Page 79 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

“Tsk, that’s not very ladylike.”

She looked like she might start shrieking like a kelpie. It should not have been adorable. None of this should be. He crowded her, leaning down to meet her gaze, which was incensed and then instantly wary. It did things to him; he wasn’t too proud to admit it. He liked knowing he could affect her.

But there were other factors involved. And they threatened to break him out in hives every time he considered them. Which was often. Always. Every damn minute. “You broke your promise to me to not to put yourself in danger,” he reminded her, low and absolute.

He had made a man wet himself with a less-threatening tone of voice.

Briar might have balked at it a week ago. Tonight, she scoffed.

She actually scoffed.

God, it made him want to laugh. And to turn her over his knee and spank her until her delectable bottom was as pink as the wildflowers in her hair.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. It was too easy to remember the way that Keeper sneered at her, the way the villagers had surrounded her sprawled on the ground. The way Twyla could have killed her, the way the grimsong could have sung her into the sea. The way her only defense against this blasted island was a driftwood cane he could break with one hand and her stubborn, indomitable spirit. He wanted it to be enough. Knew too much about the witching world to believe it was.

Her scoff faltered when he did not drop her gaze, did not soften his jaw. “Is that what this is about?” she demanded.

“You are too reckless.”

She laughed. It burst out of her, clearly unbidden. “This, coming from you?”

“Exactly. Imagine how bad the situation is,” he said drily, “when an Iron Crow finds you too reckless.”

She glared at him. He could all but see the wheels turning in her head. The vengeance brewing. He welcomed it. It was simple. Clear.

When nothing else was.

With a sound better suited to an enraged cat, she lunged for the amulet dangling from his fingers. He held it up out of her reach easily. “Don’t trust me yet, little thorn?” he asked, humor fading. His voice changed again; he could feel the ice of it in his throat. “Good.”

“Is this what this is about? To prove something to me?” she growled.

Adorable.

“Or to yourself?” she continued.

Less adorable, because it might well be the truth.

She was too sharp and too astute for her own good.

“You are vexing,” she added through her teeth. Very astute. “And I do trust you, you ass. I trust you with my sister.”

A privilege he would never admit rocked him to his very core.

Trusting an Iron Crow was unwise. Trusting Dragon was downright foolhardy.

But she had. Did. And he’d be damned, but it filled him with something too akin to pride. Satisfaction. Duty.

Fucking hell.

He gave her the amulet. Her exhale was tremulous, relieved. Happy. He felt like a king.

Or an idiot.

Briar tucked it back into her stays, from where it would be his honor to steal it again. “I know a spell to turn your entire ship as pink as my cottage. I am sorely tempted.”

“Godric would love it. Anais would come for you in the dead of night. So let me tempt you into something else,” he said, because he could not bloody well help himself.

Definitely an idiot.