The words settle into a mantra as I stare guilelessly up at him.
The sigil on my arm warms as the magic stirs beneath my skin. It’s a rush of sparks threading through cell and vein alike—pulling a breathless laugh from me as it weaves its heady spell between us.
I adjust my towel, letting it slip a fraction. “I guess I was in a bit of a hurry to wash. Will you be joining me at the lake?”
He nods, a bit too mechanically. “Yes. Uh… mm. Lead the way. I’ll follow.”
“Don’t forget your towel.” I gesture behind me to the kitchen table. “There’s food too if you’re hungry.”
He hesitates just a fraction too long. “Thank you. I’ll eat after washing.”
I pull on my boots and make my way into the forest.
He stays close. Close enough not to be a coincidence, his presence at my back is tangible and charged. The tattoo at the nape of my neck reacts, echoing the sensation.
Or perhaps urging me to proceed with caution.
The problem is, I never know which.
And honestly, it doesn’t matter. This is a window of opportunity I won’t leave to chance. It’s the first time I’ve had the upper hand since the trap, and I’m not likely to get another.
So I don’t rush. I don’t let my inexperience show. I bury the doubt before it can take root, force the rising tide of nerves to submit to this course of action, and make my walk to the lake one of leisure.
At the shore, I drop the bag and slip off my boots, leaving them in the dirt before dipping my toes in. A test to confirm the water is as it should be this time of year—inviting rather than biting.
It is, and I thank Heaven for this small mercy. I draw in a steadying breath and toss aside my towel with more confidence than I feel. As I wade in, I extend my arms and let the water do its bidding, enveloping and welcoming me like an old friend.
Orán clears his throat behind me.
I hear the shift of movement, and half turn to see his cloak on the ground. One boot has already been discarded. He’s in the process of working the other free while simultaneously reaching behind him to grip the collar of his shirt and pull it over his head.
Both are discarded a moment later without thought.
My gaze travels over the symbols that I’d previously seen only hints of. Black in color and Celtic in nature, made by what appears to be artistic and steady hands.
They disappear beneath his leather, and I find myself all too interested to know how far down they go and the meaning held in each one.
Will the rest of him be a living work of art like what I see here?
Needing the water to cleanse me of such thoughts, I close my eyes and sink beneath the surface.
This isn’t about your pleasure. It’s about calling on his. Don’t let the magic corrupt your thoughts as well.
Underwater, I let the plan unfold.
Seduce. Beguile. Bed.
Draw him in enough to bring down his guard. Ease him into trust… or into exhaustion. Then—and only then—when captive becomes captor, might I set new terms of our arrangement.
Don’t rush. Use the words. Push faith and belief into the ones you’ve chosen, and summon the power within to do their bidding.
It’s not an ability I’ve used in this way before. Not exactly, and in truth, it’s Pollock I have to thank for helping me discover it. Labeling me as a witch had been more of an insult, and at the time, I took it as such. But then I began to give more credence to the ways we were similar and to see them as a bridge to something I had not yet understood.
A bridge of knowledge, as I eventually saw potential where I had previously overlooked it.
In enchantments rather than spells. Invocations that charm the elixir in my blood to come to my aid.
I repeat the one I’ve chosen as I rise, combing my hair back from my face. With more conviction, I cast it his way.
