Page 7 of The Witch's Spell
Orla looks from Aurora to me, then back. “I’m Orla.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Her head turns slightly to face my brother. “And you must be Cathal.”
He tips his head at her, like he’s not quite sure who or what she is.
Aurora doesn’t wait for him to say anything. “I don’t know why you’re here, but if you’ve come to hurt Faolan, I won’t let you.”
My eyebrows rise. Did Aurora just try to threaten my brother?
Realistically, if he wanted to hurt me, there’s nothing she could do about it—unless she’s got some violent spells in her spellbook, which I highly doubt—but hearing her stand up for me, I can’t help but to feel a burst of pride.
This tiny witch would put herself in harm’s way, would face off against the alpha of the Emberstone pack, to protect me.
I send my feelings into our bond, and Aurora flicks a glance at me over her shoulder, green eyes shining in the winter sunlight.
Fuck. I want to have her right now.
“I assure you, we’re not here to hurt anyone,” Orla says. “Our intentions are pure.”
With the women standing between us like this, I’m reminded of why an alpha female is so important to a pack. Among many other duties, she’s the one whoassures peace and harmony within the pack. Sometimes this means asserting her dominance, even violently if need be, but more often than not, our alpha females handle conflict with grace and maturity, and Orla seems to be no exception.
Maybe the mate bond got it right after all.
Aurora doesn’t respond right away. She grips her thick cloak in her fists, and I can tell she’s trying to determine what she wants to do.
If it were up to me, I’d send them away and tell them never to return.
But, of course, Aurora picks a wildly different path.
“If that’s true,” she says slowly, head turned in Cathal’s direction even though she’s speaking to Orla, “then perhaps you can join us for lunch. And I imagine you might need some clothes?”
Lunch? Clothes?
Does she intend for them tostay?
Anger starts to smolder in my chest again.
A smile flicks across Orla’s face. “Please. We’d be so grateful.”
“All right, then... As long as no one starts any fights.”
Orla glances at Cathal.
He sighs and crosses his arms. “No fights,” he says, tone bordering on lazy. “I swear it.”
Liar.
With that, Aurora stands a bit taller. “Good. Brookside is this way.” She gestures toward the trees, then turns and looks back at me. When she sees my expression, she narrows her eyes. “Don’t you want to know why he’s here?” she whispers.
Well, yes. But more than that, I want him to get the hell out of Faunwood and never come back. I never want to see his stupid smirking face again.
“Aurora,” I start, but she places a hand on my bare stomach, fingers trailing over my tight muscles, and that one touch steals my words—and thoughts—clean away.
“Lunch and a cup of tea. We’ll figure out what they want, and that’s all. Okay?”
Her fingers are still pressed against my hot skin. I think she’s doing it on purpose, trying to distract me, but I can’t bring myself to be upset.
So, with a heavy sigh, I finally relent.
