Wolf and Hood

4- Proposal

Damn. She's going to be a handful.

Vincent had known it from the second her violent green eyes found his. He followed the Hoodman heiress from a safe distance as she led the way through the glass door of her office. He could practically feel the waves of anger rolling off. The peppery scent of her rage tickled his nose, and the way she'd eyed him in the boardroom-like a feral cat-he wasn't sure it was safe, just the two of them.

He'd only come across a few witches in his thirty-two years, including Nymira, the dream witch. They typically kept to their covens and their secrets to their grimoires, but he'd heard enough stories, seen enough, to know the dangers of crossing one. While shifters were beings created from primal magic, a witch was one who could channel-control-that magic and transform it. He'd heard some had been powerful enough to part seas. To curse men to fools and slip potions to pull truths from lips; even make pacts with devils. Yet here he was, in the office of a woman tied to the most influential coven in the State.

A ballsy move on his part, but one needed ''big apples' in a place like New York. Fangs and claws didn't just hide in the city's supernatural underbelly. They lurked in every boardroom. Behind, every handshake and thinly veiled smile. This place ate the weak and Vincent was an apex predator... he only needed to find out what made this woman tick.

"Come in, I'll just be a minute." Ally marched behind her desk and gestured to a white couch on the right, with two plush arm-chairs on either side. "Please make yourself comfortable," she intoned and then, seeming to catch herself in the habit, huffed, "or don't. I don't care."

Vincent chuckled, watching her nose scrunch. He didn't need his heightened senses to sniff out her emotions when her face was an open book. He risked a step over the threshold, sensing nothing untoward or magical as he surveyed the brightly lit corner office.

Not as big as mine. But the view is nice. A skyline overlooking the precious green space of Battery Park, and beyond the murky blue-gray of the Hudson River. Floor to ceiling windows ran the length of the right side, highlighting the natural cream tones in the office. Her oval desk, a pale wood shade with a high-back leather swivel chair, covered in papers and empty ceramic coffee cups. A bit of a slob, though.

Ally tapped on her computer, bringing it to life, and sunk into the leather chair; the gentle tapping of her fingers punctuating the stillness. He could feel her eyes on him as he took a leisurely walk about the space, trying to sniff out any hex bags. Perhaps a ward carved behind her 'hang in there' cat picture, with an orange cat dangling from a tree branch.

He tilled it to the side before commenting, "interesting decor choice." Nothing behind this one.

"Don't touch my stuff," she snapped from her spot at the desk, aggressively clicking on her mouse. Trying to search through folders on the screen, while concurrently monitoring him.