Beatrice’s POV.

“I’m here under duress,” Lucas stands in the hallway outside my apartment with arms the size of tree limbs crossed over his chest and a frown.

“Do you think I want to spend my Saturday shopping?”

I lock my apartment and adjust my purse on my shoulder. It’s one of the habits I adopted to blend in with humans. Witches don’t carry purses. We have pockets and magic to make them hold anything we might need. ...