Page 6 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

“Coming!” she yelled, her voice scraping against her dry throat as she stumbled out of bed. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and her mouth tasted like she’d been gargling toadstool infusion.

“You look frightful,” Quill observed helpfully as she staggered past him into the hallway.

“Thanks for the update,” she muttered, pausing in the living room. The house was quiet, the morning light filtering through the curtains and dust motes dancing in the beams.

Nox lay curled in a ferret ball on the windowsill, his whiskers twitching at her approach. “If you’re looking for Sarah Michelle, she left for work hours ago.” He stretched languidly.

“Why didn’t she wake me?” Andromeda ran her fingers through her tangled hair in a futile attempt to look less like she’d been electrocuted in her bed.

“She said, and I quote, ‘Let the poor thing sleep. She’s been through hell.’ She also wanted me to tell you—”

The doorbell rang for the fourth time, cutting off whatever message Sarah Michelle had left.

“Mother of gargoyles,” Andromeda hissed, padding barefoot to the front door. She peered through the peephole, and her stomach dropped to somewhere around her ankles.

Detective Testy-and-Tempting stood on her doorstep, irritatingly alert and too good-looking in the late-morning light.

Unlike her, he appeared to have gotten a full night’s sleep, a shower, and a healthy breakfast too.

He wore black jeans and a charcoal button-down that stretched across his broad frame, the top two buttons undone to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin, with a stylish leather jacket thrown over his shoulders.

His midnight hair was tousled, and even through the distorted lens of the peephole, she could see the shadow of stubble outlining his strong jaw.

“I know you’re there,” he called through the door, his voice traveling from Andromeda’s ears to parts of her body that had become over-responsive to him.

“That’s creepy,” she replied, resting her forehead on the cool, cracked wood before turning the lock.

She opened the door, and there he was in full, non-fish-eye-lens glory.

Hex, it was unfair how stunning he was in daylight.

His eyes were even darker than she remembered, deep brown with flecks of gold catching the sunlight.

The stubble she’d glimpsed through the peephole framed his ever-smirking pillow lips. And he smelled great.

And here she was, standing before him in ratty pajamas. Again.

“Morning, Miss Swan.” His gaze traveled from her tangled blonde hair to her bare toes and back up with deliberate, appreciative slowness—like he was admiring fine art rather than a rumpled witch in pajamas.

The slow perusal sent a wave of heat flowing through her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Andromeda folded her arms over her chest, painfully aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra and that the morning air had certain effects on the female anatomy.

His eyes lingered a moment too long below her chin before returning to her face, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that suggested he’d noticed her defensive posture and found it amusing.

That half grin also made a dimple pop on his left cheek, making him instantly more attractive.

Andromeda shoved that thought into a box labeled “Not Today.”

“I’m impressed.” She leaned on the doorframe with forced casualness. “You rang the bell instead of blasting the door off its hinges. Such restraint.”

“Thought you could use a gentler touch this morning.” His voice rasped and scraped like it had teeth and knew where to sink them.

Even the way he’d said “gentler touch” suggested the opposite—he struck her as a man who’d shove her against the wall and hold her there until she stopped pretending not to want it.

She cleared her throat, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “What do you want?” she asked, proud that her voice held steady. “Come to arrest me for something else I didn’t do?”

“Actually…” He slipped his hands into his pockets in a gesture that broadened his already impressive shoulders. “I came to ask for your help.”

Andromeda stared at him. “My help?” she repeated flatly.

“Yes.”

“On what?”

“The tech team finished analyzing the code embedded in Arcanet’s system. But our experts can’t figure out what curse pulled his mind into his computer. It’s sophisticated dark magic that made his body shut down without his consciousness to sustain it.”

“That’s…” Andromeda paused, professional interest temporarily overriding her irritation. “That’s not possible. It’s theoretical magic at best.”

“And yet, we have a dead body and his soul trapped in a server. Our tech analysts are good, but they’re out of their depth.” Detective Malatesta’s dark eyes held hers, all traces of smugness gone. “We need someone more skilled.”

“Someone like me,” Andromeda concluded. “It takes a hacker to catch a hacker killer.”

“Precisely.”

She laughed, the sound short and disbelieving. “Let me get this straight. You break into my home, wrongfully arrest me, accuse me of murder, keep me in that arctic wasteland you call an interrogation room for hours—and now you want me to help you? The absolute gall.”

“If someone has figured out how to digitize consciousness, do you understand what that means? What they could do with that technology?”

“Yeah, I get it,” she snapped. “I’m not an idiot. But I’m also not your personal tech consultant. The answer is no.”

“The department would compensate you for your time, of course.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Your voluntary cooperation might earn you some leniency from the judge handling your hearing.”

“I’ll take my chances with the justice system.”

“Are you sure?” He tilted his head, taking a single step forward. “Judges have bad days. Who knows what might happen in court…”

“Are you threatening me now?”

“Just stating facts. Helping with this investigation would send the right message.”

“Wow. Your people skills are truly remarkable, detective.”

Malatesta sighed, running a hand through his dark hair in a gesture that shouldn’t have been as compelling as it was. “Look, you’re the best person for the job, and a dangerous killer is out there with tech that crosses every ethical line.”

Despite the genuine concern in his voice, Andromeda’s sympathy reserves were running low after last night. “I believe ‘no’ is a complete sentence, Detective Malatesta. Goodbye.”

She started to close the door, but he held up a hand. “Wait.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a business card. “If you change your mind.” He offered it to her.

“I won’t.”

He shrugged, annoyingly confident. “Never say never, Miss Swan.”

He flipped the card between his fingers.

Andromeda took it just to get rid of him, careful not to let their hands touch. The text was simple: Detective Donatello Malatesta, Salem Magical Police Department, followed by a phone number.

He took a step back, giving her a slight bow of his head that was somewhere between courteous and mockingly formal. “Have a good day, Miss Swan.”

“You too, detective,” she replied automatically, hoping she pulled off the same polite disdain.

Malatesta turned to leave, the fit of his jeans making it difficult to look anywhere else but at his backside as he descended the steps of her porch. It was, objectively speaking, a very nice behind—firm and rounded in the right places, the denim molding to it like it had been custom-tailored.

Horrified to realize she was checking out the man who’d unjustly arrested her, she slammed the door, cutting off her view of his posterior. Leaning against the cracked wood, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to slow her racing heart.

“Well, that wasn’t dramatic,” Quill observed from his perch on the side table.

“Shut up, Quill,” she groaned, sliding down the door until she was sitting on the floor, the business card still clutched in her hand.