Page 2 of Reckless Witch

“Maybe some other time,” he says in a deep voice that could melt sin on a frigid winter’s day. “I’m here on business.”

“Business?” I blurt before catching myself. He—the Illumina—can’t possibly know about my business.

“You have the honor of being chosen to attend Illumina Academy New York,” he says.

I stare. Of all the things in all the worlds—hell!—in any dream I might have dreamt, that is the last thing I could have imagined him saying.

“What?” I stupidly reply.

The waitress arrives with his drink and sets the glass on the table in front of him. He looks up at her and murmurs, “Thanks.”

Her eyes widen and I half expect her to melt into a quivering puddle of estrogen right there at his feet.

“I’ll let you know if we need anything more,” he says.

She hesitates, then leaves.

His looks back at me. “You are to report to Illumina Academy in the morning. Like all students, you’ll dorm at the school. Your classes have already been assigned.”

Well, fuck a duck.

“Not interested,” I say.

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. Most likely, he’s never been refused by a recruit. When Illumina Academy informs you of your acceptance, you don’t refuse. You jump for joy. It’s like winning the lottery. Newly chosen students are beyond thrilled. But my grudge against the Illumina is huge. Their laws are the reason I practice magic illegally. Why I can’t sleep in my bed in the house that is now mine. Well, Grams started the whole mess when she exiled me, but they finished the job by seizing her home a month ago, right after she died.

As one of the only three academies left standing in the States, the prestigious school wields unholy power, which gives commanders like Ethan and Raith god-like power. Raith, in particular, is known for his unyielding ruthlessness. He’s intensely private and spends most of his time behind the walls of the massive fortress-school.

On the brightly lit stage beyond Ethan’s broad shoulders, a woman dressed in a slinky, short nightie belts out, “Hush. Don’t tell Mama. Hush. Don’t tell Mama.” While the orchestra crescendos, she lets her slinky robe fall to the floor. The crowd cheers and whistles.

“Don’t be a fool,” Ethan says so only I can hear.

“Does the name Crowe ring a bell?” I struggle to keep the hostility out of my voice.

I’m careful about wishing people ill. I’m not saying I never have, just that I’m cautious about doing so. Those sorts of wishes have a way of biting you in the ass when you least expect it—kind of like the three too-good-to be-true wishes those trickster jinns grant. But I too easily envision Ethan’s gorgeous body smeared across asphalt after being struck by a double decker bus. Of course, it would be simpler to drop just the right tincture into his drink and watch him melt into a pile of dragon goo. That, however, will get me into deeper trouble with the law than I already am. In this post-Shadow War era, I walk a fine line as a street witch. Which means I’m not going to tell Ethan to fuck off, like I want to.

His eyes remain locked with mine. Most women would melt under those icy blues, but my talent for sniffing out secrets causes a stir in my solar plexus that tells me he has a whopper. A being as old as him must have many secrets. Sadly, I don’t always figure out the secret. But when I do…

He’s still staring as if trying to read my soul and I have the unexpected desire to press my cheek to his chest and listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. No human heart beats within that chest. He’s pure dragon. Any witch who forgets that is likely to find herself bowing to his will as easily as that waitress. Small wonder he’s The Academy’s most renowned recruiter.

“Miriam Crowe,” he murmurs.

Grams’ name coming from those full lips ignites a new wave of anger. I grasp the glass tumbler sitting in front of me in order to keep an eye on my hands. They’ve been known to smash noses without my permission.

“You’ve got balls,” I hiss. “The Illumina seizes my grandmother’s home and drags her good name through the mud—a name I share—and now they decide to mess with my life?”

Ethan takes a large swallow of his drink then says, “She broke the law.”

That’s the news on the grapevine, but I don’t believe that rumor for a minute. Hell, witches of her stature practically wrote the laws all witches live by.

An image of Grams’ brown eyes, snapping with anger, flashes across my mind as she shoves me through her shop door and says, “Leave and don’t come back. You’re dead to me.”

I thought she was being overly dramatic. I didn’t know the exile would last years…that I’d never see her again.

Why? Why?

I shove aside an avalanche of pain and focus on the dragon shifter across the table. “Broke the law?” I repeat. “My grandmother helped the Illumina enforce the damn law,” I scoff in an effort to head off tears. “It’s damned easy for the Illumina to act as judge, jury and executioner against a dead woman. No investigation—no trial necessary.”

He hesitates.