“I can walk now. I’m not too dizzy.”

Another grunt. The stairs came two at a time. He put her down next to her small bed, not much bigger than a child’s first bed. He stared at it and left the room. He’d spotted the bathroom before he put her on her bed. He found what he wanted and stalked back to the bedroom.

She’d popped off the bed and was at the door.

“Get back on the bed.” He grunted.

“I’m just going to get cleaned up.” Emma tried to squeeze by him.

“What do you think I was doing, Emma? I clean up the messes I make.”

She looked up at him and squinted. “That’s really nice, sweet even, but I’ll be back.” The bathroom door closed behind her.

Flint looked at the cloth and towel in his hand. When the hell had he become nice? Sweet? He turned to go back down the stairs but stopped. Emma didn’t deserve him ditching her. Even if the human in him wanted to go, the wolf was ready to tear out his insides to make him stau. The shower was running, and he turned the handle. Locked. She’d locked the flimsy door!

He could hear the water cascading over her skin. Right, he wasn’t going anywhere tonight, but even with extreme cuddling, they weren’t going to fit on her bed together. He ducked his head into the second bedroom. A desk that matched the one Reagan had in elementary school sat under the window, a small futon flat on the floor. Right, well, he wasn’t going to sleep in here. His wolf stood up and bared its teeth at him. Nope. He slung the light thing over his shoulder and put it on the floor next to Emma’s bed. He found a blanket folded on the chest at the end of the bed and lay down. He considered shifting but decided against it. Although, the longer he thought about it, the more he wanted to. If anyone came after Emma, he’d be able to protect her in fur better. He snagged a pillow from the bed as the shower turned off. Emma came in, her hair dry.

“I thought you might have left.” She cocked her head at him. Fuck, he’d hurt her before, back in his cabin. He wanted to kick himself.

“No.” Did she want him to leave? Too bad. He was now the staying kind of asshole, and if her bed were bigger than a bread box, he would have had her snuggling up against him.

“Oh, right.” She opened a drawer and wiggled panties on under her robe. The waning moon greeted her skin through the window. Her legs shimmered. When she turned around and hung the robe on the back of the bedroom door, she had on a different T-shirt and pajama shorts. He started thinking about all the different shirts of his that he’d like to see her in. Where they would fall on her legs. Would he be able to see the mole on her left breast through the neck hole of his charity firefighter golf day shirt? He pictured it on his dresser, where he’d seen it before he tried to go to sleep. One of his sisters had done his laundry, changed his sheets, and left clean stacks of clothes wobbling on the top of his oak bureau.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, she was wearing his T-shirt and her pajama shorts were gone. He tossed the blanket in the air and backed up against her window. “I . . . I . . .” He didn’t know what he was. Flint’s mouth hung open. He’d never used his magic before. Not once in the three years he’d had it. Ever.

Emma lifted his T-shirt and her panties were gone. “Flint Larsen, you’d better be able to call back my underwear. They’re my favorite. I don’t care about the pajamas; I bought them at Tarmart on clearance last fall.” She gritted her teeth at him.

“I don’t . . .” He shook his head. His stomach hurt, and he never felt this way. Cool, calm, and in charge. His job demanded it. That was why he didn’t like the magic. He wasn’t in charge—it ruled those who used it. It owned him. With the endless emptying of power into his power orbs. No.

“Shit. You weren’t joking before?” she said.

“No.”

“All right. It’s not that hard. Like I said, I don’t care about the pajamas. But . . .” She chewed on the side of her lip. “You’ve never seen the underwear, so it will be hard to call them back. Focus on the pajamas and add underwear back with it. They should come back too. Maybe.”

His back against the wall, he shook his head. “You do it.”

“Flint, I can’t. It’s your spell. You have to fix it.” She put her hand on her hip, and the white T-shirt rode up her thighs.

He cocked his head.

“Listen here, mister. You get them back right now.” She poked him in the chest.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He leaned toward her.

“I don’t want new ones. Well, that’s a lie. But I want those back. I bought them with my own money, and they were expensive. Frivolous, really, a symbol of new Emma, independent Emma, and I want them back.” She sucked in her breath and looked down at the writing on the T-shirt. “You play golf. I mean, I assume this is your shirt.”

“Yes, it’s my shirt. And no, I don’t play golf. But I volunteered at the medic tent, and they gave me a shirt. The back says ‘staff.’”

“Of course.” She pursed up her lips. “Your first spell, and you use it to fetch a free shirt from your cabin.”

Flint’s back was pressed against the wall by the window, but he took a step toward her. “Emma . . .” He had zero intent of using his powers to call back her underwear or pajamas. He wasn’t going to use his powers to do anything.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can see you thinking, Flint Larsen. You’re thinking I’m not going to make you do it. Well, you have another think coming because you sure as heck are. You might not want to use magic and whatever. My bestie, Shiori, was like that for a long time. It obsessed her, but she got the hell over it. I want my underwear, and I want it now.” Her fists were tight at her waist.

Flint opened the top drawer of the bureau next to him, reached in, grabbed the first thing he felt, and tossed it at her.

She caught it. “You know that’s not what I meant. Not anywhere near what I meant.” She frowned at the fabric in her hand but turned her back to him and slid them on. A scrap of red flashed at him from under the white T-shirt.

“I don’t know how to get them back, Emma.” He ran his hand over his beard.

“I can teach you to keep from using your magic by mistake. If you’re not draining your powers daily, things like this are going to happen.”

Flint took a step toward her. He’d had lots of witches offer to teach him about his powers. His mother, his aunt, even the alpha’s new wife and her crazy best friend. They all wanted to change him. Make him into a witch. What she was offering was different. It was about him controlling the affliction he had, not trying to become the disease itself.

Okay. The word stuck in his throat. “Okay.”

“Really?” She jumped up and down and stumbled forward onto the mattress he’d dragged into the room. She launched herself into his arms. Flying across the room, she landed against his chest with a thud. “Oof.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist and held her up. He doubted his decision already, but he didn’t go back on his word.

Her blue eyes batted up at him. “Okay, let’s give it a try.”

“What, now? I think you need some rest.”

She ran her hand down his chest. “I’m not tired. And you know what would make me feel all better?”

His hand lifted the bottom edge of the offending T-shirt. He caressed her lush bottom. He peered over her shoulder at the red underwear, which were hot. “What?” Moving his chin down past her ear, he kissed her neck.

“Your first lesson is going to be . . .”

“. . . getting your things back.”

“Nope you’re right, that’s too much. You might end up flinging something else out of whack.” Emma stepped out of his arms and glanced around the room. She touched her index finger to her lips. “Hmm, let’s see. All right, I have it. See my little jade elephant next to my bed?” She reached for Flint’s clenched fists. “Open your palms.”

He scowled at his hands but did as she asked.

“I want you to focus on the statue and think about it in your hand.”

“Close my eyes?” He had four siblings. He didn’t close his eyes and put his hand out for anyone.

“It will help you visualize. Geez, Flint, have a little faith.”

“I have faith but not a lot of trust.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious. Come on, you can do it.” Her eyes shimmered in the dim light of the room. She had piled her hair on top of her head, and it bounced as she talked. Like the actress Wendy Smart in that dragon shifter movie, Dragon Days of Summer. He’d gone to see it with Tad and Reagan in New York when Tad and his new mate were on vacation. Tad had taken them to a fancy theater in Little China.

“Fine.”