Page 24 of Hungry As Her Python

That’s when my magic decided to join the pity party.

Pink and white sparks shot from my fingers, and where they landed—thunk—hardtack appeared.

Not cookies.

Not croissants.

Hardtack.

The driest, blandest, most tooth-shattering edible ever conceived.

My magic only made it when I was truly, epically ticked off.

“Bella? Bella!” Conrad called my name, but I was already shouting into the early morning air.

“I don’t know who you are, you loathsome, dirty, rotten arsonist! But I’m going to find you, and when I do, your goose is cooked!”

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright now. Bella? You good?”

Conrad stepped over a pile of wretched crackers and gripped my shoulders, giving me a steadying shake.

His eyes—those deep, mesmerizing pools of emeralds—were full of worry.

That simmering smolder was doing things to me again, the kind of things that made me want to toss my good sense out the nearest window.

And for a second—just a second—I thought about letting myself fall into whatever this was between us.

But crunching sounds broke the moment.

I glanced down to see Petyr happily gnawing on a piece of hardtack like it was gourmet biscotti.

Not only that, but he’d invited Ivan and Gryn, who had materialized with their own bottles of vodka, to join in.

The three familiars were now sitting cross-legged on the pavement, playing preferans and snacking like they were at some kind of supernatural tailgate.

“Well, at least they’ll eat through this before you open today,” Conrad said dryly.

“Lucky me,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help noticing the way he was still standing close enough that I could feel his heat.

Too close for comfort.

Too close for a Witch trying to keep her heart safe.

And yet, I didn’t step away.

Chapter Seven-Conrad

At The Tasty Tart

“I have to ask you some questions, Bella. So, you arrived here at 4:30 this morning?”

I kept my tone neutral, professional, even though every nerve in my body was lit up like a live wire just being near her.

Her hair was pulled back, her cheeks pink from exertion—or fury—and the faint smell of sugar and smoke clung to her skin.

It was intoxicating, and not just because my Python was already convinced she was ours.

She nodded, lips tight. “Yes, I got here about then.”