Page 60 of Reckless Witch

Something jumps to life in me. I feel as if I’m the prey and the hunter at the same time, and the thrill that goes through me is palpable. I’m tempted to try just to see what he’ll do.

“If I reach the wall, will you let me go?”

I read the challenge in his eyes.

“You won’t reach the wall.”

Damn, my feet itch to try him out.

“I’m pretty fast,” I say.

“I should hope so,” he drawls. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t be any fun.”

Fun. He makes even that word sound dirty.

His gaze drops and I realize he’s looking at my blood-stained jeans.

His mouth hardens. “Let’s get you inside.” He motions with a nod.

I sigh and precede him through the doorway. He falls into step alongside me as we cross the expansive foyer and head up the stairs. We ascend in silence until we reach my room.

When he opens the door and steps aside, I say, “I have no intention of staying locked inside this room.”

His expression softens. “I know.”

He cups my elbow and urges me into the room. I pull his coat off as I whirl to face him, then thrust the coat toward him. His mouth twitches in amusement, as he takes the coat. I try to ignore the flex of muscle as he shrugs into the leather.

He grasps the door handle and says, as he’s pulling the door shut, “I’ll have the burger and fries sent up once they arrive.” I take a step toward him as the door clicks shut in my face.

An instant later, I feel the spell that turns my room into a prison.

Chapter Twenty-Six

BLADE

Gods will be gods

Fury boils my blood as I stride the walkway that parallels Penncarrow Hall. When I discover who tried to kill Leilah, I will bury him to his neck and set the wood demons on him. My phone buzzes. I pull it from my jacket pocket. Josephine’s name flashes on the screen. Damn, I haven’t spoken with Jo since Leilah arrived and I have no time now. I decline the call and drop the phone into my pocket as I round the corner of Penncarrow Hall. I nearly run headlong into Chelsea Nightlow. We both stop short and I seize her arms to keep her from falling. Her head snaps up, eyes wide.

“Sorry, Chelsea,” I say.

Her brow furrows. “Are you all right?”

Chelsea is only fifteen, a slip of a girl with strong mage powers, and even stronger empathic abilities.

I release her. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she whispers.

I close my thoughts and smile. “Such is the way of life.”

She studies me, clearly intent in reading my mind—something that is not allowed.

Although she’s a High Potential, her affiliation with House Nightlow concerns me. They aren’t members of the religious guild, but they are strong supporters and are deeply religious. In her youth, Lady Nightlow avoided an Academy draft by attending religious school. At fifteen, she spoke passionately in favor of the Hell Gates remaining locked and was offered a position among Margidda’s leaders.

I’d seen her speech and had half expected her to come to fisticuffs with Jess Santillana, who’d argued for opening the gates so the souls of loved ones who had paid their karmic debts could ascended from Hell. Lady Nightlow countered that anyone who tried to open the Hell Gates must be found guilty of treason. A crime on par with consorting with Shadows.

I’m not certain her daughter inherited Lady Nightlow’s passion, a passion that sometimes crossed over into fanaticism. I have seen no fanaticism in Chelsea, but then, I have never seen Chelsea in a situation where fanaticism might be evoked. I hope I never do.