Page 52 of A Witch and Her Dragon
I glance back over my shoulder, searching for Tristan, but he’s already gone, with nothing but fallen leaves skittering across the cobblestones in his wake.
Chapter 24
Raelan
THE ACADEMY GROUNDS ARE DRIPPING in decorations for Samhain. Pumpkins of all shapes, colors, and sizes line the walkways and sit stacked in piles; charmed candles float in midair; and the cool breeze smells of cider and caramel apples and spiced mead.
I’ve not had a drink since the schoolyear began, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like downing an entire mug—or two or three—of mead. Anything to take Alina off my mind.
Things haven’t gotten any better. Every day is a struggle, every brush of her scent against my senses an assault the likes of which I barely survive.
Tonight she’s wearing a dress I’ve never seen on her before—which is probably a good thing. It’s long and black, and the bodice is pulled snug with laces. A necklace hangs about Alina’s neck, a silver songbird pendant coming to rest in the slight depression between her breasts, which arepushed up high enough that I’m struggling to keep my eyes away from them. Her blue eyes are lined and smudged with black, her lips are painted crimson, and her hair hangs loose and wild around her shoulders.
When she stepped out of her room this evening and I got my first full look at her, I had to shift my stance in an effort to hide the hard-on she gave me.
If she’s trying to kill me tonight, she’s doing a fucking phenomenal job of it.
The academy grounds teem with people—students, faculty, and plenty of visitors. Merchants from Wysteria have set up stands throughout the courtyard, from which they sell food and drink, trinkets, and all other manner of wares.
Alina and her roommates talk and laugh easily with one another, sweeping through the stands and picking up snacks and souvenirs as they go. One stand is selling caramel-dipped apples, and Alina purchases one for herself.
Watching her lips glide over the sticky caramel almost has me tossing her over my shoulder and carrying her back to my room.
This is not good. Really not good.
I’ve done a damn good job recently of keeping my distance from her. After that last kiss in the alleyway, I’ve not let myself taste her again. But tonight I feel myself slipping, and it’s going to take all my willpower to keep my hands off her waist and out of her hair.
Not like she’s doing anything to help the situation.
Her eyes keep finding mine, and her crimson lips have a perpetual smirk on them, like she knows quite well what she’s doing and isn’t afraid of showing it.
After the women have finished meandering through the stands and pop-up shops, Lyra says, “I’m ready for a drink. Anyone else?”
“Please,” Meave says.
Alina just shrugs. “Sure.”
Poppy’s cheeks go red. “I-I’ve never drank before...”
In Wysteria, the drinking age is eighteen. Granted, some of us were slipping into taverns and flirting with barmaids at much younger an age than that.
“How about you, Raelan?” Lyra asks. Like Alina and the others, she’s dressed in black, and her bright red hair bursts out from her head in a mess of wild curls. Juniper is perched upon her shoulder, and Lyra reaches up to give her a thin slice of green apple.
I try and fail not to look at Alina. As soon as my eyes flick to her, drinking in the shape of her body beneath her black dress and the curve of her soft brown throat, I know I’m going to need something—anything—to take this edge off.
“I’m in,” I say.
Lyra lights up. “Yes! Let’s go.”
We get in line at the mead table. Even from way back here, I can see the man who’s serving up drinks—a massive minotaur with thick spiraling horns and a golden hoop ring dangling from his nose. Seeing him, I realize that he must be the one I stole the clothing from the night I crept back to the academy in the dark, completely naked. I’ve heard talk of Coven Crest’s minotaur groundskeeper, but this is my first timelaying eyes on him.
As we work our way slowly to the front of the line, I realize how big he is. I stand taller than most of the students here, but he stands well over a foot above me. His arms are like tree trunks. Hell, he could probably lift tree trunks and not even break a sweat.
Behind him are casks of mead, and he serves up drinks with a slight frown and an air of general disinterest.
“Five for us,” Lyra says when she gets to the front of the line. “What’s on tap?”
The minotaur regards her through slightly narrowed eyes. “Mead.”
