Page 85 of The Witch is Back

When he failed to say anything after a couple of beats, Clarissa spread her hands. “So, we see, Higher families are all about responsibility.”

Emma avoided his gaze.

Damn it.

“I’m pleased to marry Emma,” he said, infusing his words with sincerity. “She’ll make a perfect wife.” It was only because he was watching her that he saw the flinch. Saw and wondered at it.

Clarissa hummed in her throat. “Regardless, I think it best if you both follow my advice. A couple’s Exhibition just isn’t done. What would your parents say, for example?”

“That I’m a man who can make his own decisions.”

“How modern of them. But Emmaline comes from a traditional family. Bluewaters have always exhibited alone. No matter how lackluster a performance it may be.”

Just one nightmare. Nobody would blame him. He was owed.

He stole another look at Emma. She was just sitting there, letting her mother attack her.

He’d have liked her to jump in and stand up for herself, but in lieu of that, he’d step in.

And enough was enough.

“Clarissa,” he said with a genial smile. “Thank you for your opinion. And while I applaud your familial loyalty, here’s my opinion: you’re a coldhearted bitch.”

He heard a sucked-in breath that resulted in a coughing fit, but he didn’t check who it was. He kept his gaze focused solely on Emma’s mother. Not that this icicle deserved the title.

“Emma is warm, loving, funny and smart. Smart enough to judge whether she wants to exhibit solo or with me. She was definitely smart enough to move away from you and your acid tongue and for that, I have to applaud her. If I’d lived with you, you’d have woken up trapped in a nightmare.” He let an edge settle over his expression. His magic sparked around his fingers, a display only the more powerful warlocks and witches could do. It was nothing more than show, really, but it made a statement. Try me.

When she didn’t, he inclined his chin, almost disappointed. “Thank you for dinner.” He rose to his feet and walked around the stupidly large table to where Emma sat. Chester was leaning against her leg, the doggy equivalent of support.

She blinked up at him but took his hand when he reached out to help her up.

“We’ll see you at the Exhibition—and the wedding,” he added, having no intention of letting this witch near the planning, even if it meant he had to get involved with the damn thing.

He didn’t want to open a portal in the room, so keeping Emma’s hand clasped in his, he strode toward the exit. Chester’s claws skittered after them, a couple of low woofs voicing his displeasure at the tension. As they passed Kole, Bastian heard the brother snort with laughter. A seal of approval, hopefully.

Emma walked docilely along next to him. Like a good Higher family wife. Or like someone in shock.

He paused at the door, glancing back to where the family remained frozen in place. A lot of flies caught in those open mouths, he thought, focusing on Clarissa.

She looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon and a grapefruit, and then got bitch-slapped for good measure.

He allowed another smile. “And Clarissa? Emma is going to be my wife. A power in this society. I suggest you think of a better way to talk about her in the future.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. All he needed was to hold her gaze as it sparked and darkened with anger. The glass nearest her wobbled, a telling display of how ferocious her emotions were.

His magical protections were the strongest they’d ever been; still, he reminded himself to add another layer to his shields when he had the time. Someone as potent and pissed off as Clarissa was someone to watch, especially now that the veneer of civility had been ripped away. Hex me once, shame on you, et cetera.

With one last encompassing hard stare, Bastian nodded to Kole—who saluted him with his wineglass—and ushered Emma out of the room.

They were in the hall when he heard Kole say, “Best dinner you’ve ever had, Mother. Great entertainment.”

CHAPTER 17

Emma was pretty sure she was dreaming. Surely Bastian hadn’t just thrown aside the rulebook of witch society manners and told her mother the truth.

The truth. Holy Goddess. He really had changed.

A shiver worked its way down her body and she hugged herself. They were walking in the manor gardens, mainly it seemed because Bastian wanted to pace off the tension. He practically hummed with it, that and the magic he’d called to the surface in that impressive display of power. Chester gamboled ahead, paying little attention to Bastian and Emma as he sniffed every tree and investigated every hedge.

The Bluewater gardens weren’t as imaginative or creative as the Truenote ones; no hidden follies or woods, just regimental hedges and lawn and a flower garden at the bottom of the hill the manor sat on. It was there that they seemed to be headed.

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