Page 25 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

As the song built toward its crescendo, Kane's hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, drawing me closer until barely a whisper of space remained between us.

I could feel his heartbeat, slower than human but steady and strong.

When I looked up, his eyes were midnight dark, focused on me with an intensity that should have frightened me but instead sent a thrill racing down my spine.

"Willow," he said, my name almost a prayer on his lips.

The song ended, but neither of us moved away. Some reckless, beer-emboldened part of me made a decision before my usual caution could intervene.

"Come home with me," I said softly.

His eyes widened fractionally, the only sign of surprise in his carefully controlled expression. "Are you certain?"

No. Yes. Maybe. The contradictory answers tumbled through my mind, but what emerged was: "My place is only a few blocks from here. We could walk."

He studied me for a long moment, giving me every opportunity to retract the invitation. When I didn't, he nodded once. "I'd like that."

The walk from the festival grounds into town felt both endless and far too short. Kane held my hand, his thumb occasionally brushing over my knuckles in a gesture that seemed both casual and deliberate. Neither of us spoke much, the weight of my invitation hanging between us.

The festival sounds gradually faded behind us as we entered the quieter streets of downtown Haven's Cross.

Storefronts glowed with warm light, many decorated for the harvest season with pumpkins and corn shocks.

A few locals greeted me as we passed, their curious glances at Kane not going unnoticed.

"Your town watches you carefully," he observed.

"Small town," I shrugged. "Everyone knows everyone's business. By tomorrow, there'll be rumors I'm being courted by a mysterious stranger."

"Not rumors if they're true. Plus, I’m originally from around here, so not entirely a stranger," he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

I nearly stumbled. "Is that what you're doing? Courting me?"

"What would you call it?"

I considered the question as we turned onto Maple Street where my shop occupied a Victorian building with a distinctive turret window. "Circling each other warily?"

His laugh was unexpected and genuine. "An apt description for the beginning stages. But I find myself growing less wary by the hour."

We reached the side entrance to my apartment, a set of stairs leading up from the alley beside Floramancy.

I fumbled with my keys, suddenly nervous.

What was I doing, inviting a vampire—my supposed mate—into my home?

The beer's warm confidence was fading, replaced by butterflies and second thoughts.

"Willow." Kane's voice was gentle. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. I can leave, if you prefer."

I looked up at him, illuminated by the soft glow of my porch light. Despite his controlled expression, I could feel the bond between us radiating what he truly felt—desire, yes, but also patience, and something deeper I wasn't ready to name.

"No," I said, finding my resolve. "I want you to come up."

My apartment above the flower shop was modest but comfortable—an open living area with a kitchen along one wall, a small dining nook beneath the turret window, a hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

Kane took it all in with one sweeping glance, noting details I rarely thought about—the books stacked on every surface, the mismatched furniture I'd collected over the years, the photographs of my grandmother and friends on the walls.

"It suits you," he said simply.

"It's not exactly a penthouse with a view," I replied, suddenly self-conscious.

"It's authentic. Like you." He moved to the turret window, looking out at the town square beyond. "No designer selected these pieces to create an impression. Each one means something to you."

I hadn't thought of it that way before. "Would you like another drink? I have wine, or whiskey if you prefer something stronger."

"Wine would be perfect."

I busied myself opening a bottle and pouring two glasses, grateful for the moment to collect myself. When I turned back, Kane had moved to the bookshelf, examining my eclectic collection.

"Witch grimoires alongside romance novels," he observed, accepting the glass I offered. "There's that delightful contradiction again."

"A girl can enjoy both magical theory and a happy ending," I defended, taking a generous sip of wine.

"Indeed she can." His eyes met mine over the rim of his glass. "I find myself increasingly interested in happy endings lately."

The air between us seemed to thicken with possibility. I took another sip of wine, gathering courage.

"I need to... freshen up," I said, setting down my glass. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

In my bedroom, I closed the door and leaned against it, heart racing. Kane Drake was in my living room. Kane Drake, vampire CEO, pumpkin carving rival, fruit enthusiast, and apparent mate, was sitting on my secondhand couch drinking wine from my mismatched glassware.

The wine and beer in my system created a pleasant buzz that made what I was considering seem less insane than it probably was. I opened my dresser drawer, pushing aside practical cotton to find the lingerie set Luna had gifted me last Christmas—emerald green lace I'd never had occasion to wear.

As I slipped it on, a wild, ridiculous idea formed. If I was going to do this—invite a vampire into my bed—I might as well embrace the absurdity of our situation. Kane, CEO of Haven's Harvest, vampire king of the eastern seaboard, and apparent fruit enthusiast...

I glanced at the bowl of fruit on my dresser, part of my futile attempts at healthy eating.

