Page 14 of The Witch's Fate
Something shifts wildly when I open the door. My heart won’t behave, and my lungs don’t know what to do. The sight of him…it does something to me I’ve never felt before.
He is tall and broad and muscled, wearing leather armor. Every inch of him that I can see is soaked from the rain, and dark hair runs in streaks across his forehead. He does not look like the kind of man who would ever need someone’s pity. Certainly not mine. He is too strong. His presence overwhelms me. The shadows from my fire cast shadows on his sharp features, and it is like a gust of wind has come into the house and stolen my breath all over again.
My curiosity is no less powerful. It feels like a fire raging through me.
This soldier is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen.
A Spell Jar for Courage
Recipe requirements:
A jar with a cork lid to carry the spell
A pinch of salt to cleanse and purify
Tiger’s eye crystal for courage
A sprinkle of cinnamon (or a stick of bark) for abundance
Orange candle to seal the jar
Add your ingredients one at a time, stating the intention and purpose of each ingredient as you touch it. As the wax seals the jar, state the following:
For the good of all and to the harm of none, I am my own hero. Within me I possess the courage to open every door. I am able to walk through any space I desire. I am guided, protected, and being shown all possibilities for my higher selfwith strength. There is nothing that can stop me for I am capable and worthy. Courage walks beside me and holds my hand when I am in need.
When the wax has covered the lid and sealed the spell in the jar, blow out the candle and whisper, “So mote it be.” Keep the jar in a safe place and shake if necessary to remind yourself of this truth: you already possess all the courage you will ever need.
RYKER
If I had seen this woman in battle, I’d have died right there without striking another blow. Her beauty is a gift from the gods. I’ve never seen a soul so lovely. From her dark hair with waves that caress her face as the wind slips between us, to her striking hazel eyes that spark mischief and wisdom. She embodies a power in her slender frame that is draped in such delicate cloth.
I don’t think I could look away even if I wanted to. I’m entrapped and I do not fear it. My body wishes to bow to her. It is as overwhelming as it is soothing. Laying eyes on the witch is like coming home.
She’s tall, though not nearly as tall as I am, and the curves under her dress are shapely, mouthwatering spells. Her eyes in the firelight are a color I can’t name. I need to take her face in my hands and draw her closer so I can put a name to that hue, but my training keeps me in my place. My fingers itch to explore every inch of her skin. She’s intoxicating and I have barely breathed her in.
My orders were not to find the witch and lay claim to her. My orders were to find her so that she might help me charge my crystal and find a way out of here. I have a duty to uphold thehonor of my oath. And yet it all seems to shatter the moment I scent her mouthwatering fragrance. It’s nearly terrifying, the pull I feel to her.
The problem is that my oath seems to be no match for the fullness of her lips and the red flush on her cheeks. Those things, together with the gorgeous body hidden under her dress, have caught the attention of my wolf.
It stirs inside me, demanding that I inhale deeper, demanding to get closer to her scent. It is the same scent I caught on the wind—the one that made me burn with curiosity.
Heat engulfs me in an instant, and it is far stronger than the urges that struck me when I thought I was mere minutes from returning home. It’s as if the fire has jumped out of her grate and into my blood. I bite back a growl and plant my boots on the muddy ground, using all the power of my muscles to stand still.
This does not matter to my wolf. My senses sharpen, telling me more about the lines of her face and the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat and her quick, shallow breathing. The witch grips an athame in one hand, and her posture tells me she knows how to use it, but her pupils are blown large and dark with interest. The scent coming off her now is fresh and even more intoxicating. There is a pull between us—some recognition, I think, or that is what my wolf wishes it to be.
The witch cocks her head slightly to the side and inhales, shifting the air around her and sending more of her scent into my veins as I pray for control. As I demand it from my wolf. This was a mistake. This woman…she bewitches me. I am sure of it.
“You,” she begins, adjusting her grip on the athame. “Are not human.”
“No. I am a shifter.” I barely get out. As if I am breathless before her.
“I see…your eyes…” She takes a small step forward. The witch—this beautiful creature—is close enough for me to reach outand touch, yet the space she leaves between us is intentional. I do not breach it. If I do, I will not stop until I have satisfied my wolf. Until I have satisfied myself.
She gazes into my eyes, her own bright. “They are sharp and gray. Your wolf wants…” The witch looks for another long moment, then takes a sharp breath. “Your wolf wishes to hunt.”
With a step back, her hand raises, and the door seems to obey her. Her hand is on the wood by the time I put my hand up to stop it. The pressure of the door seems greater than it should be. Even if the witch pushed it hard, it should not be swinging so heavily into my hand.
Magic. The power of the witch.
