Page 83 of The Witch's Spell
I arch one brow. Then I part my lips and let her put her finger into my mouth. Her cheeks flare pink as I suck the chocolate from her fingertip.
It’s sweet and smooth and deliciously chocolaty. It’s so good, in fact, that it helps distract me from the hardening in my trousers.Thatis certainly not appropriate when we’ve a cottage full of family members and friends. But perhaps later I can steal Aurora away into the back bedroom and lick frosting off some of her other body parts.
Giggling, Aurora pulls her finger from my mouth, then pushes onto her toes to press a kiss against my still-sweet lips.
“What’s the frosting for?” I ask as she turns around, her soft green hair tickling my face.
“The Yule log. See?” She points to a wooden platter with a beautiful chocolate-and-vanilla sponge cake perched in the center, having been rolled and shaped to look like a log from the forest. “I just need to finish the frosting, then the sugared cranberries, and it’ll be ready.”
“And what’s that?” I point to the opposite side of the kitchen, drawing Aurora’s gaze. With her distracted, I quickly reach around her and dip my finger into the frosting bowl, stealing another taste.
“Naughty,” Aurora says, flashing me a look and pulling the bowl close to protect it from my thieving fingers.
“Punish me later?” I whisper.
She arches a brow. “Only if you’re good.”
My laughter is quick and easy. And it almost drowns out the sound of someone knocking on the front door.
Aurora’s gaze flicks to the kitchen doorway, a furrow wrinkling her brow.
“Are you expecting someone else?” I ask.
“No. Everyone’s here.” She starts to set her wooden spoon down, but I wave a hand.
“I’ll get it. You focus on the frosting. And maybe make extra for later?” I glance back at her before stepping through the doorway into the foyer, and her eyes are crinkled with a laugh.
It doesn’t seem anyone else heard the knock; they’re all gathered in the parlor, laughing and eating and playing agame of cards. I wasn’t familiar with it, so I left them to it. Now, though, I step up to the front door, wrap a hand around the handle, and pull it open, expecting to see someone from the village.
My eyes go wide. I blink.
“U-Uncle?”
Ciaran, my father’s younger brother, stands on Aurora’s front porch. He’s wearing his glamour, as am I, but his long black hair still shines in the dim winter sunlight, and his pale skin looks only slightly wrinkled with age.
“Nephew,” Ciaran says, flashing me a quick smile. “I’d hoped to find you here. Your parents are concerned about you. Didn’t listen when I told them you were just off on another one of your travels.”
I blink again, trying to wrap my mind around him being here. “How’d you find me?”
“The dryads,” he responds nonchalantly.
Of course. I shouldn’t have even asked. The dryads know everything—and they’re not big fans of keeping secrets. Especially mine. It’s been that way since I was young.
“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” he continues, his sharp silver gaze drifting over my shoulder. The way he looks at the cottage feels... odd. But I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is.
Before I can answer, I hear movement behind me, and Aurora says, “Thorne, who’s here?”
There are some fairies I would never allow to get within a square mile of Aurora, but my uncle isn’t one of them. He’s a bit of an outlier in my family, a wanderer with very little interest in the lordship and the responsibilities that come alongwith it. I spent many afternoons adventuring with him when I was a boy. He’d either walk along at my slow pace or would sling me over his shoulders, and we’d explore the woods and valleys around Eldrasyl together, then return home with twigs in our hair and smiles on our faces.
I give Ciaran a look, and he tips his head curiously. Then I step aside, making room for Aurora to sidle up beside me.
And my uncle’s face does something strange. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his forehead furrowing, and for a brief moment, he loses control of his glamour, letting his true appearance flicker through.
With a tremor in his voice, he whispers, “Lilith?”
Aurora draws a sharp breath. When I look at her, I find her eyes wide, a similar look of confusion on her face.
Lilith was Aurora’s aunt; I know that much. But how would Ciaran know that?
