Page 28 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Hali

My first thought as I wake is about how toasty-warm I am.

Then I realize Brendan is curled around me, his arm draped over my side and his fingers circled around my wrist like even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let go.

Alarms go off in my head at the thought, but I silence them and let myself enjoy this while it lasts.

I can tell I’m still fully clothed, and the last thing I remember is watching television with Brendan on the couch in the living room. He must’ve carried me in here and put me to bed after I fell asleep. Knowing he took care of me makes me feel…content.

I stiffen as the memory of that guy on the beach comes back to me. Who was he? Why was he taking pictures of me? What’s he after?

My tension must wake Brendan, because he stretches against my back and presses a kiss to my bare shoulder before murmuring, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I mumble back, my body relaxing back into his embrace.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, his voice husky and thick.

“Really good,” I say.

And it’s true. I can’t remember the last time I slept so deeply.

“Good,” he says and squeezes me closer before I can fall down the rabbit hole of what that might mean. Then he kisses my shoulder again and adds, “I’ll go make us some coffee.”

I thank him quietly and roll onto my back to watch him while he pulls on a pair of shorts over his boxer briefs. He beams at me when he catches me checking him out, then pounces on me with a playful growl, pressing a closed-mouth kiss to my lips with a loud smacking noise.

Pulling back, he looks down at me with a soft smile and an eyebrow waggle. “Like what you see?”

I roll my eyes. “Like your ego needs any more stroking.”

His eyes darken with that last word, and I’m sure he’s going to make an innuendo out of it, but he only smiles, presses a kiss to my forehead, and rolls off me to land on his feet before striding toward the door.

I lay there with a goofy smile on my lips for a moment, then drag myself out of bed to use the bathroom and get dressed.

I use the toilet, and while I wash my hands, my gaze lands on a few items lined up on the counter.

A new toothbrush, still in the package. A wide-toothed comb.

An elastic hair tie. A small package of facial-cleansing wipes.

A small sticky note sits next to the row of items, the strong, masculine handwriting telling me to use whatever I need. My head swings toward the bathroom door, as my lips form a small “o.” Brendan had to have gotten up after I feel asleep to set this up for me.

“How thoughtful,” I whisper as I tear open the toothbrush and turn on the water to wet it.

After brushing my teeth, cleaning my face, and combing my hair before tying it up into a high ponytail, I leave the bathroom and go in search of Brendan.

I find him in the kitchen, pulling a steaming mug from the platform of the single-cup coffee brewer.

He smiles when he sees me and holds the cup in my direction.

“Thank you,” I say as I take it. “And thanks for the toiletries.”

He shakes his head slightly. “The bathroom came stocked. I just put it on the counter for you.”

I nod. “Thank you, all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, picking up a mug from the counter and taking a sip.

I take a drink of mine, and we hold eye contact the whole time.

Both of us are smiling when we lower our cups, and something unlocks in my chest. I feel like I can take a full breath for the first time in my life.

It’s a strange feeling of elation, like finally solving a riddle you’ve been working on for decades.

I look away first, mentally locking down the impulse to imagine a life where every day starts like this one. I can’t afford to even dream of it.

Not when I know Brendan is leaving. Not when I have a secret that would burn this thing we’re building to the ground in an instant.

“I should go,” I say, setting my mostly-full mug on the counter.

“Already?” he asks, his voice laced with disappointment.

“Sorry,” I say with a sad smile, “but I need to go check on Mom and get her some breakfast. We don’t have a nurse coming until later this afternoon, and I promised I’d spend the day with her today.”

“Okay. I understand,” he says. “I can’t wait to see you perform again tonight.”

“I’ll see you at Memaw’s ,” I say with a nod as I try to squelch the giddiness that bubbles up inside me at his words.

“Bye,” I say, and head toward the door.

I freeze when fingers circle my wrist, and I turn back to see Brendan standing right behind me. Before I can even wonder how he caught up to me so quickly without making a sound, his free hand cups my jaw. Then he’s kissing me, and every thought I had flies right out of my head.

Pulling back, he meets my gaze with warm eyes and says, “I’ll miss you today.”

Words escape me, so I just nod. He releases me with a smile, and I stare at him for several long beats before coming to my senses, clearing my throat, croaking out another goodbye, and leaving.

“Jesus, Hali,” I mumble to myself once I’m outside.

I must’ve looked like a bumbling idiot in there. I’ve never been so…flustered by a man before.

“He doesn’t live here,” I whisper as I trot up the steps to my porch. “He doesn’t live here, he’s going home soon, and he doesn’t know what you really are. Get it together, woman. Nothing can happen here. It’s a fling. That’s it.”

