The witch startled at my sudden intrusion but didn’t scream or gasp. She simply drew in a deep breath, turned to face me, and stood her ground, just as she’d been doing from the very first moment I’d looked into her eyes and demanded a dance.
“If wars could be won by lurking and skulking,” she said, “you’d have every last enemy cowering at your feet by now.”
“It’s my castle, Miss Barnes. My right to lurk and skulk is practically written in the stones. Well, chiseled in them, anyway. This placeisrather ancient.” I tried for a smile, but as usual, she wasn’t impressed.
“Is it written in your diaries too?” she asked.
“I know not. I was interrupted from my reading.”
“Reading your own diaries.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head, as though I should be ashamed. “Wow, and I thoughtmySaturday nights were pathetic. Have you ever considered dating? Or maybe joining a club?”
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about joining a club. I haven’t participated in group activities since my Warlord Academy days.”
She laughed. By the moons and stars, the witch laughed. But then, as if she’d been caught breaking some sacred oath, she schooled her features and cleared her throat, her gaze shifting back to the stack of journals on my table.
“Whyareyou re-reading them, anyway? Wait, don’t tell me. Your therapist suggested it as a way to identify the lifelong patterns of self-loathing that led to your toxic, abusive behavior and complete inability to form intimate relationships?”
I had no idea how much she’d already read, but I didn’t owe her an explanation or a justification. I reached forward and closed the open journal, my arm inadvertently brushing against her ribs.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
The unintentional contact sent a spark skittering across my skin, unleashing a barrage of memories I’d been desperately trying to ignore.
When our gazes collided once more, she shivered, then quickly turned away as though looking at me was a burden she simply couldn’t bear.
My lips twitched into a grin. “The unexamined life is not worth living. Isn’t that what they say on your realm?”
“Pretty sure pining over your emo-warlord high school diaries wasnotwhat Socrates had in mind.” She headed for one of the towering bookshelves nearby, running her slender fingers along the spines of leather tomes that’d been shelved there long ago. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, damp and curling at the ends, the wetness leaving a dark imprint on her bathrobe. My fingers ached to slide beneath the curtain of that hair, to discover whether the back of her neck would feel cool from the dampness or warm from her skin. Her magick.
The sight of that dark fall of hair, the wetness on her shoulders, theveryrecent memory of soft, shuddering moans echoing across the bathroom…
Her very presence tonight stirred an old longing inside me, like a bellows stoking a fire to life from ashen coals long presumed spent.
I could forbid it, of course. The cavorting. I could keep the prisoners separated, focused on their work, punished for any breach of whatever boundaries I chose to establish.
But eventually, I’d need to earn the witch’s trust—enough to allow us to work together and see this mission through.
I’d met her demands thus far—provided food and clothing for her and her fugitives, set them up in accommodations fit for a family of noble fae. I’d even sent word to Melantha that I was still awaiting the witch’s arrival, thereby securing the relative safety of her sisters for a bit longer.
Despite all of this, she still seemed unsatisfied.
She was more than demanding. More than obstinate. For all the fire she possessed inside, Haley Barnes was cautious, guarded, and—the trait most difficult to overcome—discerning.
It was a challenge from which I would not, however, back down.
Iwouldearn her trust, whether it was warranted or misplaced, and I would do so sooner rather than later. Taking her away from the men she so obviously cared for—the touch she so obviously needed—would only hamper those efforts.
Besides, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take a good deal of my own pleasure from spying upon hers. Even now, the scent of her desire still lingered, her cheeks flushed from her very recent interlude.
“Where did you get all of these books, anyway?” she asked, stretching up on her toes to reach a leather-bound book of so-called fairy tales. It remained, however, just out of reach. “I didn’t think a warlord would have time for pleasure reading.”
“Most of the works in my library were smuggled here from your realm. Some of them are quite rare.” I reached above her head and retrieved the fairy-tale book. “This is a first edition. The Brothers Grimm, if the name means anything to you?”
Her eyes widened with interest, and she reached for it, our fingers brushing. But that brief touch had her drawing back once more.
It shouldn’t have irritated me, yet it did.
For fuck’s sake, the woman had kissed me so passionately in the throne room, so eagerly, yet now she recoiled as if my touch might possess the power to leech the strength from her bones.
