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HARPER

Harper pricked his pointer finger with a needle and watched his blood well to the surface, forming a dark droplet. He pressed his finger against his thumb and squeezed until the drop swelled.

You didn’t need much blood to enhance spells or potions if you did it properly.

Harper let the drop of blood fall into the stone mortar on his dresser. His finger stopped bleeding as soon as he quit squeezing it. That was how small the wound was.

He concentrated on the droplet and recited an incantation rooted in alchemy. The blood transformed to fine dust before his eyes, turning pale as it changed form.

See, this was all you needed.

Not all witches agreed. Witches like his father. They believed transforming the blood took away too much of its power.

Harper had tried to demonstrate that this wasn’t the case, showing his father what a pile of dust like this could do. Arthur had chastised him for being disloyal to the coven and Lucifer and for trying to get out of the sacrifice of lending his blood by tricking everyone into thinking a transformed drop had as much magic as pure blood.

“Sacrifice adds power,” his father always said.

Harper didn’t believe him.

Maybe he had when he was little, but once he was older and practiced enough in the art of potions, he’d known better. Arthur’s methods of leaching large amounts of Harper’s blood had been about controlling him as much as it had been about gaining access to Harper’s magic, even if it was true that not transforming the blood meant you needed more of it to enhance your spells.

How much of his blood did his father have left?

Arthur had traveled to Shearwater Landing several times over the last year to drain Harper. His father once consulted a vampire to help him determine how much he could take without killing Harper and had taken Harper to the limit every time since.

It made Harper sick. His father’s greed, his conviction that Harper’s only worth was in the power that flowed through him and his ability to carry on the Nightingale name.

Harper shut his memories down. There was no point in dwelling on the past. He was safe now and only used his blood to keep himself so.

Walking around the apartment, Harper sprinkled the dust from the mortar as he recited an incantation to strengthen the protections he had in place. He never used his blood for anything else, not even the stone memory potion or magic suppressant. It wasn’t necessary. His affinity for mixing elements was strong enough on its own.

As he performed his spell, the blood sparked and disappeared into the magic shield guarding the apartment.

It was true that not every witch could transform blood like he did. The skill was tied to his potion mastery. His father couldn’t do it successfully, but he could have found someone to do it for him, and Harper had offered once he was old enough.

Some covens were more deeply committed to blood-enhanced magic than others. Most covens banned the use of blood unless the situation was life or death. Not all witches were like the Nightingales.

What would Harper’s life have been like if he hadn’t grown up accustomed to his father chanting incantations while his hands dripped with Harper’s blood?

Once he was done strengthening his protections, Harper gathered the potions he’d brewed over the last several days and headed to The Herb Emporium for the third time in less than two weeks.

Checking the street and noting people as he walked had become second nature. As usual, Harper didn’t see anything amiss, but his neck prickled and he double-checked over his shoulder.

No one was there, just like when he’d looked a moment ago.

Harper frowned and carried on.

Over the last several days, he’d been plagued by paranoia. He swore it felt like someone was watching him.

The relatively relaxed feeling he’d had when going to The Herb Emporium the day after hooking up with Ash had faded. He’d encountered a few witches on his outings since then, but they were all doing perfectly normal, non-stalking-related things, so Harper wasn’t sure what was catching his awareness. At first, he dismissed it as general worry, but after days of uneasiness, he couldn’t shake the feeling it was more than that.

Was his coven catching up with him? Had his luck run out? He worried he was missing something the whole walk to the apothecary.

“Mr. Harper,” Nico called from the counter at the back of his shop .

“Hi.” Harper hurried over, glad the place was otherwise empty.

Nico smiled, eyes flashing with something like amusement. “Always a pleasure to see you. It’s been nice having you around more.”

“Oh.” Harper stumbled over the pleasantry. “Yeah. Um, I’m available more these days.”

“Works for me.” Nico opened his notebook but didn’t look at it, studying Harper instead.

He quickly unloaded his potions, hands trembling. He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see someone peering through the shop window.

There was no one.

“The witch who works with me, making the other potions I sell, is moving,” Nico said, causing Harper’s head to whip back around. “Soon, I’ll be needing a lot more help.”

Harper’s stomach flipped. This could be a great opportunity to go from making part-time cash to a solid income. “You’ll need more potions brewed?”

