Page 134 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
Moira stood in the thick cold sand at the bottom of the sound and clicked her bare heels. “Uh, there’s no place like home?” she said querulously, pointing the wand at her feet.
“Ach!” Morgana sighed. “These legends become so distorted over time. First of all, they werna ruby slippers, they were Malachite. And Toto wasna Dorothy’s dog, he was her mate. An alpha shifter with a schnauzer fetish. Doona even get me started on Glinda—”
“Sorry,” Moira said. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
Morgana massaged her temples. “Perhaps ye ought just study the Grimoire. Given yer position, it would be for the best.”
“I can do that,” Moira assured her, hoping Morgana didn’t think her heir a total dud. “Anyway, I can’t go straight home. There’s a stop I need to make first.”
“Very well.” Morgana took both hands in hers and whispered a blessing in a language Moira was unfamiliar with. When she was done, Morgana opened her eyes and laid a hand against Moira’s cheek. “May the goddess guide ye,” she said.
And then she was gone.
12
The wind whipped through Nicholas Kingswood’s hair, emitting a melancholy howl as it scraped across the jagged cliff. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing here, staring out at the heaving waves, searching for some sign of Moira.
All the while he kept his vigil, an utterly foreign urge kept returning to him—the overwhelming desire to punchhimselfin the face.
Was this what self-loathing felt like?
Nick had never in his unnaturally long life had to contend with it. Nor with the distasteful bedfellows self-loathing kept for company.
Guilt.
Shame. Regret.
Doubt.
All signs of a theory he had never personally subscribed to. This notion ofconscience.
Yet, the desire to hurl himself off the cliff after her was undeniable. Part of him would welcome the pain of his broken body as a way of sharing what he had inflicted on her.
It was that part he had told to shut the fuck up several times without success.
Nick had fought many battles, but none of them had taken place in his own head. As it turned out, he was a formidable opponent.
“Oh, Nicholas. I thought Julian was the Horseman who specialized in staring forlornly off windswept cliffs.”
The sound of Lucy’s voice, at once sensual and sarcastic, set Nick’s teeth on edge.
“Lucifer,” Nick said by way of greeting.
She sidled up to him in a squeak of leather and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind in a Heimlich hug.
“Tell me, darling,” she said, her cheek pressed between Nick’s shoulder blades so he could feel the words grate against his spine. “How did the water witch get past the barrier I erected?”
“I took her,” Nick said. It didn’t do to bother with deceit when chewing the fat with the Mother of Lies.
“Indeed.” Her fingers slid down his hips and into the front pockets of his slacks. “And after I made my plans for herpainfully—” she squeezed Nick’s cock “—clear. One might think you were openly defying me.”
Nick grabbed her hands by the wrists and peeled them from his person, turning to face her. Facing Lucy was always safer. “Is it my fault if you were too busy chasing your latest rejection from Julian to be present to collect her soul?”
She refused to rise to his deliberate provocation.
“But I was present, Nicholas. Waiting right down there in the shadows of the rocks.” Darkness complimented Lucy’s features in a way the daylight never could. Threading pale white-gold strands through her hair, turning her eyes to sapphires and her lips to red velvet. “Trouble is, there was no soul to collect.”
“I know Moira can be a bitch sometimes, but I’m almost certain that she had a soul,” Nick retorted.
