Page 148 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“Katie?” Natalie shouts again, maybe hearing the commotion. Wyatt is barking, scrambling, nearly out from under the table.

Natalie’s shouts continue, growing more panicked with each call of my name. It transports me to all the other times she had to save me from Freddie—the graveyard, the dark alley on New Year’s, and even today, saving me and Hazel from that curse.

No more. This is the last time Freddie Madsen endangers my life, and the last time I’m going to need rescuing.

A shadow crosses overhead as he looms behind me, obscuring the skylight.

With a roar, I lunge for the katana and seize the handle. I roll onto my butt and swing it, and Freddie doesn’t recoil fast enough. A gash opens in his thighs, tearing a clean line through his jeans and flesh.

“Fuck!” he spits, stumbling. His red face contorts with rage, a more terrifying sight than any snarling dog. “I’ll kill you!”

He kicks at my head, and I swing my fist, a sickeningcrackringing out as the gauntlet hits Freddie’s shin. He stumbles, clenching his teeth to stifle his roar of pain.

I push myself back with my heels, trying to put distance between us so I can stand up. “Natalie!” I yell. “Room 8!”

“Too bad she won’t be quick enough to save you this time.” Freddie stoops to pick up the antique typewriter, his muscles flexing as he lifts it with one hand.

A jolt shoots through my chest. He’s going to club me with it.

He steps toward me, raising it.

I roll onto my knees. I have a second to act—a second to come to terms with the fact that only one of us is making it out of this alive.

Holding the katana so firmly that my knuckles protest, I lunge, driving the blade as hard as I can at him.

It sinks into his belly. A strangled gasp escapes him.

I roar as adrenaline shoots through me.

Rocking back, I yank the blade free, opening the wound.

His blood cascades over the stone floor. The typewriter crashes down.

Numbness overtakes me as Freddie drops to his knees, his mouth open and his eyes bulging. A gurgle from deep in his throat prickles my eardrums.

He locks me with his gaze—those piercing blue eyes. How is it that I once looked into those eyes and thought he seemed friendly… just a normal guy standing in the streets? How did the lure of magic bring us to this?

He falls, slumping onto his side in his own pooling blood. A wave of nausea hits me as I watch his life drain away. In the next beat of my heart, his eyes become glassy and lifeless.

“Oh my God,” I murmur, my grip weakening.

What did I do?

My breaths rasp in and out, my chest heaving as I fight a surge of dizziness. I’ve taken a life. A strange disconnect opens inside me, like I’m watching this happen to someone else. Like these shaking, red-splattered hands are not my own.

Behind me, there’s a clatter of objects and a scramble of paws.

I jerk my head around to see Wyatt rise to all fours. His eyes gleam with a vengeance that sends a chill through my core.

As I bend to pick up the katana once more, he lunges, ready to tear my throat out.

I swing the weapon to keep him at bay, and he leaps sideways to avoid it.

My hands shake, my palms too sweaty and my muscles too weak to hold on much longer.

“Wyatt, stop,” I beg, hoping the dog can understand me—hoping that whatever magic tethered him to Freddie can dissolve.

Footsteps pound, and Natalie’s voice reverberates through the high ceilings. “Katie—Jesus Christ!”