Page 102 of Witch Untold
But Sloane was still staring at my healed hand.
“We’ll figure it out later.” Although I was pretty sure this had something to do with my “changes.”
Sloane nodded curtly.
Together we rounded up our witches. The ones affected by hunger groaned and rubbed their heads, surfacing from the warlocks’ mojo. I guess the fuckers had to be in the vicinity for the effects of their power to last.
“We need to get out of here before the firefighters do their sweep,” Sloane said. “Everyone, out. Now. Cora, do you think you can jump Jessie to the van?”
She’d noticed my power glitch, then. “Yeah.” I flexed my hands, reveling in the crackle of power between my fingertips. “I’m good.”
“We’ll see you there.”
I gathered an unconscious Jessie into my arms, mindful of the wound on her shoulder, and made the jump.
We materialized in the cool interior of the van. Thank goodness.
“Cora? What the fuck?” Lauris clambered into the back of the van. “Shit. Oh, that looks bad.”
Yeah, the wound was deep, exposing flesh and muscle.
“What happened?”
“Bad shit.”
“But it’s over?”
My heart sank. “No. I think it’s only just beginning.”
Chapter Thirty
Sloane
“How is she?” Cora asks.
I don’t let her into the quarters; instead I block the door with my body, then step out, closing it behind me. I can’t have her scent in the room. Yeah, I can fucking smell her evocative aroma. A concoction that’s uniquely her with undertones of vanilla.
I want to eat her.
Shit. I want to eat her.
My gums ache and I duck my head to compose myself. When I look up, there’s no mistaking the hurt on her face. It takes everything I have not to apologize, but I manage it. The past few hours, the fight, the exertion have put a strain on me. I’m exhausted, my will weakened. I don’t trust myself around her right now.
I keep my expression neutral and businesslike. “She’s healing. It’ll be a few days, but she’ll be fine.”
“She saved my life.”
I need her to go away. “I know.”
“I tried to jump out of the way, but my power failed.”
Her guilt is a sharp, acrid tang beneath her luscious scent. “It’s not your fault. Go home. Rest.”
She licks her delectable full lips, lips I’m desperate to taste again.
For a moment she looks torn and then she gets that little frown on her forehead, the determined look that comes with the slight jutting of her bottom lip that’s not quite a pout but close enough.
“I get what you’re doing, but it doesn’t have to be this way,” she says.
