Page 57 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Storm! Darling!” Hermes called with a roguish grin. “I’ve come to call in that favor.”

Dark skin glistening with water, the naked nymph rose from the water to stand on its surface. With eyes narrowed, she sashayed to them, creating the barest of ripples. “You dare come here, Hermes?”

“Fuck,” Tripp muttered under his breath. “I should’ve known.”

Leave it to the Divine Trickster to con him into going where they weren’t welcomed and where the toll was likely the cost of their lives.

“I’ve got this,” Hermes said in an aside, barely moving his lips. “Trust me.”

“Fat chance.”

But before Tripp could teleport away, Storm was stroking Elara’s cheek. The cracked and bleeding lips of a moment before were rapidly healing, and although still asleep, a relieved look settled on Elara’s face. Her visage took on a relaxed quality, and she turned her head toward the cooling hand.

“Why is she this way?” Storm asked with a dark frown. “Who did this to her?”

“She’s transitioning from a mortal witch,” he said.

“Give her to me.”

His arms tightened. “What is the pri?—”

“No fee will be required. As this fool indicated, I owe him a favor.” Storm’s ice-gray eyes flashed with her anger as she cut Hermes a surly glance. “However, I’d never let another nymph suffer, favor or no.”

Still, he had to know. “What is it you intend to do with her?”

“I’ll provide her with what she needs to survive.” Her gaze was assessing as she watched him, waiting for him to decide.

“How long will you hold her? We have a bit of a situation that needs resolving back home.”

Black brows shot skyward, and she looked between Hermes and him.

“What has he done now?” she asked with a tilt of her head toward his cousin.

“The boots on Elara’s feet. His curse on us.”

Hermes took exception. “Now, wait a damned minute! Those boots were a gift from your mother, not me.”

“Yes, yes, yes. You’re only hanging about to make sure Elara and I don’t screw up in this lifetime.” Tripp shot him a dirty look. “I got it.”

With a careless shrug, Hermes crossed his arms and surveyed the bay. “Nice place you have here, Stormy Baby.”

She snorted, but there was humor in the sound. Turning back to Tripp, she asked? “Enguerrand Nightshade, yes?”

“Yes,” Tripp confirmed.

“And who is the woman?”

“Elara Hawthorne.”

“Hawthorne!” Storm’s brows shot upward again, and her expression was one of astonishment. “One of Helios’s?”

“A descendant, yes,” Hermes confirmed. However, there was a sketchy quality in his voice, as if yet another surprising revelation awaited Tripp.

“What are you not telling us?” she asked his cousin. Without waiting for a reply, she said, “Enguerrand, give Elara to me and step back, please.”

At six feet tall, Storm’s build was impressive. Her body possessed not an ounce of fat, and her movements highlighted her sinewy muscles as she reached forward.

He glanced around for the first time, realizing they were in the Amazonian jungle. “You’re the queen here?” he asked, gently placing Elara in her arms and hesitating to move backward in case the weight was too much for her. It wasn’t, and she easily held Elara’s petite form.

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