Page 21 of The Blood Witch

“Do you feel that?” Alastair asked. “Do you feel all that power you’ve been neglecting?”

She did. And it felt incredible.

Taking her hand from his chest, Fey stared down at it, twisting her fingers, marveling at the power just under her skin. Electricity cracked, and for a moment lightning arched between her fingertips.

“Well, that’s new,” Alastair said, staring at her hand in wonder.

It was. And it was lovely. Fey watched the power, watched it arch between her fingertips again, and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alastair told her, taking her hand and licking up her palm. A spark jolted over his tongue. “I love you, Witchling.”

Fey froze. And all that power rising inside of her evaporated away to nothing.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. She’d heard him whisper it before when he thought she wouldn’t hear. Heard him murmur it as she fell asleep in his arms.

But he had never said it to her face.

Sensing her tension, Alastair leaned back to look at her.

“I—” Fey opened her mouth, her heart suddenly racing.

Alastair pressed his fingers to her lips, cutting her off. “You don’t need to say it back to me. Not yet.”

“What if I never say it?” Fey asked, lips brushing against his fingers. Her mind was reeling. Had she ever said it to anyone? She loved her sisters, more than anything, but had she ever even said it to them? She couldn’t recall.

“Then you never say it,” Alastair said, leaning back in his chair like itdidn’t matter at all. “You never have to.” His fingers traced her lower lip. “Besides,” he said with a growing smirk. “I don’t need to hear you say it. I already know you love me.”

Fey snorted. “Is that so?”

“I mean, look at me.” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing down at himself. Fey couldn’t help but look, running her eyes over his body and biting her lip. “Who wouldn’t love this?”

“Goddess, you’re arrogant,” she said with a laugh.

He smiled, taking her hand to kiss her wounded knuckles again, and Fey realized how quickly he’d managed to calm her, how expertly he handled her rush of fear.

He sees me,Fey thought, watching him run his tongue over her skin.Truly sees me.

And, even more, he accepted her. Her rage, her power, her moods. He saw it all. And he cherished it.

“I love you, too,” Fey told him, and Alastair stopped, eyes flashing as they jumped up to capture her gaze.

“Witchling,” he started, voice husky.

“Don’t make a big thing of it,” Fey said quickly, pulling her hand back from his grasp.

“How can I not?” Alastair asked, pulling her close. She struggled playfully as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against his chest and kissing and licking at the bare skin of her arms, her shoulders. Her neck.

Fey groaned as his teeth slid across the sensitive pulse of her neck, grinding against him.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked.

“Something wicked, no doubt,” she laughed.

“Stay here with me tonight,” Alastair murmured against her neck.

Fey shook her head, laughing. “Not tonight. I have work in the morning, and I’m not sleeping on that awful mattress you have up in your room. You know it’s impossible to get any sleep in this place.”

Alastair pulled a face. “Come now, it’s not that bad. I’m sure you could?—”

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