Page 21 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

A Jealous Heart

Kane

T he festival hummed with activity around Haven's Harvest booth, the scent of cider and cinnamon competing with the earthy aroma of our produce display.

I maintained my position, ostensibly reviewing quarterly projections on my tablet while every one of my enhanced senses remained locked on the flower witch across the square.

Willow leaned forward, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear as she arranged a bouquet of autumn daisies for an elderly woman.

The golden sunlight caught in her hair, highlighting strands of amber I hadn't noticed before.

Her lips moved in easy conversation, a smile that transformed her entire face when it appeared.

My tablet pinged again. Atlas, my AI assistant, displaying another message with increasingly urgent undertones: "Board meeting in progress. Mr. Pierce has inquired about your whereabouts three times in the last seventeen minutes."

I swiped the notification away with perhaps more force than necessary. "Tell them I'm handling an urgent situation with our agricultural division. Reschedule my participation for tomorrow."

"Sir, this is the third meeting you've rescheduled this week," Atlas responded, its tone somehow managing to convey disapproval despite being programmed for neutrality. "Your calendar for tomorrow is already overbooked by 37%."

"Then make it 38%," I muttered. "And hold all calls unless it's an actual emergency."

"Very well. Shall I define 'actual emergency' as anything short of the eastern seaboard being submerged, as per your previous instructions?"

I ignored the AI's sarcasm—a feature I was beginning to regret allowing the development team to include—and returned my attention to where it had been all morning anyway.

Willow was laughing now, head tilted back to expose the elegant column of her throat as some young man in a flannel shirt said something apparently hilarious. My fingers tightened on the edge of the tablet until I heard the faintest crack in the reinforced glass.

Centuries of careful control, of maintaining the perfect balance between predator and businessman, and here I was about to shatter a $3,000 device because some human with more flannel than sense was making my mate laugh.

My mate. The thought still felt foreign, though the bond hummed contentedly in my chest at the acknowledgment.

Two weeks ago, I'd been focused solely on the Kane Industries merger with West Coast supernatural conglomerates.

Now, I found myself counting the minutes until I could reasonably approach her booth again without appearing desperate.

Me. Desperate. The concept was so absurd it would have been laughable if it weren't so alarmingly accurate.

"Sir?" Amelia, one of my farm managers, appeared at my elbow with a clipboard. "The honey sales have already exceeded projections for the entire day. Should we bring more inventory from the warehouse?"

I forced my attention away from where Flannel Boy was now leaning over Willow's counter, one hand casually resting too close to hers. "Yes. Double what we planned. And add more of the kudzu blossom variety—it's selling particularly well."

"Right away." She hesitated, glancing between me and the direction of my gaze. "Is everything... all right?"

"Perfectly fine." I set down the tablet, straightening the cuffs of my henley beneath my leather jacket—casual, but still designer, still conveying the subtle signals of authority and wealth I'd perfected over centuries. "I'm going to check on the competition. Continue as planned."

I didn't wait for her response, already striding across the festival grounds with purpose.

Not toward Willow's booth—not directly. I wasn't that transparent.

Instead, I made a point of stopping at three other vendors, discussing their products with professional interest while my peripheral awareness remained firmly fixed on the flower witch and her unwelcome admirer.

The mate bond was becoming harder to ignore with each passing day.

What had started as a curious tug after our accidental summoning had grown into a persistent awareness that bordered on physical discomfort when we were apart.

Two nights ago, I'd found myself standing on the rooftop of my penthouse, staring in the direction of her shop several towns away, like some lovesick teenager instead of a vampire CEO who had better things to do.

And now this—jealousy. Actual jealousy burning in my veins as I watched Flannel Boy leave Willow's booth with a bouquet and what appeared to be her personal number scrawled on his receipt. The last time I'd felt jealousy, the automobile hadn't yet been invented.

My watch pinged again. "Investment call with Tokyo markets. Critical for merger progression."

I swiped it away and continued my circuit of the festival, telling myself I was simply being thorough in my assessment of the local vendors. The fact that each step brought me incrementally closer to Floramancy was purely coincidental.

