Page 35 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Thirty

An Ambush of Witches

RILEY

Chief Inquisitor Riley King was having a boring morning in his office.

He stared at the expense report in front of him, thinking he couldn’t complain.

After the undead-zombie scare of last week, he’d take paperwork any day.

Even if running Salem’s Magical Police Department sometimes felt like herding cats—if the cats had powers and a penchant for giving him headaches.

He was cross-referencing three different codes for the same brand of dragonfire-proof file cabinets because no one at SMPD had figured out standardized supply entries when a familiar presence brushed against his consciousness.

The sensation was like warm honey spreading through his mind—sweet, comforting, and unmistakably Mila.

His wife was in the building.

Riley straightened in his chair, going on high alert. Mila rarely came to the station unannounced. For her to show up on a random Wednesday morning, something must be—

“Everything’s fine,” her voice drifted through their mental bond, a teasing lilt coloring her words. “Sucks I can never surprise you.”

The tension in Riley’s shoulders eased. Even after two years together, the telepathic soulmate bond they shared never ceased to amaze him. The ability to speak into each other’s minds, to share thoughts and feelings, was rare in the magical community.

“What are you doing here?” he asked through their connection, leaning back in his chair. “Are you okay?”

“All good.”

Riley sensed her smile. “But?”

“Buuuut… I’m about to ambush you, my love.”

Riley frowned. “Ambush?” He glanced around his office warily. “Should I be jumping out the window? Teleporting to safety?”

Mila’s melodious laugh rippled through their connection, warm and rich. “It’s too late for that.”

As if on cue, the window behind his desk clicked shut. Had Mila locked it? Where was she?

“Mila…”

“Yes, love?” she replied cheerfully as a knock sounded on his door.

Riley smoothed his expression into the neutral mask he’d perfected over years of police work. “Come in,” he called, his voice betraying none of the wariness in his lungs.

The door swung open, and Mila strode in first, a vision that knocked the wind out of him no matter how many mornings he woke up beside her.

Today, she wore that damnable black-and-purple striped knit dress that clung to her curves in ways that made it difficult for him to maintain his professional demeanor.

Her russet-brown hair cascaded past her shoulders in loose waves, and those piercing green eyes sparkled with mischief as they met his.

“You’re wearing The Dress,” he accused silently.

She smirked. “What? This old thing?”

“You know it drives me insane.”

“Really? I had no idea.” She sauntered toward his desk.

Riley swallowed hard, understanding with crystal clarity that he was in serious trouble. The “dread” worsened as two more witches filed in behind his wife: Andromeda Swan and Sarah Michelle Callidora. He was outnumbered three to one, and they weren’t playing fair.

“As pleasant as the surprise is, why are you here?” he asked Mila telepathically, keeping his face professionally stoic.

Mila crossed the room to plant a kiss on his mouth that mollified him, melting the scowl he was trying to hold on to. “I came to make sure you consider their proposal without rejecting it outright.”

Riley maintained eye contact. “You’ll owe me for this later.”

A wicked smile spread across Mila’s face as she sent him a mental image that made his collar feel two sizes too small. The vision of his wife half-naked on his desk in a very compromising position burned into his brain, making him grip the arms of his chair hard enough to leave indentations.

“I’ll make it worth your while, Chief,” she promised silently.

Riley clenched his jaw, fighting the impulse to throw the other two witches out of his office to have a private moment with his wife. The image she’d planted in his mind was making it difficult to focus on whatever business they’d come to discuss.

Andromeda Swan blinked, glancing between them. “What’s going on?” she asked, sensing the unspoken exchange.

Sarah Michelle waved a dismissive hand. “Chief King and his wife share a soulmate bond,” she explained flippantly. “And I’m guessing Mrs. King has already told the Chief to play nice.”

Riley scowled deeper at the accurate assessment. He gestured to the chairs across from his desk. “Please, take a seat and tell me what’s so important that my wife had to be dragged into it.”

The two witches settled into the chairs while Mila perched on the windowsill behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Sarah Michelle cleared her throat and launched into a well-rehearsed argument about why the proposed cybersecurity division would be better placed under the broader Department of Magical Justice umbrella rather than keeping it within SMPD.

She stressed how Riley would still be in charge, given how as Chief Inquisitor he was also in the DMJ organizational chart.

He caught what she wasn’t saying. This wasn’t about org charts.

Riley’s gaze shifted to Miss Swan, who was sitting unusually quiet and straight-backed. The witch was regarding him with an expression that hovered between hope and defiance.

