Page 15 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

Twice he’d kissed her as if she were his everything. And now he treated her like she was beneath him? Like her invitation disgusted him?

“Screw you,” she snapped.

Not expecting to budge him, Elara shoved. She gasped in shock when his arm fell away, and he stumbled back into the wall. A two-foot tall, watercolor hummingbird print crashed to the floor, and Hex hissed his displeasure before bolting into the bedroom.

“What the hell is happening?” Payton cried.

Another wave of irritation crashed over Elara.

“None of your damned business,” she snarled. “Now get the hell out.”

Tripp’s arm shot out, and he gripped Payton’s wrist. “Don’t. Don’t go. I’m going to need you for what’s next.”

“What do you mean? My magic?” Her look said he was fifty cards shy of a full deck. “It’s basic, and if you think I’d do anything to hurt my sister, you’ve lost your entire bag of marbles, buddy!”

Elara smirked, happy her sister had her back. She experienced a moment’s pause but didn’t stop to examine why her emotions were ping-ponging all over the place.

“Get out, Tripp.” She flung her hand toward the door. “Payton can stay.”

“Sorry, flitter-mouse, but I’m not going anywhere,” he said regretfully. “I need those boots.”

“You can fuck all the way off,” she said with faux sweetness. “They were a gift, and I’m keeping them.”

“Elara—”

Concentrating all her energy on giving him a different kind of boot, she clapped.

Tripp climbed from the frozen lake, too burning mad to feel the icy wind against his soaked body.

The ground rumbled in answer to his rage. Inhaling deeply, he expelled a breath to the count of ten. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on warming his body, starting with the nucleus of his cells and working his way out to organs and extremities. When he was done, his clothes were dry and warm again. Thank the Gods! If he’d been mortal, he’d be dead from the hypothermia caused by Elara’s little stunt.

Those fucking boots!

“What the hell were you thinking, Mother?” he muttered aloud.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’d do the proper thing for once?” Brelenia answered.

He half spun and spotted her about ten feet away, as pretty as you please, on a blanket behind an enormous picnic basket.

“Come, Enguerrand. I’ve had Eloisa prepare us a lovely meal.”

“I should murder you and be done with it,” he said conversationally as he approached her. “What makes you believe I would break bread with you after this latest stunt?”

Her warm smile drew him in, as it always had. His mother was a master manipulator.

“I wish you to find a mate and be happy, darling boy. Running from your fate is useless.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tripp sprawled on his side and took the proffered bunch of grapes. “I’ve managed it most of my life and am perfectly content.”

“Content. Not happy.”

He paused with a grape halfway to his mouth.

She was right, damn her!

“You’re growing up,” she observed. “There was a time when your denial would’ve been immediate. At least now, you’ve stopped to think about what I’ve said.”

Rarely would he ask her for anything, but the idea of a magical object changing Elara into a spiteful, wicked woman hurt his heart. “Please, Mother. Take the boots back and be done with this latest game.”

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