Page 12 of The Witch's Spell
“Are you okay?” Rowan asks. He sets his book aside and sits up in bed so that I can prop myself on the mattress beside him.
“I suppose so.” I reach for Harrison, and he begins purring as I scratch him behind the ear. “I just...” Mygaze cuts to the open door leading into the hall. “I don’t know if I can forgive Cathal for what he did. Faolan’s scars...”
I remember how badly wounded he was when first I met him, with bite marks so deep I feared I wouldn’t be able to heal him. Even now, my stomach grows hot with anger just thinking about it.
“Not all siblings get along,” Rowan says. Some strands of hair came loose from my braid this evening, and he tucks them behind my ear. “We have to let them work it out. And if they can’t find common ground, that’s okay too.”
His gaze gets faraway then, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his sister, Lucy, and his parents. It’s still hard to believe he hasn’t seen them since he was sent away to become a page at seven years old.
Should I tell him what I’ve planned with his mother? I know I need to, but I’ve been waiting for the right moment. Perhaps I’ll wait a bit longer, until Orla and Cathal have gone and things have returned to normal. I’m not sure we need any more upsets right now.
“You look tired,” I say, noting the heaviness in Rowan’s green eyes. “Get some sleep, my knight.” Leaning forward, I press my lips to his, and he cups the back of my neck tenderly, deepening the kiss.
Beside us, Harrison rumbles unhappily.
Smiling, I pull away.
“All right, you two. Good night. Stay warm.”
“Good night, my queen,” Rowan says as I stand from the bed. He picks his book back up and resumes scratching Harrison under the chin.
Descending the stairs takes me longer than it used to. By the time I make it to the foyer, I’m winded, my back and legs aching. But Alden is there in a moment, putting a warm cup of tea into my hands and ushering me toward the bedroom off the parlor.
“Rest, little witch. It was a busy day.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, then steal one of his kisses before slipping into the bedroom and closing the door.
Now I’ve got my shifter to contend with.
Faolan is shirtless, one arm propped against the wall as he glares out the bedroom window into the swirling snowstorm. He says nothing as I set my teacup on the nightstand and begin to slowly undress. With the door closed, the room heats up quickly, and the air is warm against my bare skin as I drop my dress to my feet. Now wearing a calf-length shift and soft knitted socks, I cross the room on quiet feet and ease my body up behind Faolan’s.
As my arms come around his firm stomach, he grumbles.
“Don’t be upset with me,” I say, then begin pressing kisses along his bare spine.
“I’m not upset withyou,” he says. When he sighs, I feel his muscles relax, if only slightly. “I’m upset because I don’t know why he’s here or what he wants.”
My arms are still looped around Faolan’s waist. I rest my cheek upon his back. Against my skin, he’s incredibly warm, my own personal crackling fire. I cuddle a bit closer. “Could it truly be that he wanted to see you?”
Faolan’s laugh is sharp, humorless. “Cathal cares little for me—he’s made that crystal clear.”
I hum in thought. Perhaps Faolan is right—I don’t know the intricacies of the relationship he has with his twin—but part of me, the blindly optimistic part, wants Cathal’s appearance here to mean he’s come to heal the rift between them.
The wind intensifies, battering the cottage with such intensity that the wood groans. Out the window, I watch the snow come down in a torrent of white, obscuring my view into the trees beyond.
“Quite the storm,” I say. “It was beautiful earlier. Did you smell it coming in?”
Faolan shakes his head. “No. Nothing. It’s... strange.”
Strange indeed. Andfurious. We get storms every year, but I can’t remember something of this power in years past, or at least nothing recently.
But the fires are burning, and almost everyone I care for is safe and sound under Brookside’s roof. Being snowed in wouldn’t be so bad. It would just mean more time with the men I love...
My fingers drift along Faolan’s firm stomach, then down, playing with the waistband of his soft cotton trousers. The moment my hand slips beneath the fabric to wrap around his hardening shaft, our bond flares with heat.
A growl rumbles between us. The fingers he has planted against the wall curl as I slowly stroke his length.
“Are you,” he bites out, “trying to distract me?”
