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I stop toying with the silky strand of black hair in my hand and look at her. “Did you hurt her when you lost control before?” I already know the answer, but I raise my brows until she shakes her head. “Then, why would you hurt her as you learn control now? You may not know how to control your powers,yet, but your magic, like your wolf, stems from who you are inside. You don’t want to hurt Jaz, so you didn’t.” Reaching out, I stroke a finger down her cheek, caressing the frown of her lips. “Mia fiamma,you have to learn to trust yourself. If you keep holding yourself back out of fear, you’ll never learn your full strength. Or control.”
She twists toward me, her brows furrowed and her eyes searching mine. “Tell me why you say that. What does that mean? And don’t give me some bullshit answer this time. What’s with the nickname?”
I chuckle, remembering the kitchen when she asked me the same question as I walked out. I could feel her irritation as I climbed the stairs, and even during the drive to Darrold’s. I grab her wrists, pulling her on top of me as I lay back. Her hair falls forward, curtaining around us, and I cup the back of her neck to hold her close to me. Her breath on my lips drives my wolf to the edge, but I shove him back—barely. “You want to know what it means? The nickname you insist is an insult?” My gaze dips to her parted lips. “And what if it is?”
Anger flares in her eyes. She pulls back, but I tighten my hold on her neck, my other hand gripping her hip, pinning her to me.
“What if it isn’t?” I whisper, just before I crush my lips to hers, drowning in the taste of her. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth and nip it, a tiny drop of blood entering my mouth as I pull a moan from her. A growl escapes me because it’s the same as the first time—the first drink of water after being lost in a drought. This witch tastes like bliss.
Her hands fist my shirt, and I press my tongue to the seam of her lips. She grants my entrance easily, parting her mouth as I thrust my tongue inside. I’ll never get enough of her. My witch. My mate. My personal addiction.
She shoves off me, moving back to sit on the ground, a hand pressed to her lips. Silver dominates her irises, and her chest rises and falls rapidly. “I…”
“Tell me why you can’t control your magic.” My voice comes out hoarse, desire coursing through me, but she won’t stay here with me if she keeps thinking about that kiss—her desire mixing with my own inside me. And I can’t stop touching her if I keep thinking about the way she tastes.
She blinks a few times, tucking hair behind her ear and chewing on her lower lip. “Um, well, I… never had much magic.”
I nod, remembering this, trying to avoid staring at her working her lip. “Yes, you told me that.”
“Well, every time I cast even a small spell, I’d get it almost right, burning or melting a coffee pot or setting off a breaker in the house.” She shrugs, her mouth pulled down into a frown as she stares down at her hands. “Then, Monique trapped me there. I-I knew she’d kill me. She’d kill everyone.” She glances up at me, her cheeks flaming. “She’d kill you,” she adds softly.
“That was the first time you used that much magic?”
She nods, avoiding my gaze. “Successfully anyway.”
“I know the basics of witches’ abilities. Spells and charms,” I hold up one finger, “necromancy, though that’s outlawed after the whole Salem Witch Trials,” I add a finger. “Then, your prized oracles,” I add a third finger and roll my eyes. “And leeches, rare as they are. It makes you wonder if they’re rare because they could stealanyone’spowers. It’s quite a coincidence. However,” I look up at her, fighting to keep my eyes from drifting down her body, “I have yet to hear of fire.”
Adara takes a deep breath. “Well, there’s archaic magic, which is elemental. Water, earth, air, and fire—the rarest. No one has been born with archaic magic in at least half a century, but fire archaic magic has been closer to three or four centuries now, I think.” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t even know who to ask in my coven about this power, let alone know how to learn control of it.”
“Did you ever stop to think that when you cast a spell in the past, it wasn’t you but the magic you were forcing?”
Her eyes snap to mine, and I put my hands out to her, palms up, waiting until she decides to rest her hands in mine.
“What if the coffee pot melted because you cast a spell? But your magic is fire. Fire melts, doesn’t it?” I curl my fingers around hers, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. “What if you’ve had it all along?”
“Stop,” she whispers, pulling her hands back.
My skin goes cold without her touch, and I frown at her. “Stop what? Training you? Or talking in general? Because I—”
“You can’t just talk like I’ve always been powerful when we both know the truth.” Gathering to her feet, she stomps over to the sliding door and shoves it open.
Irritated, I follow after her, Kaylus rustling in the branches above us. He stills when I glower at him before stepping into the house. “What the hell does that even mean?”
She whirls around, shoving her finger into my chest. “It means no one wants a powerless witch who can’t control her wolf for a mate. Isn’t that what you told me? We know what I am. That’s exactly why I can’t get this training right. Because I’mnotstrong. I’mnotpowerful. I’m weak, and I’m a danger to everyone here.” She throws her hands in the air, her voice rising with each sentence. “Look around you! You’re supposed to be the alpha of this pack, but you’ve spent half your week babysitting me instead. What are you going to do if I get one of you killed? What kind of alpha does that make you?” Hot tears stream down her face, and she turns to rush upstairs.
I reach out and grab her wrist, spinning her around and holding her against my chest. Sobs wrack her body, her shoulders shaking, and a lump forms in my own throat at her pain. “You will be the most powerful lycan witch there is. Because I believe it, even if you don’t.” I brush a hand down her hair, tucking it behind her ear and tipping her face up to me with my finger hooked under her chin. “Until you believe in yourself, you’ll never master your wolf or your flames, so believe in me,mia fiamma,my flame, because I’ve been alive for centuries, and I’ve never seen anything like you in my lifetime. I’ve never believed anything more strongly.” Softly, I press my lips to hers in a quick kiss, but she pulls away.
“But what if I hurt you? Or your pack? What—”
I lay my forehead against hers, tightening my arms around her. “Darling, we both know exactly who you are, and I would love to watch the world burn into ashes at your feet. Hell, I’d give you the lit match if you ever needed it. But we both know you’d lay flames only to protect those you love.”
She takes a shaky breath, and I smile, placing a kiss on her forehead before loosening my hold.
“Go shower and check in with your raven. I’ll get dinner started.” I watch her climb the stairs, waiting until I hear her door click shut to reach for the nearest anything—a glass vase—and hurl it at the wall. The glass shatters, showering down into a thousand shards on the floor. I’ll kill that witch who raised her—who snuffed her out into this tiny burning ember that feels alone and worthless. I’ll kill the whole coven just to make them pay for the way she’s suffered all these years because no one—no one—gets to hurt her and lives to talk about it.
Chapter seven
Adara