Before common sense could intervene, I grabbed a cluster of grapes, some strawberries, and a slice of apple, quickly arranging them into a makeshift crown atop my head.

A glance in the mirror made me burst into laughter—I looked completely ridiculous, half-naked with fruit artfully arranged in my hair like some deranged Frida Kahlo tribute.

Perfect. If nothing else, it would break the tension.

And if I was being honest with myself, the idea of seducing the fruit bat vampire with actual fruit struck my wine-loosened mind as both hilarious and appropriate. Go big or go home, my grandmother always said. Since I was already home, going big was the only option left.

With one last glance in the mirror—green lace against pale skin, dark hair tumbling around my shoulders, and fruit perched precariously atop my head—I took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.

Kane was standing by the window, his back to me, wine glass dangling from long fingers. At the sound of the door, he turned—and froze.

For one terrible moment, I thought I'd made a catastrophic miscalculation. Then I saw the progression of expressions across his normally controlled face: surprise, confusion, amusement, and finally, unmistakable desire.

"I, um," I gestured vaguely to the fruit arrangement, "thought the fruit king might appreciate a... tribute?"

A startled laugh escaped him, genuine and warm. "Willow Thorne," he said, setting down his wine glass and crossing the room in three long strides, "you are absolutely ridiculous."

"Is that a compliment?" I asked, suddenly unsure.

His eyes, dark with desire but dancing with amusement, met mine. "In the best possible way."

In one fluid movement, he lifted me, his hands warm against the bare skin of my thighs, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist. The fruit crown teetered dangerously.

"You know," he murmured, lips brushing my collarbone, "there are centuries of formal vampire courtship traditions."

"Oh?" I gasped as his mouth trailed higher.

"Elaborate rituals. Formal declarations. Proper protocols." His teeth—human-blunt for now—grazed my throat, and I shivered. "None of which involve fruit headpieces."

"Disappointing traditions," I managed, my fingers threading through his hair.

"Quite," he agreed, carrying me to the couch and sitting with me straddling his lap. With deliberate care, he removed the fruit crown, setting it on the side table. "Though I must admit, I've never been particularly traditional."

His hands trailed up my sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The bond between us throbbed with shared desire, amplifying every sensation.

I'd expected Kane to be forceful, domineering—the CEO vampire taking control.

Instead, he touched me with reverent restraint, as if I were something precious he couldn't quite believe was real.

"I've thought about this," he confessed, his voice rougher than I'd ever heard it. "About you. Since the moment we met."

"Even when I was threatening your cars?" I asked, pressing closer.

His smile was predatory. "Especially then."

I laughed, the sound turning to a gasp as his hands found bare skin. The strange, wonderful feeling of rightness overwhelmed me—as if every moment of my life had been leading me here, to this man, this connection.

"The bond," I whispered as his lips traced patterns across my skin. "Is it supposed to feel like this?"

"Like what?" he asked, pulling back enough to meet my eyes.

"Like... coming home. Like finding something I didn't know I was missing."

Something vulnerable flickered across his face, a glimpse behind the carefully constructed mask of control. "Yes," he said simply. "That's exactly how it's supposed to feel."

I cupped his face in my hands, suddenly needing to see all of him—not just the vampire, not just the CEO, but Kane himself. "Show me," I whispered. "Show me what we're supposed to be to each other."

The last of his restraint seemed to dissolve at my words. His kiss was hungry, demanding, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin. I matched his intensity, months of denial and fighting the bond exploding into desperate need.

The bond between us flared like wildfire, heightening every sensation, connecting us in ways beyond the physical.

I could feel his desire as if it were my own, could sense the tight leash of control he maintained even now.

His hands tangled in my hair, angling my head to deepen our kiss, and I surrendered completely to the moment.

Time lost meaning as we explored each other on my secondhand couch, learning what made the other gasp and tremble. The intimacy was almost overwhelming—not just physical but emotional, the bond weaving us together more tightly with each passing moment.

When he finally stood, lifting me effortlessly, I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed against his ear, "Bedroom. Down the hall."

He paused, his eyes searching mine one last time. "Are you certain, Willow? Once we cross this threshold—"

I silenced him with a kiss, pouring everything I felt into it—the desire, the connection, the surrender to something larger than both of us.

"I'm certain," I whispered against his lips.

As he carried me toward the bedroom, the forgotten fruit crown sat abandoned on the side table—a whimsical beginning to what promised to be a night of discovery, connection, and the first true acknowledgment of what we might become to each other.

The flower witch and the vampire king, finding unlikely harmony in Haven's Cross, where magic and fate had conspired to bring us together against all odds.

And as the bedroom door closed behind us, I knew with absolute certainty that whatever came next, my life would never be the same again.