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you.”

      Beneath the glare of his eyes, exhaustion and pain had left a faint trace. Annie wanted nothing more than to demand he leave, but she couldn’t send out a man who had been so near death.

      My destiny. Was her grandma just being fanciful?

      Annie stood and pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll fix some tea. Something to make sure the fever lessens.”

      He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of tea?”

      â€œA little this, a little that.” Realization struck. “What did you think I’d put in your drink?”

      â€œPoison, perhaps.” He arched a brow. “What do witches brew? Toadstool soup with dragon blood and gator claws?”

      That was rich. The guy practically killed her grandma and then suggested he didn’t trust her? “Don’t forget magic mushrooms and bat whiskers,” she drawled.

      Too bad she didn’t have access to something like truth serum to find out more about his background and intentions. Still, her healing nature couldn’t ignore Tombi’s underlying suffering. And keeping busy was her preferred method for dealing with sorrow and worry.

      In the kitchen, her safe haven, Annie set the iron teakettle on the stove and mixed together a pinch of elderberry, angelica and feverfew for taking out any underlying fever, plus a dash of chamomile for relaxing. Not truth serum, but maybe if Tombi relaxed he would open up more. Couldn’t hurt.

      She reached up on tiptoes for the container of stevia.

      â€œInteresting place.”

      Annie spun around like a ballerina en pointe. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she sputtered. “Sneaking up on me?”

      â€œNo. It’s just my way. The way of most hunters. I came to see if I could help.”

      Annie leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “I think you wanted to keep an eye on me.” She waved a hand around the kitchen. “Go on and look. We’re fresh out of arsenic and eye of newt.”

      Tombi squinted at the jars of dried spices and roots lining the countertops, the basket of pink mojo bags she’d assembled earlier that morning and the bunches of dried herbs hanging above on the ceiling. “Unusual, but nothing overtly suspicious, like a box of rat poison.”

      Was he serious? Annie frowned. “Now, look here, you can’t just—”

      Tombi opened the pantry door, and she drew away from the counter, spine stiffening. “Who said you could go poking about everywhere?” she demanded.

      â€œYou said I could look around.” He stepped in the pantry and ran a finger over the shelves. “Ah, now it’s getting interesting. Graveyard dirt, coffin nails and—” he picked up a sealed jar and turned “—swamp juice?” His nose crinkled at the puke-green cloudiness. “Looks like it could kill someone. Bacterial infection would be a gruesome death.”

      â€œPut it back, and mind your own business.”

      He returned it to the shelf, and Annie poured steaming tea into two mugs. She lifted the silver ball that held the loose ingredients in the teapot and waggled it. “We’re drinking from the same pot. Just so you know.”

      Tombi sank into one of the cane-backed kitchen chairs, and Annie sat across from him at the table. He filled the room with his strong presence, overpowered what was once her peaceful sanctuary. Made it disturbing.

      Exciting.

      Even the air she breathed reeked of masculinity and testosterone—forceful and heady.

      Annie slid the ceramic bowl filled with packets of sugar to the middle of the table. “You’ll want to sweeten up that brew. It’s a bit bitter. If you’d rather use honey, we have some.”

      â€œThis will do.”

      She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at his lean, muscled forearms and large hands as he ripped open a sugar packet and stirred his tea. What would it be like to have his hands touching her all over? A warm flush blossomed on her cheeks, and she gripped her mug with both hands to steady the turmoil Tombi awoke in her body.

      Stop it. He can’t be trusted. So far, he had brought nothing but empty promises and disaster.

      * * *

      Tombi swallowed a mouthful of the astringent tea and struggled to conceal his revulsion. But if it would help strengthen his aching limbs and exhaustion, he’d drink every drop.

      Annie regarded him, lips curled sardonically. “That’s right, my dearie,” she crooned in a crackly, crone voice. “Drink every last drop or the poison is no good.”

      He set the mug down with a bang. “You wouldn’t.” A heartbeat. “Would you?”

      She folded her arms. “What do you think?”

      â€œYou wouldn’t.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sure about me. After all, you might have got my grandma killed today. Things like that tend to piss people off, you know.”

      â€œIt’s highly unusual for Nalusa to attack before nightfall. It’s as if he were lying in wait for me. As if someone had tipped him off.”

      â€œWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?” She jumped up, hands gripping the table with white-knuckled anger. “You think I contacted a...a...snake? I never even heard of Nalusa until yesterday.”

      â€œSo you say.”

      Tombi couldn’t let it go. He’d become a jaded man, not by birth disposition, but because of the deaths and trapped spirits he’d witnessed over the past ten years. He and his tribe tried to release all the ensnared souls, but they kept growing in number. Secretly, he despaired there was no stopping Nalusa’s increasing spread of misery. How was he supposed to trust this girl—this witch who mysteriously appeared in the dead of night in the swamp and claimed to speak to Bo?

      Annie made a disgusted clucking noise and noisily set about tidying the kitchen. “Don’t drink the tea, then. Suffer. Means nothing to me.”

      She dried some silverware and threw it in a drawer, where it clanged. “If anyone’s scared, it should be me.”

      â€œScared? I’m not scared.” For spirit’s sake, he faced creatures of the dark on a daily basis.

      She stared pointedly at his half-filled mug and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

      Tombi lifted it to his lips and took another experimental sip. The liquid had cooled considerably. He raised the mug in a salutatory gesture. “To good health.” He downed the whole mess in four gulps.

      Great Spirits almighty, that was nasty stuff.

      Annie threw the dish towel in the sink and stared at him. “Your skin is starting to get a little pale and clammy,” she noted. “Perspiration’s beading on your forehead. You sure you’re okay? Maybe I poisoned you after all.”

      Tombi lifted his right arm a few inches, then dropped it by his side. He’d almost given her the satisfaction of touching his forehead to check.

      â€œYour jaw is twitching, too.”

      â€œIt tends to do that when I’m annoyed.”

      â€œBetter annoyed than worried sick like I am.” Annie glanced out the kitchen window, and her body slumped, as if the fight and anger had melted from her spine and left her in a pool of misery.

      Damn.

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