Steeling my spine, I push through my front door. I close it behind me softly, letting the clicking of the mechanism reverberate in my bones. Just like this door, I need to close off any ideas I might have about a future with the man next door.

It’s not going to happen. It can’t.

It’s fucking impossible.

The house is packed tonight, as it usually is, but for some reason, my excitement is ramped up several notches higher than usual. If I’m being honest with myself, the reason I’m extra giddy is a certain blue-eyed brunet who I know is waiting for me to head out on stage.

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve admonished myself for thinking of him today, I can’t seem to stop. He just keeps popping into my head and refusing to leave like a bad song from the nineties.

As soon as I walk out on stage, my gaze links with Brendan’s. Like a blazing lighthouse on a dark coastline, I have no trouble finding him in the large crowd, and we share a secret smile before I expand my focus to the rest of the crowd and give them a wave.

“Thanks for coming to our show, everyone,” I say after lifting the microphone in my hand to my lips. “We’ve got a great one for you, tonight. Let’s put those phones away so we can get started. There’s no recording allowed at Memaw’s. ”

Just like every performance, I watch as dozens of people’s expressions relax, their eyes going a bit blank as they put their phones away. My gaze finds Brendan again, perched on his stool with his arms crossed over his chest and a wide grin pulling at his lips.

It hits me that he didn’t even try to record me, and my throat tightens.

I know his boss probably wants proof of my talent.

Hell, he probably demanded it, and Brendan will be in big trouble if he doesn’t deliver.

My siren song would’ve stopped him from getting the footage, sure, but he didn’t even try .

That has to mean something.

Dropping the microphone to my side so I can clear the emotion from my throat, I turn and nod toward the band.

My drummer strikes his sticks together to count off the beats, then the rest of the musicians join in, starting a popular tune that makes the crowd go wild.

As I cover the pop song, my eyes meet Brendan’s again and again, and his joyful expression makes my pulse skyrocket.

The rest of the crowd fades away every time we lock gazes, and I feel like I’m singing just for him.

Something red catches my eye to his left, and when I glance toward it, my words cut off abruptly. The band continues to play for a few more beats, but when they realize I’m not singing anymore, they fall silent, too.

I stare with wide eyes as a man with the same clothes and build as the photographer from the beach watches me through the lens of a small, handheld video camera.

He’s not wearing a ski mask this time, and I can see his black hair and thick eyebrows barely obscured by even thicker glasses.

The red dot that caught my eye is the indicator light that indicates the device is recording.

“Please stop recording,” I say into the microphone, but the man ignores my words.

A screeching sound echoes through the now-silent bar, and I glance over to see Brendan’s stool wobbling before teetering over to clang against the floor. The man, himself, is pushing through the crowd, headed straight for the man with the camera.

Before Brendan can reach him, the man points to the pair of fancy, noise-canceling headphones covering his ears and shouts, “Your magic doesn’t stand a chance against these, Siren. I’ve got you, now! I’ll show the world!”

Panic freezes the blood in my veins at the word “Siren,” and I watch with wide, horrified eyes as Brendan reaches the man and snatches the camera from his grasp.

With his free hand, he takes him by the arm and starts to drag him toward the exit, but the man resists, shouting at the top of his lungs so everyone in the bar can hear him.

“Give that back! It’s mine! It’s my proof that sirens exist!”

When Brendan jerks his arm harder, the man yelps and meets my gaze as he’s being dragged away. His fear and anger at being manhandled is quickly overrun by determination as he starts to yell again about sirens, magic, and music.

His voice trails off as Brendan shoves him through the exit.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m off the stage and rushing through the crowd to follow them.

When I step outside, the man is demanding Brendan give him his camera back.

I watch with wide, terrified eyes as Brendan heaves it toward the ground, breaking it into dozens of pieces.

“No,” the man wails, dropping to his knees to see if he can salvage his property.

“Get out of here, and don’t come back. And if I ever see you near Hali again…”

Brendan lets the words trail off in an obvious threat, and the man slowly climbs back to his feet. His dark eyes find me, intensely magnified by his glasses, and an ugly smile spreads across his face as he lifts a finger to point in my direction.

“I know you’re a mermaid, Hali Weston. And I’m going to prove it! I’ll show everyone I’m not crazy!”

With that, he takes off, running down the street before disappearing into the shadows. I’m close to hyperventilating when Brendan turns to me with wide eyes and a shake of his head.

“That was crazy,” he says, then snaps to attention before stepping closer and taking my hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, doing my best to hide what I’m really feeling.

And what I’m really feeling is that I’m freaking the fuck out .

Whoever that man is, he knows . I don’t know how he knows, but he does, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he won’t stop until he proves it. Until he exposes me to the entire world.

Jesus.

What am I going to do?