Page 47 of Reckless Witch

I wager the strain in his voice matches the strain of his cock against his jeans.

Ethan shifts in his seat and I know he’s feeling the sexual tension, as well.

Leilah doesn’t come back with a witty reply. The silly girl is wondering how seriously we’re taking her flippant invitation.

More seriously than she can imagine.

I wonder what she might do if I slipped into her room once she lay warm and cozy in her bed. I release a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time I sneaked into Ciarah’s bed. Raith and Ethan have done the same, as has Caleb. Matthias is the only one who hasn’t. To my knowledge, at any rate. But I can believe Matthias has not taken that liberty.

My chest constricts. Now that Ciara is back, I wonder if her return is enough to draw Caleb and Matthias back to us.

Chapter Twenty

LEILAH

Vampires, Dragons, Faes and Sports Cars. Oh, my!

My head is spinning. I’ve known some gorgeous men, but these three are causing my heart to beat an erratic rhythm. Maybe I’m simply surrounded by too much testosterone. The sexual tension in the car is so thick I’m tingling. I’ve been starved far too long. I could probably blame Ethan for leaving me unsatisfied the other day. Or Raith for pushing me against that damn tree last night. Or maybe even Blade. I know he mentally undresses me. Once we get back to the dorm, I’ve got to take care of business—again. Hell, forget that. I need to find a guy at the Academy and fuck him—hard.

I cast a covert glance at Raith. Would he…? I’ve heard conflicting stories about how cruel vampires can be, all the way to how they can drive a woman mad with desire. My gut tells me Raith is the drive a girl mad with passion variety with a twist of cruelty. There’s a lot of speculation about his origin and when he was turned. Whatever the case, the guy has been around forever. He’s an asshole, and he’s been true to form tonight, but God, why do I want to stroke his cheek and assure him everything will be all right—and then fuck him senseless?

Saints have mercy! I have lost my mind. No way I’m getting involved with a vampire who treats me like a minion. Blade, at least, treats me as the woman I am—or he would, if I let him.

I slow for a curve and catch a glimpse of Ethan in the mirror. The dragon energy in his sigil alone threatens to burn through my soul. The way his armor began to form earlier…. God, I’ve never seen a dragon in armor. What would that shell feel like beneath my fingers as he drove his cock into me from behind? I’ve never seen a dragon’s wings unfurl, but I’ve heard they’re magnificent. To have him stand before me, wings widespread, cock erect, I just might fall to my knees and—

I’m suddenly aware of the deathly silence in the car and how fast I’m driving. I wince, but don’t slow down. I resist an urge to glance at Raith and keep my eyes on the road. I’m damn glad telepathy isn’t a gift of vampires and dragons. Fae sometimes claim it, but I’ve never sensed that gift in Blade. Still, the silence unnerves me.

Hell, none of this matters. Raith will likely expel me. I’m surprised by the jump of my pulse at the thought. Does he really believe Grams was a dark witch? Does he believe I will turn to Shadow magic? Do Blade and Ethan agree? I recall Ethan’s body pressed close to mine that first day. There’s no denying what would have happened had Miss Mack not interrupted us. Does he fuck dark witches? Oddly, a quick fuck wasn’t how that encounter felt. That puzzles me, just as his manner in the alley that first night does. His reaction hadn’t been the typical male lechery that results from contact with a woman’s body. He’d been caught off guard. I can’t place the emotion, but I swear, I noticed some tenderness and maybe longing.

As for Blade, he’s a natural flirt, but I’ve already witnessed the kind heart beneath that façade. He immediately offered to take care of Stony. Relief that Stony’s safe floods my soul and I curse inwardly at the sting of tears. I will not cry in front of these men. I concentrate on Stony and how happy she’d been to see me.

Wait. Stony was in Grams house. How—my mind whirls—how did she find the house?

The truth hits like a Mack truck and I want to scream at how stupid I am. Grams didn’t cast a spell to make the house invisible. She cast a spell on me, so I couldn’t see it. I’m a complete idiot not to have figured that out long ago and, worse, not to have gotten Stony to find the house for me when we arrived in New York. Was Stony finding the house what broke Grams’ spell on me?

Another thought strikes. Why did Stony decide to find the house now? Has she known all along where the house is? Oh, that pig and I are going to have a long talk the next time I see her. For the moment, she’s safe in Gram’s house. Stony didn’t know Grams. My heart squeezes. Grams would have liked her.

We’re halfway to The Academy, but I feel Grams’ presence as if she’s in the car with us. I shove the sadness aside. The feeling is nothing more than the fifteen-year-old me wanting to believe she didn’t throw me away. I have to get over this shit. She didn’t want me. End of story.

That, however, doesn’t mean the house isn’t mine. Now that I found it, I can search for information on any lawyer she might have employed. I have no idea if Grams kept a will, but this is the first step to finding out.

Headlights come into view up ahead. I pass the oncoming car in a blur. I glance at Raith. He’s staring ahead, mouth thin. Sure, I’m driving recklessly, but there’s something therapeutic about speed. Who says you can’t run from your problems? The MacLaren temporarily loans me a freedom I long for, even if the car is just a teaser of dreams I may never find.

A stop sign comes into view ahead and I apply the brakes. Raith throws out a hand to brace himself on the dash. Two cars approach, both with their high beams on. I flash my high beams, but the two cars ignore me and speed past. Assholes. I stop at the stop sign, then proceed a little slower. Grams’ lawyer isn’t the only person I need information from.

“What really happened with my grandmother?” I hope to surprise one of them into an answer.

No one replies.

“Don’t play coy,” I say.

“Miriam died while practicing Shadow magic,” Raith says.

I hate that overconfident voice. Worse, I hate how it glides over my flesh like velvet, leaving a trail of gooseflesh, even when he says things I despise.

“Sounds cut and dried,” I say.

“It is,” he replies.