Page 111 of The Witch is Back

“I loved every minute,” she said, hitting him with a direct glare. “Don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he lied. He hesitated, braced. “Did she ever hit you?”

“Not really. Used her magic sometimes.”

Now he felt sick. “I’m going to fucking kill her,” he said with a grim note in his voice. “Next time I see her—”

“You’d never hurt a woman,” Emma interrupted. “Besides, it’s done. I got away.”

“I still can’t believe she let you go. How the hell did you convince her?”

He felt the fine line of tension hum through her body. “You’d gone and I was the pitied Bluewater again. I...made a case that out of sight was out of mind and she allowed it—on the condition I came back if called. I left as soon as I could.”

“I can’t even...” He fought to find the right words, gut churning. “I’m just so damn sorry, Emma.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there to speak the truth against her skin. “I never should’ve left. I—” On cue, the silencing hex wrapped around his throat, squeezed until black spots danced over his eyes.

“You didn’t know,” she was saying as his vision swam. He gave up, chest rising and falling in frustration. “And we’ve been over this. Old history.” She patted his arm. “I’m going to get some water. You want?”

“You know what I want?” Using a fine tendril of telekinesis, he skimmed a mental finger over her thigh.

“You’re gonna kill me,” she said with a groan, collapsing back.

“What a way to go, though.”

“Oh, yeah. Death by dehydration is super sexy.”

“I think you’ve been living with humans too long.” He conjured a bottle of water and pressed the icy surface to her skin, just to hear her squeal. And to see the shadows lift from her eyes.

Now they flashed. “Are you insane?”

“You like it.”

“You are insane. I get it. Shall we call the nice warlocks with their white coats?”

“Only if you want an audience.” He covered her smiling mouth with his, determined to wash the past away.

They had to go to a party in New Orleans the following night. Leah took over the bar so all three could attend, though she bitched and moaned about having to miss out on the opportunity to play dress-up.

“One of these days...” she’d threatened. Sometimes she sounded remarkably like Sloane, Emma reflected with a sigh. Goddess knew how many fights she had like that in her future.

Emma wished she could be the one to stay home. Her mother was keeping a distance, still plainly furious over Bastian’s dressing-down, but that alone wasn’t enough to allow Emma to relax. Not even Bastian’s presence next to her could do that.

Not when they were being bombarded by people who wanted to see their Divining tattoos to see what traits they’d exemplified so far.

By the tenth bemused stare at the “passion” that scrawled across both her and Bastian’s wrists, Emma’s face was the exact temperature of the sun. And he wasn’t helping, merely smiling lazily in response to the questioning looks they received.

“You need to stop,” she hissed, drawing him away from an older woman and her friends who now stood huddled in a tight group, no doubt gossiping about their licentious behavior. He might be a Truenote, but she wasn’t yet, and she didn’t need the extra gossip.

“Ah, forget the old crones. You look amazing. Want to find a closet to make out in?”

She choked on a laugh. “No. We’ve given them enough gossip.”

His dimple winked. “Can they ever have enough gossip?” His thumb idly stroked the satin material of her dress.

Mindful of the criticism she usually received, she hadn’t felt up to trying a brightly colored dress, but under duress, she’d agreed to wear navy. It was a simple sheath and bared too much of her shoulders.

She touched a hand to her collarbones again, wishing she’d worn a high collar. Without her usual armor, she felt naked in front of this crowd.

Everyone had turned out, or so it seemed, for the charity gala hosted by the Graysons. A whirl of bright colors, expensive jewels and haughty expressions, all accompanied by a quintet.

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