Page 11 of Cursed By the Love Witch

I don’t let her sharp tongue deter me.

“I meant to ask him about the spellwork he assigned if he hasn’t retired for the evening.” The lie easily rolls off my tongue.

Romina huffs a humorless laugh.

“Unfortunately for you, your run-in with him early left him in a particularly foul mood. He went back to his cottage half an hour ago.”

Dread curdles my stomach, and my knees threaten to buckle.

“Was he feeling well?” I whisper.

“What?” she snaps.

“How was he feeling when he left? Ill at all?”

“The High Warlock didn’t discuss his mood with me. Despite my best efforts.”

The older witch turns from me on her dark heel. The fires around me flicker, and the flames lick along my skin. I wait for the goddess to strike me down—to lose my powers for misusing them.

“What have I done?” I whisper up towards the moon.

It doesn’t answer. For the first time since I arrived at Axwyne, I feel entirely alone.

4

THE HIGH WARLOCK

Unease races through his veins as he lays in bed tonight.

He is unsettled like he has never been before. The familiar room feels stifling. He’s sweating even though he is only dressed in silk sleeping pants. The windows are open, letting in the earthy scent of the woods around him. A breeze blows over his heated skin, causing him to thrash.

The High Warlock is being eaten alive—consumed by thoughts of her again.

No,no, he won’t give in. He has been strong thus far and will continue to be so. But why? Why has he allowed himself to continue to suffer like this? And why, of all nights, is this one where the primal parts of himself he’s kept contained for over a century are finally rising to the surface?

It’s because of her, of course. Seeing her with that boy and their apparent familiarity had annoyed him. However, it is because that boy was not watching her carefully enough that the High Warlock was blessed with the feel of her.

Soft and warm and so very pink. He longs to trace her blushing cheeks with his tongue.

The idea claws at him, causing him to thrash further. A fresh torrent of emotions races through him, and the silk sheets around him tangle. He longs for the release he’s never felt. The release he believed he’d die before ever experiencing.

But now he lays in bed, unsure. Thinking dangerous thoughts and wondering, not for the first time, if he was wrong to resist her. There is still a chance—a small one. Does he not owe it to himself to try? What’s the worst that could happen if he does?

He needs to stop being a coward. He knows he’ll always regret it if he doesn't act now.

A fresh wave of heat rolls through him as he turns over. Sleep beckons, and he knows it won’t be dreamless. It will be filled with the same images of pink hair and rosy cheeks that always seem present.

He knows that when dawn breaks, nothing will be the same.

5

DARCEE

Soft tweeting followed by rhythmic taps at my window wakes me.

With a groan, I blink my eyes open, only to be greeted by darkness. How long have I been asleep? A few hours, maybe. When I returned to my room last night, I couldn’t get my head to stop spinning. There was still a chance he hadn’t taken the potion—it was the last bit of hope I was clinging to.

I considered taking my sleeping dram but worried I wouldn’t wake up for detention. If you had told me yesterday that I was eagerly awaiting the High Warlock’s arrival at dawn, I never would’ve believed you. Yet, as I rise from my mused sheets and strip out of my dress from yesterday, I’m praying to the Goddess that he’s there.

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