Page 3 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Detective Hot-and-Hostile

ANDROMEDA

The interrogation room was chilly. So cold that Andromeda’s arms prickled with goosebumps under the light fabric of her sweatshirt while the metal chair leeched what little warmth she had left. She was dressed for a cozy movie night at home, not for rotting in a walk-in freezer.

She was grateful to SMPD for the complimentary cryo treatment, but she preferred her facials without felony charges.

Andromeda ran her palms over her arms to warm up, hoping the gesture wouldn’t broadcast her misery. Her wrists still bore faint red marks from where the magical dampening cuffs had dug into her skin. At least they’d removed those.

She stared at the giant mirror that dominated half the wall to her left.

The one-way glass reflected her disheveled appearance—wild blonde hair escaping the wreckage of a once-cute messy bun, day-old mascara smudged under tired eyes, ice cream stain still visible on her sweatshirt.

Perfect. She looked deranged enough to have committed a murder.

Was Sarah Michelle watching her right now?

Andromeda squinted at the mirror, wondering if her roommate was standing on the other side with her arms crossed, giving Detective Hot-and-Hostile a piece of her mind.

Or was she busy pulling strings, calling in favors, doing whatever detectives did when their roommates were falsely accused of killing someone?

“Come on, Shelly,” Andromeda whispered, teeth chattering. “Get me out of here.”

The door flew open with enough force to make her jump.

But instead of her best friend, Detective Malatesta strode in with the confident swagger of a man who’d never questioned a decision in his life.

He’d removed his stunner-proof jacket, revealing a tactical black shirt that hugged him like a second skin.

The leather straps of his chest holster cut clean lines across muscle, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist—he was a 3D printout from collective female fantasies.

Andromeda hated that she noticed his good looks. Hated even more than she didn’t seem able to tear her gaze from that sculpted chest.

He carried a manila folder and a steaming cup that flooded the sterile room with the rich aroma of coffee.

The scent made her stomach growl—she hadn’t eaten anything since the ice cream, and that felt like a lifetime ago.

And right now, she’d drink troll sweat if it meant she could go back to feeling her toes.

But he didn’t offer her any refreshments.

“Hello, Miss Swan.” His tone was formal and his gaze assessing as he settled into the chair across from her.

“Hello, prick,” she replied, managing a smile that was all teeth and zero warmth.

To her annoyance, the corners of his mouth twitched upward. He placed the folder on the table unhurriedly like they had all the time in the world. And maybe he did with his warm cup of coffee and long-sleeved shirt that looked like it could actually conserve body heat.

He smiled fully then—a cocky, self-assured grin that said her barbs barely registered. “Save your energy. Your insults are cute, but I’m immune to sarcasm.”

“Wasn’t being sarcastic.” Andromeda leaned forward, matching his smile with one of her own—sweet enough to cause cavities. “And I’m immune to douchebags, so we should be fine.”

He clicked his tongue, a sharp sound of disapproval that shouldn’t have sent a thrill down her spine, but did. What the hell was wrong with her? Stockholm syndrome didn’t set in this fast.

Instead of responding to her provocation, he flipped open the folder and began asking about her work as an IT consultant.

His questions were pointed, targeting her connections within the magical tech community, the online forums she participated in, and the coding circles she moved in.

He asked about her certifications in arcane programming, her specialties in magically enhanced encryption, and whether she had associations with any known code-breakers or digital ward manipulators.

Andromeda answered cautiously, aware that while she’d never done anything truly illegal, she had operated in gray areas.

She’d consulted for companies seeking better security measures, sometimes testing their systems by breaching them herself for educational purposes.

And occasionally, when bills were tight or the challenge was too enticing, she’d accepted jobs that skimmed the edges of legality—but nothing that would warrant an arrest or murder charges.

Her transgressions, if discovered, might raise an eyebrow, maybe earn her a slap on the wrist, but not land her in a cell.

While she navigated his questions, Andromeda became distracted by the man himself.

He moved with the unhurried efficiency of someone used to command.

His hands—strong, large, with long fingers and clean, short nails—never gestured to emphasize a point.

Despite the lack of motion, his scent permeated the air.

Cedar mingled with something brutally male, a warm spice that made her body react in ways that were unwise for someone under interrogation.

Hex, she needed to focus. This was the wizard who’d arrested her, dragged her from her home in handcuffs, and thought her capable of murder. Attraction was not on the menu, no matter how nicely that shirt clung to him or how his voice rolled low and deep when he asked pointed questions.

And yet… she noticed how his gaze held hers.

For an interrogation, an unusual amount of sustained eye contact was taking place.

Was that normal? An intimidation tactic designed to make suspects uncomfortable?

Because it was working, but not in the way he intended.

Each time their eyes locked, a shock zipped down her spine, a current of awareness that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with base, inexplicable instincts evolution should have bred out centuries ago.

“Miss Swan, in the course of your educational explorations…” The way he emphasized “educational” made it clear he didn’t buy that explanation. “Have you crossed paths with a Magnus Thorn?”

Andromeda frowned, confused. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Detective Malatesta’s lips curled up in a lopsided grin that was equal parts attractive and infuriating. “Perhaps you know him better by his street name: Arcanet.”

Andromeda’s blood turned to ice in her veins, colder than the metal chair beneath her.

Her reaction didn’t escape the detective, whose eyes narrowed as he registered her shock. “Ah. I see the name rings a bell. What’s your connection to Arcanet, Miss Swan?”

Andromeda swallowed against the sandpaper drag of a dry mouth. “Everyone who dabbles in magical coding knows Arcanet. He’s a celebrity in those circles.”

“Is that right?” Detective Malatesta tapped a finger on a printout she couldn’t read at this angle. “Did every magical coder also have a heated argument with him on a public forum this afternoon—mere hours before he was killed?”

What? Arcanet was dead? And why would they suspect her?

Okay. She’d called his position on encryption algorithms elitist and short-sighted. He’d responded by questioning her credentials and intelligence. She’d fired back with a scathing analysis of the flaws in his most recent program. The exchange had gotten personal, heated.

And now he was dead.

And she was in an interrogation room.

Oh, crap!