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“I just want to know if it’s some sort of kink I’m failing to understand.” Hattie switched her gaze to Cain. “You’re male, maybe you can help. Do you know why a man would decide to give a woman a facial during sex? I mean, all us ladies like using a rejuvenating mask now and then, but during intimate moments? No, I can’t see the appeal in it.”
Grabbing what looked like homemade tea balls out of a cupboard, Xavier snickered. “It’s a euphemism.”
Hattie’s nose wrinkled. “For what?”
He stifled a smile. “It’s when a man … offloads on a woman’s face.”
Hattie gaped in horror. “Hepeeson her?”
“Yes.”
Anabel’s head snapped up. “No, it—Xavier, don’t be an asshole.”
Feeling his lips twitch, Cain took a seat at the table. He didn’t think he’d ever met a group of people who were so different who yet fit together so well. Turning his attention to his witch, he glided his fingertips over her scalp. It was a few moments before her eyelids fluttered open.
Finally, she righted her head and blinked up at him. “Oh. You’re here.” There was no unwelcoming note in her voice, just pure confusion.
“You didn’t come to me like you usually do,” he said. “I came to see what was keeping you. I didn’t expect to find you asleep.”
She rubbed at her eyes and sat up. “I didn’t mean to doze off.”
“You look tired. And drained. And too pale for my liking.”
“Flatterer.” Wynter sighed. “Anabel, you’re supposed to be using the test bowl,” she called out without even looking in the direction of the blonde.
Anabel froze with a large wooden spoon halfway to her mouth. “I am. I did. A little something is missing. It’s easier to tell what it is if I taste it.”
Xavier gave the blonde a droll look. “It’s also harder to keep pieces of your sanity if you keep using yourself as a trial subject.”
Anabel rolled her eyes but dripped the potion into a bowl and tossed in some crushed herbs. A waft of blue smoke hit her in the face, and she cursed like a sailor between coughs.
Xavier walked to the table and set a steaming mug of tea in front of Wynter. “Here, this will perk you up.”
She smiled at him, lifting the cup. “Thanks.”
He slid his gaze to Cain. “She needs to get plenty of rest tonight.”
Cain was impressed. Not even in the face of an Ancient did the male fail to speak up for his Priestess. Cain liked that. She deserved such a depth of loyalty. “I’ll make sure she does.”
Xavier gave a nod of satisfaction and then crossed to another cupboard, where he began pulling out jars.
Wynter glanced around. “Where’s Delilah?”
“Chatting with Annis,” replied Xavier.
Cain felt his brows knit. “Annis?”
“She’s a descendant of the Black Annis,” Wynter told him.
Cain blinked. “As in the witch version of the bogeyman?”
Wynter nodded. “Yup. Delilah goes into meditative states where she communicates with Annis. The ability to do so allegedly runs in the family.”
“It doesn’t concern you that your coven member is in contact with a highly sinister entity that was a literal scourge upon the Earth?”
“We’re not a coven.”
Cain felt his lips tip up. “Trust you to concentrate on that part of the question.”