When I was within optimal viewing distance—close enough to hear with vampire senses but not so close as to appear obvious—I paused at a candle maker's booth, pretending interest in hand-poured beeswax creations while focusing my enhanced hearing on Willow's conversation with her next customer.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," a deep voice drawled, dripping with the kind of practiced charm that set my teeth on edge. "Prettiest flowers at the festival, though they can't compare to the gardener."

I bit back a growl, my fingers closing around a candle hard enough that the proprietor gave me a concerned look. I forced a polite smile and set it down carefully.

"Tyler," Willow's voice held amused recognition. "I was wondering if you'd show up today. Let me guess—your mother's birthday is coming up, and you've forgotten until the last minute again?"

"You know me too well, Wills. I need something that says 'sorry I missed Sunday dinner three weeks in a row.'"

Wills? I nearly snapped the handle off a decorative candleholder. No one should be abbreviating her name like that. It was Willow—two perfect syllables, like the tree that bends but never breaks.

"I've got just the thing." The rustle of paper and the snip of scissors. "Chrysanthemums for honesty, daisies for loyal love, and a touch of rosemary for remembrance. Maybe next time you'll remember dinner before your mother has to remind you."

Their easy familiarity scraped against my nerves like sandpaper. I set down the candleholder before I destroyed it and made my way to the next booth, maintaining my facade of casual interest while every cell in my body demanded I march over and establish exactly who Willow belonged with.

The territorial instinct was primitive and beneath me.

I'd spent centuries cultivating control, building Kane Industries into a supernatural powerhouse precisely because I didn't give in to base vampire urges.

I made decisions with cold calculation and ruthless efficiency.

I did not moon over witches or growl at human men in flannel.

And yet, here I was, tracking her interactions like a predator, noting each laugh, each smile, each casual touch that wasn't directed at me. The bond was changing me, and I wasn't entirely sure I liked it.

My watch pinged yet again. "Sir, the board is requesting an emergency video conference. They are threatening to postpone the merger vote."

That should have jolted me back to my priorities. The merger represented two years of careful negotiation, a billion-dollar expansion into West Coast territories previously closed to us. It was the culmination of a strategy I'd been building for decades.

I swiped the notification away. "Tell them I've lost reception. Rural festival. Reschedule for tomorrow morning."

The fact that I, Kane Drake, CEO of Kane Industries and Eastern Vampire King, was dismissing a billion-dollar merger discussion to watch a small-town witch sell flowers was... concerning, to say the least.

What was even more concerning was that I didn't care.

For the next two hours, I divided my time between brief appearances at my own booth and strategic positioning around the festival where I could observe without being obvious.

Three more men stopped for extended conversations with Willow.

Two left with her number. One hugged her for significantly longer than propriety dictated.

I'd memorized each of their faces for future reference.

When I finally saw her step away from her booth, mentioning something to Luna about getting lunch, I seized my opportunity.

I waited until she disappeared into the crowd before approaching the joined booths where Luna was arranging crystals while Bethany enthusiastically waved heart-shaped consultation cards at passing couples.

"Ladies," I greeted them, hands clasped behind my back in my most non-threatening posture. From Luna's narrowed eyes, I suspected I wasn't fooling her.

"Well, well, well," Bethany practically vibrated with excitement, her curls bouncing as she clapped her hands together. "If it isn't Mr. Drake himself! I was just telling Luna that you'd be stopping by sooner or later."

"Were you." It wasn't a question. Silver-haired Luna watched me with ancient eyes that seemed to see far more than I was comfortable with.

"Of course! The cards never lie, and honey, they've been practically screaming about you two since that little garden incident.

" Bethany winked, unintimidated by my carefully neutral expression.

"Now, what can we do for the king of vampires on this lovely autumn day?

Romantic consultation? Crystal cleansing? Love potion?"

"I'd like to purchase all of Willow's remaining flowers," I stated simply.

Luna's eyebrows rose fractionally. Bethany's mouth formed a perfect O before spreading into a delighted grin.

"All of them?" Luna asked, her tone measured.