Page 11 of First Ritual

What the hell did I say to him in the bar? I had a terrible feeling I’d let something important slip. Something that wasn’t in line with my fabricated reason for being here.

Shit.

I recovered first. “Is it practice for men and women to mix before esbat in this coven?” And wear black to esbat?

He ignored my question. “You’re Tempest Corentine?”

His voice elicited shivering memories of his kiss. “I go by my middle name. Bronte.”

“Tempest Bronte Corentine. Storm. Thunder. Hurricane,” he said in a deep, quiet voice. “Quite the name you have.”

Did he eat a baby name book at some point? I was impressed. “Tell me about it. What should I call you?”

His lips curved, and a glimmer returned to his dark gaze. One that I recalled being very attracted to last night. Attracted enough that I didn’t take a closer look at what fucking race of person I was kissing or guard my words.

“Whatever you like, beautiful,” he rumbled.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening. I’d been far, far more attracted before he was a magus and member of this coven. Now he was a threat at worst and a distraction at best.

I crossed my arms. “I’d like to call you by your name. Then I’d like to join the other females for esbat.”

He leaned on the frame and didn’t immediately speak. “You go in for that mixing energies crap?”

Mixing energies crap. My jaw nearly dropped. That wasn’t crap! Things done by our ancestors for hundreds of years had good reasons for being done. Crap? That was a preposterous, idiotic thing to say. How did those words leave the hole he called a mouth?

A sudden frown disturbed his casual demeanor. He sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

“A concoction from my purification ritual, of course,” I spluttered.

“Purification ritual,” he mouthed.

This was growing weirder by the second. “Dried herbs, tinctures, incense.” I trailed off as amusement took residence on his face.

“You’re one of those, huh?” He shook with repressed laughter. “Old-school.”

What? Was he joking? “Purification isn’t old-school.”

The guy had ruined the memory of the best kiss of my life just by talking. Incredible. He was becoming less attractive with every word.

I caught sight of women and men—all dressed in white—moving through the tunnels ahead. Those had to be normal people who didn’t bag the ways of our ancestors.

I drew my door closed. “Nice chat. Bye.”

“I’m Wild,” he called to my back. “I came to introduce myself seeing as I wasn’t present at council last night.”

Wild.

The Wild.

Fuck! He was on the damn council. I’d kissed him, but that wasn’t the thing making my gut flip. I’d said something stupid to him. I knew it.

My pulse raced as I glanced over my shoulder. Funny how the same things that reeled me in last night—the air of quiet, unfaltering confidence, the unabashed stare, and the body under those robes—all of that deterred me now. Except those musician’s fingers—they were undebatably sexy. I had to nip things with Wild in the bud. I couldn’t have him growing curious. “You’re young to be on the council, aren’t you? Prestigious family?”

Thunderclouds appeared on his face. My stomach swooped in warning that I’d treaded on some serious toes. Go me for finding something that made him so angry. Mission accomplished.

But just to be sure…

“Must be nice to ride to the top.” For good measure, I added, “Why work for things, right?”

---