Chapter Four

Chief Troll of Trollery Trolls

MILA

At the Inquisitor’s words, Mila’s brain struggled between the urgency of performing two tasks at the same time: covering herself versus gathering enough magic to turn the annoyingly handsome, tall man holding her captive in his muscular arms into a toad.

Against any logic, Mila tried to gather what little magic she still had access to. A feeble attempt since her fingertips barely sparkled before sputtering down like an engine with no fuel. No magic flowed through her. The familiar sensation of power gathering within her core was absent. She was truly and completely drained.

The attempt, however, didn’t escape her captor’s hard black stare. “I said not to try anything.”

He unceremoniously dropped her to her feet. Unfortunately, the shift in position added insult to injury seeing how now she found herself with her naked back pressed against his very hard front while he, keeping her in place with a firm hand on her shoulder, reached past her to pull her bathrobe off its hook on the wall.

The indignity of the pose at least was short-lived as the magical law enforcer draped the fluffy pink robe over her shoulders, purposely shoved her arms into the sleeves, and then took a petulant step back.

Mila had barely had time to register the fact that she was dressed, that he was already restraining her with iron shackles—their closing click alerted her to their presence around her wrists.

Chief Asshole Riley King now looked down at her from his six feet whatever million inches with an air of contempt and, pointing at the gaping robe, said, “You can close that up now.”

Mila seethed with suppressed fury, but still thought it more practical to cover herself up—save what little decorum she had left. Only when she tried to knot her belt, the handcuffs made the job impossible.

Even more frustrated, she lifted her arms and gave her wrists a shake for more emphasis. “It’s a little hard with these things around my wrists.”

Mr. Chief Enforcer stepped forward and grabbed the lapels of Mila’s robe, pulling them together whilst never dropping his gaze from hers. His eyes were as black as a moonless night. He had straight black hair that fell over his forehead in a sexy curtain, a pronounced jaw, and sharp cheekbones that could probably cut through moonstone. While his lips were just the opposite, full and sensual, they looked just the right amount of soft, pillowy perfection.

Mila tried to maintain a look of sheer contempt as he gathered the robe belt in his hands and neatly tied it over her waist, but the weirdest warmth started spreading all over her body, making her more surprised than angry. If the tingling in her body wasn’t magic, it sure was something similar.

Mr. Big Cop seemed equally stunned because he secured her belt in place with a tug and took a sharp step back, drawing in a gasp of air.

Mila stood lost in his dark gaze for a few more heartbeats before the enormity of the situation came crashing down on her and more practical problems took precedence over ogling the model of dark virility in front of her. “Why am I being arrested?”

The question seemed enough to shock him into acting like a mean goblin again. Instead of answering her, he started reciting her rights. “Miss Bennet, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of magical law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, representation will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you still wish to speak to me?”

“If it’s not to turn you into a green slimy toad, no, I do not wish to speak to you.”

“Very well, we can go then.”

“Go where?”

“DMJ headquarters.”

He gently grabbed her by the elbow and made to pull her out of the bathroom, but Mila shrugged him off. “Do you seriously mean to drag me to the Department of Magical Justice while I’m only wearing a robe?”

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

“It’s winter. I’m going to freeze if you make me walk outside in a robe with wet hair.”

Riley snapped his fingers, and a blanket of warm air wrapped itself around Mila. She resented the sensation, mostly because of how pleasurable it felt. With another snap of his fingers, her hair had dried off, cascading down to her waist in soft russet-brown waves.

“All right now?”

Mila pouted. “I’d still prefer to put on some actual clothes.”

“Sorry, Miss Bennet, but you’ve already proved unreliable and I can’t risk for me or any of my officers to be turned into toads. So, if it’ll please you.” He gestured to the open bathroom door.

Resigned, Mila slid her feet into the feathery flamingo slippers she wore around the house and allowed the Chief Troll of Trollery Trolls to lead her out. Mercifully, the night was dark and none of her neighbors were out to witness her humiliation. Not that Mr. Big Cop here wouldn’t have put a protective glamour on her and his agents to avoid detection by humans. Even so, Mila preferred not to be seen by anyone, even if they’d been preemptively obliviated.

As they stepped out onto the porch, Mila couldn’t help but notice how Riley towered over her, his broad shoulders taking up most of the space. Or how nicely his long-sleeved black shirt clung to his muscular chest and shoulders under the stunner-proof jacket.

Why did this man have to be so good-looking and imposing? And wasn’t he cold, parading around in the dead of winter in just a tactical shirt and a sleeveless spell-proof jacket that only covered his chest? Maybe he’d put a warming spell on himself as well.

Mila felt a twinge of annoyance at how his towering, fit, gun-striped figure made her feel small and vulnerable. But she pushed the unwanted emotions aside and instead concentrated on finding a way to get herself out of this pickle.

But first, she was distracted by the missing broomstick on her porch.

She looked around, a frown creasing her forehead. “Where’s my broomstick?”

“In impound,” Riley replied shortly.

“What? You can’t do that!”

“I can, and I just did.”

“On what grounds?”

“Security reasons.”

“How am I supposed to get around?”

“If you’re found guilty, means of transportation will be the least of your problems.”

Mila gritted her teeth. “This is ridiculous. I demand to know what I’m being charged with.”

Riley King didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he led her down the deserted street, his grip on her elbow tight and unyielding. As they walked, the muscles in his arm flexed beneath his shirt sleeve. She glanced away, feeling a flush creep up her neck. Gargoyles, she was pathetic. He was arresting her, being a troll to her, and she couldn’t stop getting obsessed with a few ripped muscles. Biceps weren’t so special. Plenty of guys had well-defined arms…

“Attempted murder,” Riley finally said, breaking the uneasy silence between them.

Mila’s heart sank before she realized the absurdity of the accusation. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve been home the entire night. I didn’t try to kill anyone.”

They reached the van, and Riley opened the back door and, not too chivalrously, helped her into the back—more unceremoniously shoved her in.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was a trap and considering resisting him again, but Riley’s stern gaze told her he wasn’t in the mood for games.

Mila reluctantly climbed into the car and sat down on one of the leather benches lining the sides. Two other magical enforcement officers, a man and a woman, were already in the van. They’d sent an entire squad to take her down armed with stunner guns they hadn’t hesitated to use. Not to mention the Chief Inquisitor himself was with them. These kinds of displays of force were reserved for terrorists, wielders of dark magic, and, well, murderers.

Mr. Stuck-Up wasn’t kidding. She must stand accused of some truly nefarious act. Mila stared down at the iron shackles on her wrists, and it finally dawned on her how seriously in trouble she was.

Just then, a sack on the floor hissed and moved, prompting Mila to shift away from it. “What’s that?” Mila asked Riley, who was already busy locking the back doors of the van.

“Mila?” the sack asked.

“Abel?” Mila turned to the sack first and then focused an accusing stare on Riley. “What have you done to my cat?”

The only answer she got was a slammed door in her face.