Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) Read Online Free Page B

picture of that redheaded witch Seraphine flashed into his head like a neon sign inviting entry—of a carnal kind.
    Not happening. Not going there.
    He’d made mistakes in the past. He’d learned from them. Hell, he’d even made that particular monster fuckup.
    He didn’t need the refresher course. And he sure wasn’t going to repeat the lesson with Seraphine, no matter how his dick had gone from limp to raging hard-on the instant he’d met her. Christ, he could have hit a baseball out of the park with the wood he’d sported that day.
    Just thinking about it was enough to have half the blood in his body heading south. He was screwed.
    He sent a glower in the direction of the ring Aislinn had given him as a birthday present, one he still cherished despite Storm’s winding him up with the supernatural shit. The green glinted in the light, and yeah, what Trace and Aislinn had was the real thing, but he didn’t believe in heartmates or destiny.
    Dylan hit the light switch. The bullpen was empty, not that it would have mattered if any of the other homicide cops were in. He’d still be heading out alone.
    Conner, back from vacation and now shacked up with a fulltime woman he planned to marry.
    Brady joined at the hip to a psychic, for fuck’s sake, one who read tarot cards and runes.
    Miguel, gone from the bar scene—out of his mind in love with some woman he’d met only a few days ago when she’d shown up at the cookout over at Conner’s place. Not exactly a surprise when it came to Miguel. Poor fucker hadn’t made it a secret he wanted to be a married man. Conner had it right when he said his partner was carrying around a ball and chain, hot to engrave some woman’s name on it before shackling it to his dick.
    Jesus.
    And Storm—not that they’d ever been drinking buddies—out of the blue coming into work after they’d wrapped up the Anita Vorhaus, VanDenbergh Senior and Senator Harper murder cases and announcing she was married to a university professor.
    There was something hinky about that situation, though he hadn’t figured it out yet. Hell, there was something completely wrong with the picture when it came to the homicide squad. Its members were like a row of dominos lined up and toppled—all except him.
    “Resistance is futile,” Trace said out of nowhere, the downside of working with a partner so long, they got in your head.
    “You quoting from Star Trek now?”
    “Just saying. Call Seraphine.”
    And the heat that charged down to his dick said, Yes! Yes! Yes!
    “Fuck no. Just because you’re happily married doesn’t mean all of us lean in that direction.”
    But Jesus, sometimes when he saw Trace and Aislinn together, he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have what they had. And it didn’t even matter she owned a freaking shop selling tarot cards and crystals and runes and the kind of shit people who believed in that stuff went for.
    They hit a turn into the homestretch toward the exit. An evidence room clerk coming from a different hallway emerged, stumbled, nearly collided with Trace.
    “Surprised to see you’re still here, Katcher,” Trace said.
    Dylan shook his head when Katcher turned beet red, like Trace was accusing him of being a nerd instead of a hard worker.
    “Ugh…vacation,” Katcher mumbled. “Making sure everything’s good. Taking two weeks off.”
    They pushed through the back exit and Katcher scurried off. Guy probably had married pussy waiting for him at home too.
    Dylan threw the notion off. What did he care?
    He ruthlessly squashed the lingering sense of aloneness that came with thoughts of the welcome Trace had coming. The cure was a few miles and few beers away. “See you tomorrow.”
    He peeled off, going to his car and the cop bar that had been a favorite hangout since his rookie days. Something passing for music blared from the stage as he walked in. A look at the band and he thought at least one of the members must be some cop’s kid,