Ivy stilled, her gaze darting to his profile. The tang of fear mingled with her natural scent, and her cheeks flushed. The corner of Silas’ mouth twitched. His little witchling had more bite than bark it seemed. Reaching up, he twirled the soft end of one of her curls around his fingertip. “Ivy,” he purred, coaxing her to speak. “Alright, yes, fine,” she blurted, whirling to face him so fast she splashed water on her sleeves. “I’m a Bane Worker. That’s my business—the one I moved into this place to save money for. I cast hexes for clients.” The dark, Infernal pride that arose in his chest
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