Nico smiled like he’d noticed the eagerness in Harper’s tone. “I will, but not only that, I’ll need to fill my in-house position. Kat and sometimes her partner Melanie took care of all my made-to-order brews. It’s great having stock behind the counter, but I’ve always done a good trade in unique mixes.”

Harper’s heart sank. He could never offer to fill an in-house position when Nico thought he was human.

“Your employer might want to consider it. Or”—Nico waved a hand—“anyone else you know who fits the requirements.”

Had Nico said the word employer funny, or was it just Harper’s imagination? He shifted on his feet. “Yeah…I’ll pass it on.”

Nico nodded, gaze fixed on Harper’s face. “Please do. ”

Harper finished unloading his bag, keeping his attention on the potion vials.

The way Nico had phrased his request was weird, right? It almost seemed like Nico didn’t believe there was an employer and was just humoring Harper, pretending there was.

Satan , did Nico know he was a huge liar?

Harper had the urge to run out of the shop before he was caught but forced himself to stay still. Even if Nico suspected he was lying, he couldn’t see past the suppressant Harper was taking. He couldn’t know Harper was a witch. Maybe there was no hidden meaning in what Nico had said.

Harper just had to go on as normal and stop overthinking.

Harper closed his bag, fiddling with the top flap. There was nothing he could do about the missed opportunity. He couldn’t work here, talking to all kinds of customers about their potion needs and brewing unique mixes when that could easily get back to his coven.

If only things were different.

Nico handed over payment for the potions and a package of new ingredients. “I hope you consider it, Mr. Harper. I won’t pry into your, ah, situation with your employer, but just know there are options.”

Harper stuffed the bundle into his bag. What did Nico think his situation with his employer was? What options? Did he mean options for Harper?

“Okay, sure.” Sweat broke out on Harper’s forehead. “The guy I work for definitely has options.”

“Yes.” Nico pressed his lips together like he was holding something back.

Harper hurried out of the shop.

Harper’s stomach hurt as he walked through the Banks. Working with witches had always been risky, but how had Nico figured him out? And he had figured him out, hadn’t he? His comments didn’t make sense otherwise.

What did Nico mean he wouldn’t pry? Was he trying to say he wouldn’t interrogate Harper if he admitted there was no employer?

Harper groaned. What did it matter? He couldn’t trust Nico and wouldn’t go back on his disguise now. He wasn’t risking anything getting back to his coven, and a new hire brewing exceptional potions would catch their interest more than a human selling on behalf of a witch.

He’d just have to see what it was like next time he dropped off his brews and go from there. Unless… Should he find another job?

Harper eyed all the shops around him. It was too bad his human employable skills were practically nonexistent.

Seaside Coffee was open when Harper reached it, and he needed a pick-me-up. A nagging voice urged him to save his money, but he didn’t want to return to the empty apartment and obsess over the interaction with Nico.

Harper pushed open the coffee shop door. He’d been eyeing this place since he’d first come to this part of the city, and he’d finally gone in the other day. The name was odd, given they weren’t near the beach or even the riverfront, but Harper wasn’t bothered.

He liked the art on the walls and all the cozy little miss-matched tables packed into the place. Next to the front door was a display of handcrafted mugs and dishes for sale.

Cute. Too bad he couldn’t afford stuff like this right now.

“Hey, Harper,” a voice called.

He jumped, gripping the strap of his bag tight. Slowly, he turned to see who’d spoken .

“Sorry.” Dex smiled from behind the counter, hands up in surrender. “You must have been a million miles away. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s okay.” Harper approached, his heart pounding. “I didn’t know you worked here.” Dex hadn’t been around last time.

Dex shoved his hands in his apron pockets. “I’ve worked here forever. Did Ollie tell you to come by?”

“No. I just liked the look of the place.”

Dex smiled widely, his enigmatic gray eyes lighting. “Sounds like you’ve got good taste. What can I get for you?”

Harper ordered and took his coffee to a small table beside the counter, right at the back of the room, where he could sit with his back to the wall and see out the front windows.

A prickle of awareness itched along his skin like he was being watched.

He scanned the café, checking if anyone was paying him undue attention. It didn’t seem like it.

The person who’d been behind him in line walked past his table toward the restroom. He flashed Harper a smile, and Harper returned it reflexively. He was pretty sure it was the same guy he’d run into the other day.

Was that guy’s friendly stare all that had his senses tingling? It’d be good to start recognizing local faces. That way Harper wouldn’t have to be so suspicious of every person he encountered.

