The Lying, the Witch, and the Werewolf (Down & Dirty Supernatural Cleaning Services Book 4) Kate Quinn (read this if txt) 📖

guy at all, but weirdly, I do trust him. There’s something about his soft voice and little curled horns that make me want to curl up with him and get warm. And by that I mean, like take a nap and cuddle…the way I did with Liam.

“Shit,” I say again, moving my eyes toward the ceiling, as if defying gravity will make the tears not fall. Seamus takes a step toward me, but I move back. For all I know wanting to get warm and take a nap is some kind of weird satyr magic.

Seamus puts both his hands up to let me know he’s not a threat, then sits on my cot. “I’m sorry that you’re so upset, Paige,” he says. “But also, I’m sorry that I couldn’t help but eavesdrop a little at dinner. You told Seraphina that a broken heart is what brought you here. It just so happens that I have a little something that might be able to help with that.”

“I swear to god, if you think you’re going to heal me with your dick, I’ll shove that broom up your ass!”

And then he’ll probably shoot sky-high to the moon, propelled by my rage as he’s anally transported off the planet. But he doesn’t need to know that part.

“No, Paige, listen.” His hands are up again, but this time they’re going to a charm hanging around his neck. “It is magic, but it’s definitely not dick magic.”

“Okay…” I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Satyrs don’t have any special gifts as far as being supes go,” he tells me. “We are mostly just known for drinking, fighting, and fucking.”

“So you’re like the frat boys of the supe world?” I ask.

“Kind of,” he agrees. “But I had a lover once, a young witch, who made me this special pendant.” He holds it on his palm so I can get a better look. It’s a complicated bit of scrollwork, but nothing that looks like precious metal.

“What does it do?” I ask.

“It allows me to shift,” he says, “but not in the way a traditional shifter would, physically altering their bodies. Instead, it casts a glamour over me, making beholders believe that I appear a certain way.”

“Okay,” I say, suddenly leery again. “Does that mean you go around pretending to be a movie star and getting into girls’ panties?”

Seamus looks shocked for a moment, like it had never occurred to him—and maybe it hadn’t. He does seem like a very straight shooter.

“No, not at all,” he shakes his head. “What I’m trying to say to you is, if you have any unresolved issues with someone, I can take on his physicality and you can say anything you need to say to him.”

“That’s nice and all,” I tell Seamus, “but I don’t have a picture of him, or anything.”

“Well,” Seamus says, coming to his feet. “There is one thing that satyrs are good at.” He reaches one hand toward me, and I take it, tentatively.

“We are highly empathetic,” he says. “Just close your eyes, and concentrate on his face. Let me do the rest.”

I hesitate a moment longer, but the idea of seeing Liam again...even if it’s not really him, is more temptation than I can withstand. I gotta admit, it also helps that this Seamus the satyr’s gentle spirit reminds me a lot of Liam. I think the two of them would’ve really hit it off.

So I do it. I close my eyes and think of Liam and the planes of his face.

The way his eyes would crinkle when he smiled, and how he never could get his hair to fall just quite the right way across his brow. Then I move past his face to something deeper; the sound of his voice, the light tripping of his British accent, and the special sparkle in his eye when he teased me.

Then I open my eyes, and Seamus is no longer the man in front of me, holding my hand.

It’s Liam.

I sit frozen as my heart stutters inside my chest as if all my emotions have mashed together and none of them can quite get out. But then one breaks free.

Joy.

“Liam!” I cry out, tears filling my eyes. I ignore the little voice reminding me it isn’t him, and that little voice is silenced when Liam responds in his familiar British accent…

“Paige.”

I bring a hand to his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want to be a vamp, but I couldn’t just let you die—”

“We don’t have to talk of that,” he interrupts.

“Yes we do!” I counter, more heated than I intended. But c’mon, man. It’s the elephant in the room; we can’t just sit here and talk about the good times without acknowledging how it all ended. “We had that lovely date in the park and…” I sniffle a little remembering it.

Liam smiles sadly too. “It was the best night of my life.”

“I—”

Biting my lip, I realize that I can’t say the same.

It was a good night, a great one even. But the best? I’d sort of forgotten that after our date Liam wanted me to meet his mom. That’s when I realized we were not at the same place in our relationship. It’s like we were doing the hokey pokey together and I was at the part where you put your left leg in, while he was at the put your whole self in portion of the song. Sure, we still managed to shake it all about—and it was really good too—but not ‘I’m ready to meet your mom’ good.

It occurs to me that maybe my fear of starting a new relationship has less to do with me worrying that VSK will hurt them and more that I will. Maybe after what happened with Jax and my parents disappearing, I’m just too broken to love someone with all my heart.

That’s a depressing thought.

Almost as depressing as coming to a sex cult and using the first guy who comes to my yurt for therapy.