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“I’m not telling you that. You have no guard. What you know can be plucked from your head. Someplace safe. That’s all I’m willing to say.” He motions over his shoulder. “Take my bed. I’ve got the couch. Rest. You’ll be glad you did.”

“You’re the Overseer, the king in this place. You take your bed.”

“That would be so very arrogant of me, don’t you think?”

My cheeks heat. “You are arrogant.”

“Confident. And it takes confidence to stay alive in our world.”

“Take your bed,” I press.

“Not happening, sweetheart. Go rest.”

“Sweetheart” from him is not the “sweetheart” of a best friend teasing me or opposing counsel talking down to me. Or the grocery clerks in Texas who seem to love it as much as they do sweet tea. This “sweetheart” is from a man I’ve been pressed so close to I’ve felt almost every inch of him. This is “sweetheart” from a man telling me to sleep in his bed while I occupy his apartment. I want him and hate him and just so many things.

But then he ruins my female fascination by eyeing the book I was reading and picks it up, glancing at the page open to the spellcast I just attempted and then at me. “Magic is dangerous when practiced without training and guidance.”

“You left me the book.”

“And told you to read it, not conjure a damn demon.”

“The spellcast was to conjure my familiar. Again, a familiar is not a snake. And considering he bound your powers, I think you should be concerned that I’m not the only one with a serpent hanging around inside me.” With that, I walk away and enter his room, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Once I’m facing forward, staring at his gigantic bed with the towering posts, the centerpiece of his domain, I wonder how many nights Celine has spent here and curse myself for going down that highly personal path. It’s not my business. I do not care, I tell myself firmly, but I do care. I don’t want to get in between her and Micah, and yet, from the moment I met Micah, there was a spark and a tug, as fierce as an ocean current. There’s something happening between us, me and Micah. You and I, we’re alike, he’d said. I don’t even know what that means at this point, but there’s truth in that statement that reaches beyond the color of our eyes.

With a few short steps, I’m sitting on his bed, the scent of him misting the air around me. This is his domain. I am but a visitor, conceivably a prisoner, but I don’t fear Micah. I fall back on the mattress and stare at the ceiling. I don’t fear him because of what I feel in him. That’s what he’s been telling me. A Crystal Seer can feel the motives of another Crystal Seer. And that connection I feel to him must be about me waking up my senses and recognizing him as being a likeness of myself.

Either way, this is no fable. It’s real life, and I have to learn to fight, really fight, and protect myself. That requires rest, which I haven’t had in far too long. I shut my eyes and will myself to sleep, but the minute the darkness consumes me, the darkness is him—the serpent.

Jeremy.

I jolt to a sitting position, stand up, and march to the door, opening it and heading straight for the couch where Micah is lying down. I tiptoe to the edge to lean over and spy him on his back, eyes shut. I sit down on the floor beside him, just beyond where his head rests, curling my knees to my chest.

“Why are you not sleeping?” Micah asks without moving, his deep voice vibrating through the quiet of the room.

“Every time I close my eyes, he’s there. He won’t go away.” I laugh a humorless laugh. “So much for me slaying werewolves, demons, and monsters, right? I can’t even sleep alone.”

He throws his legs over the side of the couch and stands up, stepping in front of me and offering me his hand. Craving the calm he creates in me, I don’t even consider where this might lead, eagerly pressing my palm to his. It’s as if silk strokes the sandpaper of my nerve endings, a colorful rainbow of calm overtaking me. He guides me to my feet and then motions to the couch. “Let’s trade spots.”

“I can’t put you on the floor, Your Overlord Grace.”

He smirks and corrects, “Your Overseer Grace. And lucky for you, my graceful ass can sleep anywhere in any position. I’ve had lots of practice. Lie down.”

He’s arrogant but quite gentlemanly. After all, the man did kill a few dozen demons for me. I claim the couch, stretching out with my back to the cushion, my eyes on the room. Micah lowers himself to the floor where I’d been moments before and tilts his head to rest it on the arm of the couch. “That’s not very comfortable for you to sleep.”

He glances up at me. “It’s a perfect bodyguard position. I got you. Go to sleep.”

He’s got me.

It’s a calming idea in the moment, but it’s a notion riddled with cuts and holes. Deep inside, I recognize the need to fight and become my own hero. “I believe you,” I say. “A Crystal Seer can sense the intent of another Crystal Seer.”

“Exactly.”

“You healed my hand.”

“I did,” he confirms, “and before you ask me how, you already know the answer.”

“Magic. Magic is always the answer.”