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Chapter 3
GWYN
A watched cauldron doesn’t boil nearly fast enough.
An ache throbs in my temples as I add peppermint, ginger, and a sprig of rosemary to the pot and stir it around. Like my thoughts, the herbs swirl in a rapid spiral.
I promised Avaline I would think about her offer, but doing so has given me a migraine.
As the water simmers above the fire, I begin gathering the dishes from the table and taking them to the sink. Achlys, now appearing as a kitten, perches on the windowsill behind it. He’s staring outside, tail flicking, likely thrilled the rain has ceased, leaving only the scent of wet earth behind.
Picking up a cloth and a bit of tea tree soap, I wash several of the dishes and set them on the drying rack.
“We’re happy here, aren’t we, Achlys?” I ask, scrubbing a pan.
He looks at me, his dark eyes boring into mine, and hisses, saying otherwise.
“Traitor.”
My gaze drifts out the window, and I drop the pan in a sharp clatter.
There is a male standing at my gate. Staring at me.
Achlys launches from his perch and shifts into a raven, soaring out the window and making short, shrill calls. A warning for the stranger to leave. He simply glances up at my familiar, then back at me. My heart beats terribly fast as I hold the male’s questioning stare.
My familiar swoops in through a different window and lands on my shoulder.
“Achlys,” I say, disbelieving my own eyes. “He can see us.”
I’m frozen to the spot as I watch the male pry the iron latch loose so the plain wooden gate swings wide open. Even with a handful of yards between us, I can tell he’s tall with broad shoulders and long legs. He stalks toward the cottage with the grace and ease of a male on a mission, of a male who knows precisely what—or who—he’s after. Grass and twigs crunch under his pointed boots as he draws close enough that I can see he’s dressed in a fine black top threaded with gold and sleek, leather trousers that cling to toned thighs.
This is…
“Impossible,” I whisper.
I only ever granted Avaline the ability to visit, to see through the glamour I wove into my property’s border.
No sight, no sound, Gwynnevere Halethorne will never be found.
The spell I cast to seal my self-exile has held for centuries. Why has it failed now?
Unless… Did he follow Avaline here? Where she treads, the glamour can be pierced.
Achlys croaks thrice, spurring me into action.
I’ll worry about the how later.
If his intent is to drag me back to my coven—or something else entirely—I won’t make it easy for him.
I clutch the handle of the half-clean pan I’d dropped into the sink. Socked feet silent on the planked floor, I fling myself behind the cottage door and press myself against the wall. I can hear my frantic pulse beating loud enough in my ears to drown out the sound of his footsteps on the cobblestone path leading straight to the rounded front door.
My muscles are coiled tight, screaming for me to run.
But I’m no fool.
With those long legs and that determined gait?
He’ll catch me before I even reach the flower garden.
