Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
The rumors promised the witch was all-powerful, but perhaps I didn’t know what that meant. With a wave of her hand she casts a drying spell. Lifting away water from my clothes and bag and boots, leaving me warm and dry. The change is sudden and leaves me still questioning the magic she possesses. It seemed to take no effort at all.
“Thank you,” I say instead, swallowing thickly, and surprised at how much control I’ve gained by simply being welcomed. At being under her spell.
“You’re welcome,” she answers softly, bowing her head just slightly which causes her hair to brush against her collar. My mouth waters at the sight of her bare skin exposed at her neck. My cock stirs and I feel heady with thoughts I should not have. “Come over to the table, would you?”
I follow her to the table. No light—except for the lightning—shines onto the surface. On the edge of the room candlelight flickers but this space seems different. It is clearly a worktable, with a crystal ball in the center. There is a small stack of cut flowers, some lengths of ribbon, more jars and crystals, and a little wicker basket.
The witch pauses at the table, her eyes flickering over her things as if she expects something to be missing.
“What is it you used to summon your portal?”
I swing my backpack off my shoulder and let it rest on the floor, then reach inside for the anchor and the crystal I used before. I show her without speaking. I know not of what has happened to my voice as I obey this witch without question. Amusement and curiosity has taken over my decades of training.
“And do you hold them like you are now?”
“No.”
I bend down and place the anchor on the floor, then place the crystal in its place as well.
The witch’s eyebrow lifts, but she does not seem to be surprised—merely curious. I feel that way about her. The more I look at her, the more stunning she appears to me. Every feature I linger on becomes more elegant. More beautiful. More intriguing. I curl my fingers into my palms, keeping them still.
While she studies the anchor, I study the witch. Her hair curls wildly in the humidity of the storm. Her dress looks well-worn but also well-made.
She meets my eyes, and my wolf lets out a yip of pleasure. The witch blinks a few times, as if she could hear it, and moves closer to the table. She places one hand on the crystal ball, the tips of her nails clicking against the crystal as she does, and stretches the other out toward the anchor and my crystal as if to offer energy to it. To charge it with her own power.
There is a faint flicker in the air above the anchor, as if the portal is about to return, but it does not.
The witch frowns, then opens her hand wider. This time, the flicker is even lighter.
She makes a soft noise of irritation, then tries a third time.
Nothing. There is not so much as a shadow.
The witch rolls her shoulders and stretches her wrists. She does not reach for the crystal ball again. Instead, she extends both hands toward the anchor. Her shoulders square and her body steadies as she faces the anchor. My gods, she’s fucking gorgeous. I wish nothing more than to ravage her as she harnesses such power. It takes great effort to snap out of it.
I realize I’m holding my breath in anticipation and let it out as subtly as I can. Her magic, it seems, is the kind that can be offered through the air, and I find myself fascinated.
She has long, graceful fingers and a confident bearing about her, as if she recharges crystals every day before breakfast and does much more complicated spells every night before bed. This is a woman who knows her power.
The surge is strong, but no portal appears. Nothing happens. No shadows. No flickers. It did not work.
The witch drops her hands to her sides, saying something sharp under her breath, and closes her eyes tightly. Fucking adorable. Her little hiss of dissatisfaction. My cock twitches and for a moment, I forget all reason.
I wonder what her thumb would feel like under the pad of my thumb. I wonder what her mouth would taste like.
This feeling—this curiosity and desire—is not to be trusted. Yes, my wolf wants to know everything about her, wants to claim her, but I am alone in a land without a portal. The witch is supposed to be all-powerful. Why is she unable to charge the crystal? Why can’t she send me home? The questions tick and I remind myself not to trust her. Not to trust a damn thing about any of this. I shouldn’t be having these feelings—never. I’m meant to be alone.