His Witch To Keep (Keepers of the Veil) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Serenity’s house.
    The house’s craftsmanship and architecture suggested early nineteenth century Western European, but the appliances were modern. The flat-panel TV in the other room confirmed no time travel. Just another world, like good Superman versus alternate universe Superman? A dimension? He’d read about it in the OLM archives but barely believed it possible.
    Everything around him was well maintained and clean. The decor didn’t equate with what he knew of Serenity. He flicked a crocheted doily ornamenting the side table, which sat beneath a copper-foil stained-glass lamp. She never seemed particularly frilly. Efficient, streamlined, and high quality, yes. The ornate fixtures and lavish oil paintings, no.
    The aroma of food drew him from his musings. He pulled the edges of his shirt together and stood. Only the top button remained from where Lebedev had ripped it open.
    He made it to the bathroom, used the loo, and then stared at himself in the mirror. The Russians had slammed his face numerous times, but not a single bruise remained. Not even a healing laceration where he’d been sliced. He picked at a small crust of blood above his eyebrow. The hand towels were missing in here. She must’ve cleaned him up.
    She kept her back to him when he entered the kitchen, but the stiffening of her spine alerted him she knew he’d arrived. She poured batter into an iron waffle maker. He admired the delicate line of her neck to the spaghetti strap top and downward to the silky PJ pants.
    She pivoted. Her eyebrows shot upward. Her eyes scanned down his body. “Are you…okay?”
    “Better than I expected.”
    Her cheeks colored as she quickly turned back to the waffle maker. He should demand she return them to his dimension now, but she’d healed him, cleaned him up, and now cooked. That intrigued him.
    “Let’s have breakfast. You can go into the sunroom. I’ll be there in a minute.” She pointed at a doorway that led into a glassed-in room. She plopped a finished waffle onto a plate with several others. Although she turned toward him, she didn’t meet his gaze. “Go.”
    He wanted to ask what she’d done to him but noticed her hands trembled, even if her voice was even. Whatever happened had shaken her, whether it was how she’d found him or what happened after.
    Her gaze met his, and her chin notched up with a defiance that had every inch of his body rock hard. He moved toward the glassed-in room, lit by the red hues of dusk.
    She set the plate of waffles on a round table, disappeared into the kitchen, and brought back a plate with silverware and a cup of orange juice for him. She slid a waffle onto the plate and set it in front of him. Without smiling she nudged the butter toward him. “They have the best butter here. There’s this woman up the road that makes her own.”
    He sipped orange juice and then buttered. Waffles? No one had cooked for him since…maybe ever. No one had done anything remotely caring for him since his mother died when he was thirteen, not that she’d cooked much. Making toast had been a miracle for her. Technically, Serenity hadn’t cooked for him. But she was sharing.
    “If you’re doing this, then you must experience the full package.” She reached across and dribbled a bit of syrup on his waffle. Her secret smile sent a spike of lust through his gut. Was she weaving some sort of magic spell?
    He cut off a small piece of waffle. When it touched his tongue, his taste buds exploded. A groan of bliss escaped. His cheeks heated. “These are good. Thank you.”
    Silence rested between them while they ate and watched the sun set across a seascape he’d only seen on postcards. Given the rocky coastline, he guessed this to be Scotland or Ireland. Hues of orange and yellow reflected off the ocean and rocks. While he sipped juice, birds skimmed the water in the waning light. The place might be beautiful and relaxing, but his mind churned.
    “Did you plant bogus information on me