Page 56 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

“How long were you two together?” I asked, keeping my voice soft—calm, like I wasn’t tearing open a wound.

I wanted him to know I cared about him, and since he cared about her—I could see it in his face, the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands balled slightly before smoothing his robe—questioning the morality of the woman you loved?

That had to feel like betrayal, and that was the last thing I wanted.

He looked away, pacing the edge of the walk-in closet. “Let me think… it would have been five years this coming February.”

Five years. That’s a long time to believe in someone.

“But I still don’t see how you can think she had anything to do with the murder,” he said.

“I don’t know , okay?” I snapped. “She and Belvedere are all I’ve got at the moment.”

“Then I suggest you focus on Belvedere.” He folded his arms, eyes narrowing. “For all you know, it could’ve been Burt.”

“Burt? The taxi guy?” I blinked, tugging the brush through my hair. “Why him?”

“I don’t know. Just like you don’t know about Portia.” His voice got sharper. “But she loved me. Deeply. She would never jeopardize what we had.”

“Uncle Silas,” I said, setting the brush down, “you’re dead.”

His form flinched like he’d forgotten that piece of information.

“The bodies didn’t start showing until four months after you died,” I said. “I doubt she was thinking about your relationship while carving up strangers.”

“Maggie!” he thundered, voice cracking with something between heartbreak and fury.

Then—poof—he burst into green smoke, disappearing through the ceiling like a kicked-up ghostly tantrum.

“Max, you up there?” Graham called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be right down,” I called, dragging the brush through my hair one last time.

It’s not a date, I told myself. No reason to freak out. No reason to care if my hair had the wild baby-curl doing its own thing above my ear.

God, get it together.

I took a breath, checked my reflection— fine, whatever— and headed downstairs, trying to act like I hadn’t spent the last three minutes talking myself out of panic.

The scent of herbs and roasting vegetables hit me before I even reached the bottom step. The aunts were in the dining room. So was Graham.

“Hi,” I managed barely.

He looked up and did that nod thing—hands resting under his utility belt, like it was no big deal he just walked out of my fantasies.

Oh fuck. He was in uniform.

Black cargo pants that hugged every flex of his thighs, holster strapped to one like it belonged there—like I belonged there. That moth neck tat teased out from the collar of his black button-up. His sleeves pushed just enough to show ink on forearms that should’ve been illegal.

I stopped walking. Just flat out stopped, like my brain needed time to catch up with my hormones.

Jesus. I wasn’t okay.

I wanted to lick that stupid leg holster. I wanted to ride that thigh into a better mood. And yet I stood there, smiling like a dork, trying not to combust from the inside out.

“Did you sleep well?” Graham asked, voice calm—too calm for the chaos he’d stirred up in my head.

“Oh. Uh—yes. Fine.”

Lies.

Big, flustered lies.

I was just upstairs mentally peeling that shirt off you like it owed me rent, but sure, I slept great.

“Maggie, dear, grab a plate and come sit down,” Ruby called out, already piling eggs on a floral dish. “Graham tells us you’ll be going out this afternoon.”

I gave a wobbly nod, hoping no one noticed the way my knees had started to whisper threats.

Clover chimed in next, fussing with a jar of apple butter. “You need to eat something . Last night took a lot out of both of you, and I won’t have you wandering into those trees with an empty stomach and foggy head.”

I wasn’t hungry. At least not for food.

Still, I gave them a smile, grabbed a roll, and slapped some turkey on it like I was trying to prove I had my life together. I took a bite—but didn’t really taste it—chewing while glancing at Graham out of the corner of my eye.

He didn’t sit. Just stood there, leaning, watching. The same stillness he always had—like the room shifted around him.

I was supposed to be investigating supernatural murders today. Instead, I was mentally writing erotic fan-fiction about a cop standing six feet away with mustard on my chin.

Graham followed my lead—sort of. He popped an entire slice of ham into his mouth like it was a breath mint, then stuffed two rolls into the side pocket of his cargo pants.

I arched a brow. “Your etiquette never ceases to amaze me.”

He just grinned, full of shameless confidence.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Ruby beamed. “Back when he first helped us get Tophie out of the oak, I offered him a slice of apple pie as thanks. I swear, that thing was gone in under a minute, and another slice was in his hand before the first had time to hit bottom.”

I glanced over just in time to watch him down a glass of apple cider like it was a shot of whiskey, followed immediately by two more slices of ham.