The chief fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Of course. Andromeda Swan wanted the job and the detective, and this was how her best friend meant for her to have both.

And his wife, the witch he’d arrested and fell in love with while they were magically sentenced to solve a case together, was in the room so that he couldn’t dismiss the proposal on the spot.

Or tell them it wasn’t professional. As entrapments went, this was damn near perfect.

His eyes flicked to his wife, who gave him the barest hint of a nod.

“They’re in love,” Mila’s voice confirmed in his head. “They want to bypass the non-fraternization policy.”

In love? He’d gleaned something was going on between Swan and Malatesta, but he hadn’t imagined it’d gotten that serious already.

“I see,” Riley said carefully. “And this restructuring would benefit the department how?”

“It would allow us to recruit the best possible candidate for the director position,” Sarah Michelle replied smoothly.

“By ‘best possible candidate,’ you mean yourself, Miss Swan?” Riley turned his gaze to Andromeda.

She met his eyes. “Yes, sir. I believe my expertise makes me uniquely qualified for the role.”

Riley was about to say he would consider the proposal—which, despite everyone’s assumptions about his inflexibility, he would have considered even without his wife’s presence—when another knock sounded at his door.

“Come in,” he called, wondering what fresh hell awaited him now.

Detective Donatello Malatesta strode in, his usual confidence faltering when he spotted the gathering of witches in Riley’s office. He was holding a transfer request form in his hands.

Malatesta’s eyes met Riley’s, and something like male solidarity—or perhaps pity—passed between them. Then the detective’s gaze fell on Andromeda, and his jaw tensed.

“Hi,” Malatesta said, his tone clipped.

“Hi,” Andromeda replied, equally curt, the tension between them electric.

“Look at those two,” Mila commented in Riley’s mind. “That’s some smoldering eye contact.”

Riley resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his wife’s assessment, no matter how accurate.

“Are you here to accept the job?” Malatesta accused.

“No,” she replied evenly. “I wanted to make sure I don’t have to give you up if I take the job.” She tilted her head. “Why are you here?”

Malatesta shifted, moving the form behind his back like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “No reason.”

With a snap of her fingers, Andromeda sent the paper flying from Malatesta’s grasp into her waiting hand. Her eyes scanned the document, widening as she read.

“You’re putting in a transfer request to New Orleans?” she gasped. “You’re moving away from me?”

“No,” Malatesta said quickly, stepping forward. “I’m transferring jurisdictions so we can date.”

Andromeda’s brow furrowed. “While you live in New Orleans?”

“While I work in New Orleans,” Malatesta corrected, moving closer to her. “I’ll commute.”

“Every day?” Andromeda’s voice rose with incredulity.

A touch of Malatesta’s trademark cockiness returned as he shrugged. “Yes, Swan, every day. If only we had powers that allowed us to teleport.”

Andromeda’s eyes widened with understanding. “Teleporting so far so often would be taxing on you,” she protested, her expression softening.

“Less taxing than living without you,” Malatesta replied simply. “Or knowing you’re unhappy because you had to give up your dream job.”

In a motion that surprised everyone—perhaps even Andromeda herself—she launched herself at him. “You’d do that for me?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. “Transfer from the best department in the country?”

Malatesta’s arms wound around her waist. “I’d do anything for you,” he proclaimed, and then they were kissing, oblivious to their audience.

“Aww,” Mila cooed in Riley’s mind. “You have to find a way for these two to be together.”

Riley cleared his throat, interrupting the display of affection in his office. When the two broke apart, he fixed Malatesta with a stern scowl.

“I’m not losing one of my best detectives to New Orleans,” he declared, rising from his chair. “We’ll make the new division work with Miss Swan at the head and no conflict of interest.” He gestured toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have my office back.”

As everyone filed out, tossing variations of “Thank you, Chief” over their shoulders, Mila got up from her perch, too.

“Not you, Miss Bennet,” he told her silently. “We have some unfinished business.”

The others must have noticed the intensity in his gaze because they quickened their pace, slipping out of the office without further comment.

Riley didn’t even wait for the last one to clear the doorway before he flicked his wrist—magic slammed the door shut, bumping Malatesta in the butt as it locked with a decisive snap.

Mila sauntered over and nestled in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s Mrs. King now,” she reminded him aloud, her voice taking on the husky quality that undid him completely.

She leaned in to kiss him then, and Riley surrendered to the inevitable.

Department policy and organizational restructuring could wait.

After all, he’d committed to solving a situation guaranteed to generate a bureaucratic mess and give him a migraine—he deserved a moment of creative problem-solving with his wife first.