Page 25 of Hungry As Her Python

The more I questioned her, the more I could hear the frustration in her voice.

Hell, I felt it.

And it was killing me.

Another attempt to destroy her bakery in as many weeks, and each one had my inner beast coiling tighter and tighter around the need to protect her.

“I think it’s time we talked about who might have a grudge against you,” I said, already bracing for her reaction.

Her eyes flashed, that stubborn streak rising like the tide. “I’m part of the Witch Trifecta keeping Castor’s Corner safe. How could someone I know do this to me?”

I didn’t want to say it, but I needed to be thorough for her sake, asking her about the possibility of disgruntled customers and the like.

She puffed up instantly, arms crossing under her perfect, maddeningly distracting breasts.

I couldn’t help the corners of my mouth curving as she told me off.

Sexy, badass, Witch. I see you.

“Bella, I know you have a gift for baking. And for the record, I think your goodies are perfect.”

And I meant every damn word.

Her mouth softened just a little, and for a second, I thought I might’ve snuck past her defenses.

Then her chin came up again, stubborn as ever.

I kept right on with the questions, doing my duty as Deputy and possible mate.

And sweet Bella rattled off a few offenses—the wrong shade of blue fondant, a substitution in donut filling, a late delivery—and I had to bite back a laugh.

“Not sure any of those qualify as arson-worthy, but I’ll look into it.”

Her familiar darted past with something pink in his furry claws.

She spotted it first. The ruined remnants of her favorite pink apron.

Her face fell, and my chest tightened. But my Witch was no doormat. Almost as soon as it appeared, her sadness was replaced by something else.

Anger.

Determination.

A promise for vengeance.

And I couldn’t have been prouder of her.

But before I could say anything, her magic flared—pink and white sparks shooting from her fingertips—and suddenly we were ankle-deep in hardtack.

“Bella?” I tried, stepping closer, but she was in full Witch fury, shouting at the unknown arsonist like she could will them into submission.

I put my hands on her shoulders and gave her a firm, steadying shake.

“Bella? Bella!”

“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!” She shouted, breasts heaving with exertion, and pig that I was, I looked.

Hell yes, I looked.