Her gaze moved over my face, carefully assessing. She sighed. “At least we’re rooming with a hot bigot,” Van grumbled, but she also dropped her hand.

Van was right—he was hot. Short brown hair, warm brown eyes—at least at first. Then they’d gone hard, his jaw clenched. His face had suddenly been made up of rigid, uncompromising angles. Except his lips. Those had remained almost decadently soft. I bet they’d feel like velvet.

Not that I wanted to find out. Roommates were always a bad idea romantically, but this roommate specifically would be disastrous.

After a few more minutes, Trick called us back in.

Van went first, barreling through the door, clearly on a mission. I was more hesitant, moving slowly, as if he was an animal I didn’t want to spook.

Even leaning against the wall, he was tall, and with his arms crossed, his stance aggressive, he reminded me of a bouncer. My mom really loved the movie Road House and though Declan looked nothing like Patrick Swayze, he was giving off heavy Dalton vibes right now. He looked up, his eyes hitting mine again. Despite the weird emotions in the air, my stomach fluttered.

I didn’t think he was having the same problem. Right now he was staring at me like I was a question and he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.

I gave him a little finger wave and he blinked, the spell broken.

He glanced around the kitchen, frowning, before rubbing two fingers between his eyebrows, probably trying to push away a headache. “You’re both witches, but one of you is an animal mage, aren’t you?”

Witches was the catchall term for anyone gifted with magic—animal mages, arcanists, hedgewitches, we all fell under the same umbrella. Even elementists, so technically, Trick was a witch as well.

I raised my hand.

Van crossed her arms, and she was still scowling but she also kept stealing glances at me. Neither of us could quite grasp what was going on. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Instead of answering, the guy started laughing. I mean, leaning-over, gut-busting laughter. We watched, bemused, as he wiped away actual tears. When he could finally gasp for breath, he said, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Van and I exchanged another the fuck moment. What the hell was going on? The concern on her face mirrored mine when we looked over at Trick.

Trick had gone completely sheet white. “Oh, Dec. I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m an asshole. I didn’t even think—”

Declan shook his head, shoving the apology away.

Van’s glare had become speculative. She looked at me. Why is Trick apologizing to the hot bigot?

I shrugged. I don’t know, but I do know Trick, and we’re missing something here.

Trick picked up one of the guy’s bags. “I’ll show you your room—”

He shook his head, snatching his bag back. “I’ll find it. They’re going to have questions.” Then he headed unerringly back toward the open room.

Van pointed at his retreating form. “How did he know where his room was?”