“I’m so sorry about this,” she said, huffing out as she thwacked the broom against the wall. “The cottage can be a little grumpy sometimes, a little shy when it comes to newcomers.”
Draven just sighed heavily, attempting to yank his coat again.
“Now you let Mr. Darkstone in,” Mama said. “Or we won’t clean that filthy tub upstairs. Or your windows.”
The cottage rumbled in response, and the door swung open, releasing Draven.
Mama swiped her arm over her brow, her shoulders slumping in relief.
Draven stepped forward and adjusted his coat. Mama rushed to him and set the broom against the wall. “Let me get that for you!”
She grabbed his coat and yanked it off his shoulders. He had to bend to accommodate her short frame. “It’s stuck. Ooh, quite big muscles.” She patted his biceps.
He cleared his throat, and once again, I had to clamp my mouth shut to keep from laughing at the uncomfortable look on his face.
“This really isn’t necessary,” he said stiffly.
Adelaide watched in horror while Prue looked on, unimpressed. Auggie was bent over laughing.
“Just a little more.” Mama grunted and finally yanked his coat off of him, then looked around, frowning. Probably because there was nowhere to put it. She smiled brightly and marched over to the couch, throwing the coat over the back of it.
I tried not to stare at the white shirt he wore, the way it wrapped tight around his muscles, the way it was unbuttoned just enough so I could see his hard chest, remember the way my hands had been pressed against it when he’d tackled me in his tavern.
“You’re staring,” Adelaide said out of the side of her mouth.
I jolted, looking away as Draven’s gaze swept around the little room. He was probably judging us. The cottage still had dust everywhere. We’d managed to clean all the countertops, the table, the couch, and the floor, but grime still coated the windows and dust covered the sconces on the wall, as well as the rusted cauldron, which we’d managed to drag out of the hearth.
“Is Elm here?” Draven asked, a crease forming between his brows.
Right then, a parchment with wings burst into our cottage, flying to the middle of the room. Mama jumped to catch it, then unfolded the parchment, reading.
“Oh. It appears Mr. Kingsley has fallen ill.”
I watched Adelaide for any signs of disappointment, but her face remained neutral.
Draven’s face lost color. “In that case, I should really go?—”
“Don’t be silly. You walked all this way. You have to stay and play at least one round.”
He swallowed, looking immensely uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot, it made me smile.
“Unless you’re not up for a little competition?” I winced, wondering why I’d just said that.
His searing gaze landed on me. “No.” His eyes didn’t leave my face. “I’m happy to stay.”
“Perfect!” Mama said. “Then let the games begin!”
Fifteen
DRAVEN
Fucking fuck. I was going to kill Elm the next time I saw him. The only reason I’d come to this damn thing was because he’d roped me into it, and now I was stuck here without him.
But when Elspeth had implied I couldn’t handle the competition, that I was afraid of losing to her—I couldn’t walk away.
So here I was, watching Thea Moonflower open up a simple wooden box, everyone else bracing their legs like they were ready to run.
My gaze shifted back and forth. “What’s going on?”
