Page 140 of Castings & Curses

Lost in her random thoughts, she tripped on an old fallen branch. She yelped as she tipped forward, angling toward the ground. Before taking a header, Rafael caught her from behind, his arms encircling her waist. She liquified against his sinfully hard body, loving the feel of his muscular arms around her.

She clamped on to his arm across her middle. “I’m such a klutz. Thanks for the save. Bruises and broken bones might ruin my rep at the Council meeting.”

“Do you mean the rep of a doesn’t-give-a-fuck party girl?” His mouth hovered near her left ear, and a shiver worked its way across her shoulders.

She cringed. “You heard the stories?”

“Only what Zelda Helwig spewed.” His arm eased upward until it lodged beneath her breasts. “Is it true?”

She trailed her bare fingernails over his arm, loving the steel beneath his warm skin. “I’m young. I socialize.” Rafael exuded a tantalizing scent of spice and citrus, like a forbidden temptation.

“Do you screw every warlock you meet?” His stomach sucked in.

White-hot rage bristled through Sage. She peeled both his arms off her torso.

Shame mottling his skin, he hung his head. “Sorry. Not my business. I’ll hit it now.”

“No,” Sage demanded in her High Priestess voice, meant for all in her world to obey. Rafael dropped his arms and stood stock-still, his dark whiskey eyes somber. “The witchworld grants High Priestesses leniencies, and it includes screwing any unattached or unbonded warlock we want. Having sex with a warlock can strengthen the bond between them. I can recite the bonding spell when we are both at our most vulnerable. We also use the act to test a warlock’s strength. A witch can’t grant a warlock her magic until she establishes a bond. I also test warlocks for my coven, not just for me.”

“So you’re a sex goddess?” He snorted.

Sage headed down the path again. Why this man? Why this day? “Yes, Rafael Reyes. I have a lot of sex. Do I enjoy the sex?” The morning’s antics and the aftermath vaulted to her mind. “Sometimes. Do I fall in love with a candidate warlock? Nope. Do I bring them to my bed. Hell to the no. Do I do PDA and go on dates? Again, no way. I do my job for my coven. I do it because I’m the most powerful Wilde witch alive. I can determine what magic a warlock would excel at by touching him. Sometimes it takes more than a touch. I’m a matchmaker between my witches and warlocks. And if I find a warlock who doesn’t fit in our coven, I send him to another coven where I believe he might fit. But he has a choice. He can leave the witchworld and never look back. Or he can leave and return anytime he wants. Our world is centuries old. This is our way.” Perspiration dripped between her breasts.

The sound of their shoes on the pebble pathway and the approaching music and people playing games pervaded the air, but didn’t make a dent in the moment's seriousness. The festivity had driven the birds and small forest animals deeper into the woods, the place where Sage wanted to run to escape the rest of her life. She missed the white noise of the birds teasing her owl familiars.

Sage hit the split in the path and stepped onto the right fork leading to the house. Without changing direction, she slowed her roll. “See ya, Rafael. You’re welcome to stay. Check the schedule posted by the witch-house, the barn-like structure. Festival ends tomorrow at five.” She didn’t wait for a response and was almost running by the time she reached the rear patio.

Wishing he’d followed her, she checked over her shoulder, but he’d vanished. Wherever he went, he lugged along a tiny piece of her heart. Something so fundamental hurt inside her. Her aether stirred restlessly, more than it had earlier. Everything inside her begged her to seek him out and continue their conversation. To convince him to stay. To encourage him to accept her, the sole warlock she’d ever wanted to bond. Not only bond, but to allow him inherbed. Her bedroom, her sanctuary.

Aspen skipped down the path, two frozen tropical drinks in her hands, rainbow cocktail umbrellas fluttering in the breeze. She extended one to Sage. “You look like you need a daiquiri.”

Just the look of the fruity concoction in the glass soured her stomach. “No, thanks. I’ve had my fill for the week. Hell, the entire month.”

Aspen’s eyelashes flapped, her mouth transforming into a flycatcher. “What? Sage Wilde is rejecting a shindig in a glass.” She rested a frosty glass against Sage’s forehead. “Do you need a happy pill?” She rotated to the side and dropped her arm. “Back pocket. Energy potion.”

Sage grabbed both glasses and set them on a nearby table, tempted to dump them out. “It’s not even noon. And you’re underage.”

Aspen snatched one drink and stuck the straw in her mouth, took two deep draws. “It’s noon somewhere. And I’m almost twenty-one.”

Sage frowned, hoping and searching the yard for Rafael. “You seen Ricky?”

Aspen dug a vial out of her pocket and handed it to Sage. “He’s pissed you took off.”

Sage accepted the tiny vial and sucked down the contents. She needed witch-style energy to slide through the day. Gagging, she stammered, “Jeez, are you off your meds? Is this poison?”

Aspen grinned. “New potion I’m working on. Flavor comes later. I’m meeting the other alchemists tomorrow to trade notes.”

“Good. You need to bounce ideas. Mom taught you well of the old potions, charms, and spells, but she didn’t add to her arsenal often. It’s time for you to jazz things up.”

“Exactly. I got gummies, mints, and other ideas floating in the noggin.”

Sage’s phone beeped with a text. “Ricky spied me. I gotta bounce.”

Aspen wasted no time in snagging the other daiquiri and darting down the path. At least Sage didn’t have to parent her seventeen-year-old youngest sister, Willow, during the festival. Since Willow hadn’t come into her magic yet, she didn’t want to attend anything witch related, especially with warlocks hulking around. Willow enjoyed no fond memories of warlocks except their father, a warlock who didn’t follow the tradition of witches dominating them, and was their mother’s equal. Different from the old witchworld rules. Too modern, too progressive. Sage preferred witches to rule and dominate their warlocks in the way of the old traditions, which included sleeping with any unbonded warlock she chose.

The only warlock she wanted touching her was the fleeing Rafael Reyes.Why can’t I boot him out of my freaking head?

Burying her thoughts of the mysterious warlock, she scurried to the witch-house. Already, the energy potion warmed her gut, and she felt an extra pep in her step, as her father used to say. Aspen was on to something. Adrenaline rushed through her veins and drove out the dregs of her hangover headache. Was it the potion? Or the idea of bonding Rafael Reyes? A man who didn’t know his true identity and wanted no part of the witchworld, the place he clearly—at least to her—belonged. She snickered, not letting those thoughts turn Debbie Downer on her.

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