She’d learned how to pull threads of her power and perform tasks with them, like lighting candles and producing puffs of fire. She could do everything Stefan could do, but she knew all too well he outmatched her in the power and experience department.

She stroked Grosset’s head. “I would need a lifetime to get used to the idea that magick and witches are real.”

Stefan shifted in his seat. “I find that hard to believe considering your younger years. You must have had some clue.”

“The only clue I had was the one that told me my mother was insane,” she snapped.

“You never once entertained the notion that all those times your mother called you a witch she might be telling the truth?”

Sarafina tipped her head to the side. “What the hell is wrong with you? Of course not.”

Stefan’s faint smile faded. He leaned forward. “Most witches worth a damn can feel it somewhere deep inside.”

She flinched. How could it be that the comment actually hurt? She didn’t care about being a witch “worth a damn,” did she? At this point she barely believed she hadn’t gone insane herself.

Irritation swept through her. “Look, you told me what I need to know, showed me beyond a shadow of a doubt my true nature, now it’s time for me to go. I have a life, you know? I have a job I need to get back to, bills to pay, friends who—”

“You’re not cut out for data entry, Sarafina.” He shook his head. “Fire witches don’t work in cubicles or fetch coffee for their bosses. Stay here with us so that we can show you your true potential, so you can harness your birthright and get all that is due you.”

Due her? Apparently, she lacked the sense of entitlement that this man had decided she should have.

Sarafina looked down at Grosset. “Look, I’m grateful that you”—her mouth snapped shut as she searched for the right wording—“unlocked this unexpected part of me, but I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t think the world owes me anything, either. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you-all.” She would, of course, but it was no help telling him that. Holding Grosset close to her chest, she stood. “I really am leaving now.”

Stefan stood, his handsome, pleasant face overcome with storm clouds. “You’re not going anywhere. You do owe us, Sarafina. Don’t make us do this the hard way.”

Yeah, she’d been afraid he’d say something like that.

Her anger flared. In response, that seed of hot magick buried in the center of her chest pulsed with newfound power. Sarafina knew Stefan was a fire witch, one far more skilled than she was at wielding the element as a weapon. Newly born, so to speak, she had no chance against him.