Page 10 of If The Shoe Fits (A Howlin’ Good Fairytale Retelling #2)

chapter nine

F ive minutes later, I am sitting perched on my boss’s, er , Wulfy’s lap and it is wreaking havoc with my system.

Seriously.

I am like two breaths away from a full panic attack. Either that or I’m going to turn around and ride this Big Bad Wolf bareback cowgirl style.

“I second that,” he growls, his hands contracting on my hips.

Oops. Dang it .

I forgot he can read my mind.

“Look, you called me down here because your daughter accused me of something. Do you recall what that is?” I ask.

“Cyndi?” he asks, frowning.

I bite my lip.

If he shows signs of not remembering, I will have to call in the nurse.

Maybe my little magic zap did some damage to his frontal lobe or something.

“Dora, I am not suffering from anything other than blue balls, I assure you. Now, Cyndi did come to me with a complaint, but she must be mistaken.”

“What did she say?” I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice.

“She said you were picking on her. That you made fun of her not having a mother. That you’ve been picking on her, holding her to ridiculous standards,” he replies, his tone heavy with disbelief.

But then his gaze softens.

“But I know in my heart you would never stoop to such a thing.”

I blink, surprised by the genuine conviction in his voice. It’s a small relief. A tiny crack in this surreal situation.

He actually believes in me.

“Of course, I believe in you!”

I blink again, realizing with a start that he’s reading my freaking mind.

Again.

Choosing to ignore the unsettling invasion of privacy, I press forward. “You say that, but a moment ago you were telling me off like I was some cartoon villain twirling my mustache.”

He winces, running a hand through his hair, looking for all the world like a man who just got caught stealing the last cookie. “I-I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry, Dora. It’s really not like me.”

I cross my arms, watching him fidget, my skepticism warring with a growing curiosity. And, let’s face it, a sliver of hope that maybe the man I’ve been mooning over has feelings for me, too.

“Go on,” I prompt, my voice calmer now.

“The truth is,” he hesitates, his eyes locking onto mine as if weighing whether he should say it.

Then he takes a deep breath. “The truth is, I’ve been attracted to you since the beginning. One whiff of your anima magicae — the source of your Witch’s magic —and I knew you were my fated mate. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but, well, I don’t know, actually.”

He frowns, his expression tightening as if the rest of the sentence is tangled somewhere in his brain.

“But?” I prod, arching a brow.

His frown deepens, frustration evident.

“I really don’t know. It’s like there’s this block, thick like fog, and it’s clouding my mind.”

I tilt my head, trying to piece it together. “Maybe when I zapped you in my anger, I shook something loose?”

His golden eyes flicker with confusion and, dare I say, a hint of amusement.

“Look, Principal— I mean , Wulfy,” I say, turning on his lap and placing a hand on his chest before his frustration spills over into one of those agitated growls that makes my knees go weak. “Whatever you are feeling, I think it’s because of magic.”

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice almost tender now.

“I’m only saying maybe this isn’t what you think,” I add quickly, my tone soft but firm.

I’m working hard to keep my emotions in check, but inside, it’s absolute chaos. Butterflies? Puhleeze.

These are pterodactyls flapping around in there, and they’re threatening to knock me over.

Because the truth is, I am very attracted to this man.

Painfully, mortifyingly attracted.

But I don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m not so desperate as to throw myself at him without figuring it out first. Right?

Aren’t you?

Am I?

Oh, Goddess. Shit.

I close my eyes, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

“Relax, my Dora,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, the deep timbre rolling through me like a spell of its own.

His hand brushes against mine where it still rests on his chest, his touch sending little sparks shooting up my arm.

“Look,” he continues, his voice softening even further, “I’m not sure what’s been going on, but I’ll get to the bottom of it, Sweet Witch. This, I promise you.”

The warmth in his tone, the absolute certainty—it’s almost enough to undo me right there.

“And after I do,” he adds, his golden eyes locking onto mine with a quiet intensity that sends shivers down my spine, “you and I are going to sit down and finish this. Because whatever this seems like to you right now, I know you are mine.”