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Authors: Leigh Evans
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Cordelia’s bathroom floor, Trowbridge’s hip warm against mine, knowing that I was falling in love.
They were precious beyond words. Personal. Private. Oh Goddess, to have one of those corrupt women touching them. Owning it. Using it to absorb evil.
No, no, no.
Trowbridge reached for me, and pulled me close. Arms wrapped around me, one shoulder protectively hunched against the witches’ sight line so that I could rest my cheek against his chest in relative privacy.
He knows how I hate being watched. How does he know that?
We’ve spent so little time together.
His breath warmed my ear. “Forget it,” he whispered. “They’re just leveraging for more money.”
I shook my head. I truly did know this type of woman, having lived with one. The Natashas of the world don’t take a perceived grievance lightly. The cost to fix a wrong to a woman such as she would always outweigh the value of the original offense.
“We’ll call the portal without a ward,” he whispered into my ear.
My breath had nowhere to go. It came out of my lungs in a slow exhale, hit his shoulder, and then returned to warm my face. On it, I smelled sweet syrup and Trowbridge kisses. “The pack will know that we’ve gone. And they’ll be waiting for us when we come back. They’ll see my brother—they’ll know it’s all been a lie. I’ve seen them turn—”
“I’m an Alpha.”
“There’s too many of them to nail with your flare all at once, Trowbridge.” I swallowed against the knot swelling in my throat.
“I can find another coven.”
“Not in time,” I said miserably. I pushed away from the security of his hard chest. Slid my hand beneath my waistband, until my fingertips encountered the thin supple links of the chain.
The Fae inside me was angry. I could feel the whip of her annoyance, and worse, I could sense her dark interest in the magic these women promised.
Trowbridge smoothed my hair in a gesture filled with impotent hurting as I bent to examine the pouch. The leather was soft and worn, embellished with silver filigree. Gently I teased open the delicate strings. The stones seemed to wink at me from the bottom of the pouch. Six pale pink. One bright and clear.
Which Tear could I part with?
Trowbridge sucked his breath through his teeth as I pulled out the one I’d shed for him. It had hurt, knowing myself to be falling in love. A small agony as the tear had welled in my ducts.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I knew he meant it, even if I wasn’t sure what he was saying sorry for.
I turned to Natasha and held out my closed fist.
She moved closer, until I could smell the sweat of her body and the rot of her soul. “You can’t stay while we set the ward,” she said. “Your magic will interfere with ours.”
I dropped it into her palm and watched with dull eyes as she folded her fingers over the bits of him and me, and then, because I couldn’t stay, not without birthing another frozen tear, I said, “I’m going inside.”
* * *
Though of course, I didn’t. Even though Trowbridge told me to lock the door until he was through with them, I was loath to go into the house, where Anu waited. So instead I sat down on the back porch’s bottom stair, and stared at them from a distance while I slowly pried up a long sliver of crumbling pine from one of the rotting stoop’s risers.
You’d think it wouldn’t take long to cast a ward.
You’d be wrong.
An hour passed—the owl roosting in the beech tree hooted three times; a mouse darted along the line of overgrowth that edged the woods; something small and unidentified burrowed under a layer of leaves; and my ass started to send “damp” and “chilled” progress reports to my nervous system.
And still, the witches were working on setting the wards. Evidently calling up enough magic to envelop the pond and surround the cliffs in a ward was a complicated business. The first step was to establish the area that Trowbridge wanted protected by the
They were precious beyond words. Personal. Private. Oh Goddess, to have one of those corrupt women touching them. Owning it. Using it to absorb evil.
No, no, no.
Trowbridge reached for me, and pulled me close. Arms wrapped around me, one shoulder protectively hunched against the witches’ sight line so that I could rest my cheek against his chest in relative privacy.
He knows how I hate being watched. How does he know that?
We’ve spent so little time together.
His breath warmed my ear. “Forget it,” he whispered. “They’re just leveraging for more money.”
I shook my head. I truly did know this type of woman, having lived with one. The Natashas of the world don’t take a perceived grievance lightly. The cost to fix a wrong to a woman such as she would always outweigh the value of the original offense.
“We’ll call the portal without a ward,” he whispered into my ear.
My breath had nowhere to go. It came out of my lungs in a slow exhale, hit his shoulder, and then returned to warm my face. On it, I smelled sweet syrup and Trowbridge kisses. “The pack will know that we’ve gone. And they’ll be waiting for us when we come back. They’ll see my brother—they’ll know it’s all been a lie. I’ve seen them turn—”
“I’m an Alpha.”
“There’s too many of them to nail with your flare all at once, Trowbridge.” I swallowed against the knot swelling in my throat.
“I can find another coven.”
“Not in time,” I said miserably. I pushed away from the security of his hard chest. Slid my hand beneath my waistband, until my fingertips encountered the thin supple links of the chain.
The Fae inside me was angry. I could feel the whip of her annoyance, and worse, I could sense her dark interest in the magic these women promised.
Trowbridge smoothed my hair in a gesture filled with impotent hurting as I bent to examine the pouch. The leather was soft and worn, embellished with silver filigree. Gently I teased open the delicate strings. The stones seemed to wink at me from the bottom of the pouch. Six pale pink. One bright and clear.
Which Tear could I part with?
Trowbridge sucked his breath through his teeth as I pulled out the one I’d shed for him. It had hurt, knowing myself to be falling in love. A small agony as the tear had welled in my ducts.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I knew he meant it, even if I wasn’t sure what he was saying sorry for.
I turned to Natasha and held out my closed fist.
She moved closer, until I could smell the sweat of her body and the rot of her soul. “You can’t stay while we set the ward,” she said. “Your magic will interfere with ours.”
I dropped it into her palm and watched with dull eyes as she folded her fingers over the bits of him and me, and then, because I couldn’t stay, not without birthing another frozen tear, I said, “I’m going inside.”
* * *
Though of course, I didn’t. Even though Trowbridge told me to lock the door until he was through with them, I was loath to go into the house, where Anu waited. So instead I sat down on the back porch’s bottom stair, and stared at them from a distance while I slowly pried up a long sliver of crumbling pine from one of the rotting stoop’s risers.
You’d think it wouldn’t take long to cast a ward.
You’d be wrong.
An hour passed—the owl roosting in the beech tree hooted three times; a mouse darted along the line of overgrowth that edged the woods; something small and unidentified burrowed under a layer of leaves; and my ass started to send “damp” and “chilled” progress reports to my nervous system.
And still, the witches were working on setting the wards. Evidently calling up enough magic to envelop the pond and surround the cliffs in a ward was a complicated business. The first step was to establish the area that Trowbridge wanted protected by the
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