His posture sagged. Worrying about every little thing was exhausting.

Taking a sip of his sweet hazelnut almond latte, Harper tried to empty his mind. He sipped slowly, casually watching people in the café. The place wasn’t packed, but it was an off time of day. A pair Harper guessed were a couple leaned in close to one another at the front of the room, whispering .

Longing stirred in Harper’s chest, which was even worse than the paranoia plaguing him.

After his complicated hookup, he was less sure casual sex was his thing. He wanted a partner. It had felt so right kissing Ash, his hard body keeping Harper’s world in line. He wanted more of that.

The hollowness in Harper’s chest intensified, and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. He wasn’t going to pine after Ash. He deserved someone who treated him right, not just blew his mind and cast him aside.

Harper had another sip of his coffee.

A tall figure walked in front of the café window and came to the door. Harper paused in the process of setting his cup on the table. As if his thoughts had summoned him, Ash stood in the doorway, his bulky frame taking up too much space.

What were the chances?

Ash glanced around the coffee shop until his eyes landed on Harper. He didn’t smile, his square jaw set, a serious furrow in his brow.

An electric tingle went down Harper’s spine and he suppressed a shiver.

No . He wasn’t reacting that way. He wasn’t happy to see Ash and wasn’t getting any warm feelings.

Their eyes locked. Ash didn’t appear surprised to find himself face-to-face with Harper. It seemed like coming across Harper stirred zero emotion in him, which stung.

Ash entered the coffee shop and came closer, heading toward Harper’s table, not the register.

What? No. They weren’t going to ignore each other? Harper’s pulse quickened. Did he like or hate this twist of fate?

Hate. Definitely hate.

“Harper.” Ash nodded in greeting, his voice as deep and melodic as Harper remembered. “I’m glad I ran into you. ”

Harper set his coffee down at last. “You are?”

Ash’s lips twitched downward like he wanted to frown but was trying not to. Harper’s cheeks flamed. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He’d made peace with never hearing from Ash again.

Hadn’t he?

Harper tried to hold on to his embarrassment and anger, but something softer muted his senses. The comfort of Ash’s embrace was too easy to remember.

“Yes, I’m glad to see you.” Ash pulled out the chair opposite Harper. “May I?” He indicated the seat.

Harper blinked, pushing away the memory of Ash’s comfort. He tilted his head, adjusting his glasses and fixing Ash with an unwavering stare. “Why would you want to sit with me?”

Ash took his hand off the chair. “I want to apologize.”

Heat burst over Harper’s cheeks and traveled down his neck.

Damnation . Harper didn’t want to acknowledge how Ash had left him a mess on the couch and didn’t want to think about what Ash had seen of him before that. He didn’t like how desperate he’d been in front of Ash. Harper didn’t want Ash to know he cared.

Ash shifted awkwardly like he didn’t know what to do with his hands now that he’d let go of the chair. “I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly. You deserve better than that.”

Relief, then anger, swept over Harper. If Ash cared enough to be sorry, why had he run off in the first place? “I do deserve better,” Harper made himself say. He could do with the reminder. It didn’t always feel true when everyone treated him like he was disposable.

Ash reached a hand toward the chair again, then pulled it back. “Can I make it up to you? ”

Oh, Hell, was that a note of regret in Ash’s tone? Real regret and not just something placating? Ash’s golden-brown eyes seemed almost pleading. Or maybe Harper was seeing what he wanted to see. Why would Ash care this much? He hadn’t the other night.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The last thing Harper needed was to give someone who’d shown they didn’t respect him another shot. Ash would only end up being a dick again, and Harper would have no one but himself to blame for getting hurt once more.

“I see.” Ash clenched his fist and opened it. “In that case, please know I’m sorry.”

Harper’s stomach twisted, his chest constricting so much it hurt. “You could explain what happened.” He wanted Ash to be a decent person and for all his misplaced feelings to have meaning. He wanted good things and for people to be kind to him. Fuck, if only this was all a misunderstanding.

“I can’t. There’s—there’s nothing to say.” Ash’s words were clipped. He turned to go, looking back over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Harper.”

Harper clenched his teeth.

Well, okay then. He’d obviously made the right choice. An apology without an explanation didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot, and Harper felt silly for wishing it could all turn out okay when Ash was clearly nothing more than a selfish jerk.