Page 68 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

Walker’s face softened with awe as it trailed down my form, and a different kind of heat set me ablaze. My heart galloped in my chest, wilder than Arion’s racing hooves. As if lostin a trance, Walker’s hand reached for my skin. I struggled not to writhe in anticipation. I struggled not to run from the weight of his gaze and the depth of his adoration, of that powerful emotion I refused to name shining in his eyes—

Walker stopped himself and redirected his gaze to the high ceiling.

“Your wounds,” he said breathlessly. He swallowed and so did I. “They’re healed.”

Disappointment and relief warred inside me. I wouldn’t admit that disappointment was winning. Cursing myself, I glanced down at my skin. It was slightly reddened from the warmth of the water and the heat of whatever hadnotjust transpired between the cowboy and me, but there was not a bruise or scrape in sight. Even my thumb felt normal. I rolled my shoulder and realized it too was pain-free.

“That was why Marie was smiling so smugly,” I said. “This whole bath is enchanted with healing magic.”

Without tearing his gaze off the ceiling, Walker grunted and rolled away from me. I rose and quickly hurried to the shelves of white towels near the door. Once I wrapped one around me, I sighed.

“You can look now, cowboy,” I assured Walker.

“Cady and Ryder went to bed,” he said and kept his eyes averted. “Those weirdos chose to brave sleeping with sewer germs rather than wait on you.”

“Gross,” I agreed.

He ran a hand down his face. “It’s why I was the one to, um, to run in…Sweet—Freya,I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or feel unsafe…” He cringed as if the thought was actually painful for him to consider. “I would never intentionally violate your privacy…I just heard choking and—”

“Walker,” I interrupted. “It’sfine.”

He still wouldn’t look at me, and guilt etched lines into his tired face. Cautiously, I padded across the smooth stones and sat on my knees in front of him. His gaze remained pointedly fixed at something over my shoulder.

“Look at me,” I whispered in a voice breathier than I had intended it to be.

At last, Walker met my gaze. Because I wanted to touch the broad expanse of his chest, I grabbed his hand instead. He intertwined our fingers without hesitation.

“I trust you,” I said. “If I trust anyone, I trustyou.”

Familiar magic grew taut between us and overshadowed the languid haze I now recognized as one of Marie Laveau’s healing spells. As Walker’s electric gaze bored into mine, something settled in my chest.

I sank into the feeling, and minutes or hours passed. It was hard to tell in the pleasant darkness. Eventually, we went to our separate rooms. When I walked into the oddly orthodox room with two twin beds, I barely accounted for my surroundings. I was grateful to find a pile of clothes waiting for me on the emerald comforter of my bed. As I numbly changed clothes, Ryder’s snores rattled the walls. I laid down with one crippling but magical thought.

I had let Ryder go once things got too close, too fast. On this trip, we had settled back into our old friendship.

But Walker.

I could call Walker my friend till I drew my last breath—and I would—but he claimed more of my heart than almost anyone ever had.

You’re a spitting image of your mother, but I fear you inherited Josephine’s stubbornness.

As I drifted into sleep’s embrace, Marie’s words echoed into my dreams, where my mother and Josephine waited for me. In my mind, we were as we had once been—a family. But eventhere, peace couldn’t last. Shapeshifting monsters attacked us at our cottage. As they ripped the two people I loved most from my clutches, they were faster than even Arion.

I woke with a face dampened by tears and a heart hardened by hurt.

Chapter Twenty

Walker

Marie Laveau and her elderly cohorts were creepy as hell, but damn, they could cook.

I sat beside Cady eating the spiciest heaping of eggs, shrimp, and an assortment of vegetables I was too busy devouring to identify. My sister and Ryder dug into their meals with my shared ferocity, though Freya—paler than usual and with lavender circles under her eyes—forced the food down with jerky movements. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but she wouldn’t appreciate my concern in front of Marie and her coven.

Marie sat at the head of the dining table, wearing a colorful dress and a fresh painting of make-up. With her hair wrapped in a silk scarf and golden jewelry adorning her neck, she was as regal as a queen. The rest of her ancient coven was scattered throughout the room on the various couches, but the two younger witches joined us at the table.

Freya shoved away her mostly empty plate. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Of course,” Marie said and continued to sip from her steaming mug.

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