The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Page count: 14

"I'm hungry," Hermione announced as they drove back to the motel after finishing up their first day at the school.

Dean snorted. "When are you not hungry?"

"When someone is actively feeding me," she replied primly.

He rolled his eyes. "Right. When we get back, we'll change and walk to the diner. Sammy can take the car to school for his late shift."

She nodded—and her whole face lit up when they pulled into the motel parking space, as if food had just materialised in front of her.

Sam was already in his coveralls when they entered his room. "How was the day?"

"Not bad," Hermione shrugged, dropping her coat on a chair and kicking off her heels. "Didn't learn anything useful. You?"

Sam shook his head and gestured at the table. "Everything I found is there." He snagged the Impala keys from Dean. "See you later."

When the door shut, Hermione flopped face-first onto the nearest bed with a sigh of absolute bliss.

Dean stared at her. Heat. Obsession. Hunger. All of it was in his eyes.

She lifted her head. "What?"

"Are you sure I can't charm that skirt off you?" he asked, voice low and sinful.

Hermione laughed. "No. But if you feed me, your chances will improve."

She stood, scooping up her heels and coat. "I'm going to change. Ten minutes."

And then she simply vanished with a crack of Apparition.

Dean muttered, "Show-off," under his breath.

Hermione reappeared in her room, stripped in seconds, cleaned up with a spell, and redressed: black heeled ankle boots, black skinny jeans, a white spaghetti-strap top, and a cropped leather jacket. Hair still in a ponytail. Glasses off. Bag in hand.

Crack.

She was back in Dean's room just as he finished pulling on his jeans, boots, black T-shirt, and jacket.

Dean turned—and froze.

His eyes darkened. Hungry. Possessive. Dangerous.

Hermione frowned, glancing down. "What? Should I change?"

She looked up—and Dean was already in front of her, hands gripping her hips, pulling her against him as he claimed her mouth. His tongue slid against hers, desperate and hot. Her fingers fisted in his jacket, dragging him closer—

She abruptly shoved him back.

Dean blinked, utterly betrayed. "What the hell?"

"I'm hungry," she said sternly.

"So am I," he shot back pointedly, eyes dropping down her body.

"You promised me food," she reminded him.

Dean groaned, swore under his breath, and dragged a hand down his face. "Fine. Dinner first."

She grabbed the stack of research papers from the table, and together they stepped out. Hermione flicked her wand, locking the door behind them.

Dean grumbled the whole way down the walkway.

Hermione smirked the whole way down the walkway.

They were, in a word, ridiculous.

~000~000~000~

They ditched the diner entirely and kept walking, hunting for a place that served real food and—more importantly—alcohol. Even if it was early. A few blocks later, they found a bar lit by flickering neon and the vague smell of bad decisions.