had—withholding nothing.

“Chad Hamilton. He lost a big bid to us a few months back and took it pretty hard. Even contested the decision in court.”

Sarah Michelle’s pen scratched against her notepad as she jotted down the information. “And how did that play out?”

“The judge ruled in our favor,” Lorcan explained, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug. “Chad didn’t take it well. He and Elijah had a pretty heated public altercation shortly after.”

The detective’s eyebrows shot up, her interest piqued. “Can you elaborate on that?”

“Chad has a bit of a temper, and he’s not one to let things go easily. He got right up in Elijah’s face, screaming about how we’d ruined him, how he’d make us pay. It was intense.”

Sarah Michelle nodded, her pen never stopping its furious dance across the page. “Thank you. Anyone else?”

Lorcan shook his head.

“Is there more?” At his blank stare, she prompted, “Some weird behaviors? Elijah looking more stressed than usual?”

Lorcan massaged his temples. Elijah’s shoulders had been tense in recent weeks, his posture rigid and unyielding, as if he carried an invisible weight upon his broad frame. There had been a tightness around his eyes, a weariness that aged him beyond his years.

Elijah’s usually calm demeanor had been punctuated by moments of distraction, his gaze often drifting off into the distance during meetings, as if his mind were grappling with some unseen demon.

Lorcan’s thoughts swirled with guilt and self-recrimination as he berated himself for dismissing Elijah’s clear signs of distress.

He said as much to Sarah Michelle.

After making another note in her pad, the witch asked, “Was there a particular project he seemed most stressed about?”

“He kept asking about a delayed payment for a job.”

“Is that unusual?”

“To get nervous when a client doesn’t pay you, no. But Elijah brought it to the point of obsession. I mean, our business is healthy, with good cash flow. It was a big sum, and we still haven’t gotten it, but the company would’ve survived even without it. We could withstand the delay.”

Sarah finished her scribbling and closed down the pad, grabbing her coat to stand, but Lorcan leaned forward, his hand coming to rest on her arm. “Wait, detective. Anything else I can do to help with the case?”

Sarah Michelle’s eyes darted to where his fingers touched her sleeve. “Your insights have been very helpful. I will let you know if we need further clarifications.”

“But I want to do more. Actively help you solve the case.”

“Mr. Black, the Salem MPD does not require civilian assistance.”

Lorcan’s frustration bubbled up, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Why won’t you let me help? Elijah was my best friend. I need to be a part of this.”

He searched her face to decipher the unreadable emotions swirling in her eyes. “Is it because of my family name? Because I’m a Black and you’re a Callidora?”

Sarah Michelle’s shoulders sagged under the burden of their shared history. “Mr. Black, surely you understand that our covens’ enmity is an obstacle that can’t be ignored.”

Lorcan’s temper flared. “I don’t give a flying hex about some centuries-old feud! Or if my great-great-grandfather murdered your great-great-grandmother or whatever other reason this stupid rivalry has been going on for so long. This is about the here and now, about finding justice for Elijah.”

He leaned back, his hand falling away from her arm as he ran it through his hair in exasperation. “Can’t we put aside our ancestors’ actions and work together on this? For Elijah’s sake?”

Despite his fervent declarations, Sarah Michelle remained resolute, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Black, but my answer remains the same. I cannot allow you to be involved in this investigation.”

Lorcan’s exasperation reached its peak, and he accused, “You’re using this coven rivalry as an excuse to avoid dealing with the attraction between us.”

Sarah Michelle’s posture stiffened, her eyes widening at his bold statement.

In a level, polite tone, she reminded him, “Mr. Black, these affirmations are entirely unprofessional. I must insist that we maintain appropriate boundaries. Regardless of family ties, murder investigations are sealed. I can’t have a civilian involved.

” She stood, smoothing her coat and fixing him with a controlled gaze. “Have a good day.”

With that, she turned and stormed out of the coffee shop, leaving Lorcan to watch her retreating form.

He wouldn’t let her get rid of him. It wasn’t even about the electricity that crackled in the air whenever they were near each other.

He couldn’t sit idly while his best friend’s murderer walked free.

He’d do it alone if he had to. Lorcan would leave no stone unturned, no lead unfollowed, until justice was served.