He gave me a crooked smile, a sliver of meat poking out the corner of his mouth. “What? I like pie.”

Why was that… attractive?

The man ate like he was raised by wolves and bribed back into society with cured meats—and yet, it was weirdly endearing.

Maybe it was because he always walked around like he’s auditioning for the role of Tall, Dark, and Broody, but now and then I caught a glimpse of what was underneath. Something softer. Sweeter.

Like a cinnamon roll in combat boots.

“We should get out to the woods before it gets dark,” he said, already pouring himself another glass of cider and knocking it back in one smooth dramatic gulp.

“Yeah… right.” I turned back to the table. “Thanks for the food. We’ll eat more when we get back—if he leaves any.”

Graham led me out the front door and pulled me to the side, out of sight from the dining room. Before I could ask what was going on, he pressed my back against the siding.

“You’re okay? You’re really okay?” he asked, eyes scanning me frantically, his hands gripping my shoulders like I might disappear if he let go.

“Yes, Graham, I’m fine,” I said, a small startled laugh slipping out.

“Good.” He yanked me against his chest, arms locked around me like a vice. “I was fucking losing it thinking something had happened to you. That was some serious fucked-up shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what that… that thing did to you. After we?—”

“Wait… you remember? ”

“Of course I remember,” he said, voice low. “When Silas took over, I could pop in and out. Regain control. But with that other one—the demon—it was like I got shoved to the back of my skull. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.”

“I don’t think it was a demon.”

He snorted. “Whatever it was, it was pissed. Strong. Mean. And way too interested in you.”

“But you remember us ?” I asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly nervous.

“It’s in pieces. Like static on a TV screen. But yeah, I remember. Especially the good parts. Some a little… fuzzy.”

Then he smirked.

“Like your pussy.”

Jesus Christ.

I froze, heat slapping my cheeks so hard I could’ve powered a small city. My stomach dropped, and for a second, I forgot how to inhale.

He remembers that? That?

Of all the memories to survive possession and a near-death supernatural crisis— that was the one that made it out alive?

“Of course I remember,” he said, hopping down the steps and offering me a hand. “At least the parts where I wasn’t blacked out. Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, I remember.” I took his hand, warm and steady. “I just don’t know which parts were you… and which weren’t.”

We crunched through the early fallen leaves, as the woods came into view, the branches overhead filtered sunlight in sharp beams.

“The parts you enjoyed ?” He said, flashing that goddamn smirk. “Definitely me.”

Cocky bastard.

“Well…” I hesitated, cheeks already heating. “What would you say if I told you I enjoyed all of it? Except maybe the part where I got choked and slammed into the wall—but even that…”

“Don’t you dare say you liked being choked.”

I bit my lip, lifted my gaze. Shrugged with a sheepish little smile.

“Oh, my god—” he huffed, laughing, shaking his head like he wasn’t trying to hide how turned on he was.

“Hey,” I said, throwing up my hands. “It’s not the choking part that’s hot, it’s the trust. You’re putting yourself in someone’s hands and hoping they don’t actually kill you. That’s the thrill.”

I blinked.

“Oh God, I cannot believe I just said that out loud.”

Graham chuckled, brushing a low-hanging branch aside so I wouldn’t get smacked in the face. “Really?” He asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, well… that’s why I said I wasn’t sure if I actually liked it—because I wasn’t sure if it was actually you. ” I ducked under the branch, brushing past him. “And now that I know it wasn’t? I don’t think I liked it. Or the part where you let that thing come ectoplasm all over me. ”

He choked out a scoff. “Let?” He turned to face me fully, jaw tightening. “You think I had any control over that? Once he took over, it was lights out. Like getting shoved into a locked room with no windows. At least with Silas I could watch.”

“So…” I squinted at him, trying to read the edges of his expression. “You didn’t see him choke me?”

“No.” His voice dropped and he got serious. “Like I said, it went black. I only remember flashes—like sound bleeding through walls. But the second I realized what we were doing? When I came back just enough to feel you? I enjoyed every goddamn second I was in control.”

Oh.

Oh damn.

That did something.

There’s something about a man saying he remembers you like that— feeling you, wanting you— when everything else was chaos. It short-circuited my brain like a fucking power surge.

I cleared my throat. “Then… how did you know?” I asked, voice quieter now.

It wasn’t just curiosity—it was hope. That maybe, this connection wasn’t one-sided. That maybe, I wasn’t just some accidental kink session caught in supernatural crossfire.