Chapter Seven
A Heated Problem
It was January. August knew this because he’d gotten used to keeping track of the days and weeks. He also knew this because there was only a month until Valentine’s Day. The mild ache that filled his body during this time of the year was a familiar one. It had been this since the tragedy.
Since Alaina was murdered.
The temperature inside the cabin was gradually dropping. Outside, the storm continued to rage, keeping them trapped inside. Unable to leave the cabin to gather wood, August was running out of fuel for the fireplace. It was just a matter of time until they’d run out of supplies. With no food and no fire for warmth, August could survive for a while, but before too long, he’d perish in these extreme conditions.
Great, August , he thought, grimacing as he tossed a log into the fireplace. First, Alaina, now you will die because of a witch.
The worst part was that she wasn’t even really here to experience the damage her magic had done in this world. She stayed unconscious for days, weeks. He hated her for it, for being responsible for the troubles he now faced. Still, his stomach fluttered at the thought of her being fully conscious again.
He put another log on the fire, feeling a wave of satisfaction as the heat warmed his face. Straightening, he returned to his bedroom. Daphne was still asleep, shivering on the cot. His chest constricted as he walked over to her and bent to pick her up in his arms. She was soft against him, her skin cold to the touch. Her lips were parted as usual, and just as he had dozens of times before, he fought the urge to crush his lips against hers.
No sooner had August returned to the living room than she sighed and stirred in her sleep. Then, quite suddenly, she awoke with a shiver.
“Hey!” Her eyes snapped open wide with alarm as she stared at his face. “What are you—?”
“Relax,” he told her before she started to struggle. “You need more warmth.”
He walked over to the fireplace, setting her gently on the floor just a few feet away from the flames. She shivered some more, but he saw a flicker of gratitude in her grey eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, hugging her arms to herself. “Why’s it so cold?”
August’s jaw clenched. “Because the blizzard keeps getting worse. It must be an Emerson thing. You cause problems wherever you go.”
He still hadn’t gotten over what she’d told him about her ancestry. I’m a descendant of Eleanor Emerson, she’d said, one of the witches who created Frost Mountain.
Barely half an hour after that, she’d passed out again. August supposed he should be even more wary of her. Not only was she a witch, but she happened to be a descendant of one of the witches, the ones responsible for Frost Mountain. That made her significantly more dangerous than he’d realized.
“Not all witches are what you think we are,” she told him. “Some of us actually want to help people.”
He scoffed. “That’s rich coming from an Emerson witch.”
But he hadn’t forgotten what she’d told him. All I wanted was to fix this problem once and for all . What if she’d been telling the truth about that?
Don’t be ridiculous, August, he told himself. She was probably lying. Besides, regardless of her intentions, she’s dangerous. All of them are.
“Get some more rest,” he told her.
Night had fallen. No light filtered in through the tiny cracks in the walls. He should probably get some rest as well. Back in his bedroom on his bed, by himself, alone with his thoughts.
The idea both appealed to him and reviled him.
He turned to leave.
“August,” Daphne said softly, “wait.”
The sound of her voice sent a tingle down his spine. He froze, turning slowly.
“Yes?” His voice had gone husky.
“I… I’m still cold. I don’t think the fire is working.”
“Give it some time,” he replied as passively as he could. “You’ve been cold for a while.”
For the next few seconds, all he heard was the crackling of the flames. “Do you think I could have a blanket or something?”
“I don’t have one.” A thought crept into his mind just then. It was a ridiculous thought. Before he could let reason stop him, he walked back to her and stretched out on the floor next to her.
“What the heck are you doing?” she asked.
“You need warmth,” he said simply. “I’m a little warm.”
He took her silence to mean agreement. They lay side by side now, August staring up at the rafters, painfully aware of his body grazing hers. He tried to steady his breath, hoping she couldn’t feel his pulse racing.
Remember, he told himself, she’s a witch.
He forgot the reminder as soon as it entered his mind.
This close, even without looking right at her, he registered nearly every detail about her: her sharp breaths, the rise and fall of her breasts in the corner of his vision, the way the warmth of the flames combined with her scent and filled his nostrils.
He shifted slightly and found himself pressed even harder against her body.
He heard her gasp.
“Come here,” he growled without thinking, and he reached around her, pulling her body closer to his.
She was pliant against him, her breasts now crushed to his chest. The softness of her body jerked him to instant awareness of the hardness of his own. His heart and mind continued to race, and the feel of her body nestled snugly against his had caused a stirring in his loins. His arousal throbbed against her groin, and her sudden intake of breath told him she could feel it.
Daphne made no move to extricate herself from their newly joined position. He could feel her heart thudding against his chest, her breath against his ear. August kept his gaze on the rafters above, aware of her nipples hardening through her clothes. His hand rested possessively on her left thigh, creeping up lazily by the second. Her breathing quickened, turning ragged just as he did.
Damnit.
He shifted then, and she gave a tiny moan as his erection rubbed against her groin. The sound broke through his self-restraint like a stone hammer. He grabbed her hips, one hand sliding under her clothes just as he turned his head. Their lips joined immediately. Hers were just as soft as he remembered. Another sound rose in her throat, and he hesitated, fearing it was a cry of protest, but as she continued to kiss him, he kissed her back with renewed fervor.
The hand underneath her clothes slid up the length of her back, caressing her skin the way he had dreamt so many nights. He pushed up her sweater, half wondering if she would object to him taking off her clothes, and slipped his hand underneath her bra to cup her breast. She sighed into the kiss as he kneaded her, shifting to give him better access, and he teased her distended nipple between his fingers.
Oh, how he longed to suckle those breasts. A fresh desire surged inside him, and it cost him the remainder of his self-restraint to keep from pushing up her sweater and taking those rock-hard nipples between his teeth. Against him, she felt deliciously warm, and the thought of how much warmer she would feel further down crossed his mind.
She lifted a hand to cup his face. August knew without opening his eyes that it was the hand with the Kane insignia on it. The realization filled his chest with a warmth like the sun. Right now, the insignia on her wrist was more than a magical bind. It was at this moment his mark, a mark that joined them, a sign that she was his.
As they continued to kiss, he slid his hand down her torso, slipping it into her trousers and brushing the front of her panties. His fingers settled between her legs, finding her warmest spot, and he nearly let out a gasp of his own. He could feel her wetness through her panties. He rubbed her gently, and she moaned into the kiss, grinding against his thumb.
His mind wandered ahead of the rest of his body, spinning a scene in which he dispensed with her clothing and caressed her inner thighs with his mouth, nipping her tender flesh as she arched and moaned and raked her fingers through his hair to keep him down there, right where he wanted most to be right now.
The thought of ripping her clothes off, down to the last stitch, grew stronger, as did their kisses. His arousal strained desperately against his clothing. He wanted her naked under him; her legs parted to reveal her warm, wet spot to him. He wanted his fingers inside her, exploring her. Who was he kidding? He wanted her clenched around his cock. He wanted—
No!
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he pulled away from her, unable to believe what he’d almost done. Next to him, Daphne stiffened, and he could tell she was thinking the same thing.
“I should go,” he muttered.
He climbed to his feet, his erection still visible through his trousers, much to his embarrassment, and headed for the bedroom, grateful to be able to put some distance between them. Alone, without her next to him to cloud his mind with desire, he could think a bit more clearly. And that was what he needed right now.
He despised this woman. She was a witch, one of the people he’d devoted his life to killing.
Yet he’d fed her and given her a place to sleep despite the problem she’d plunged them both into.
And just moments ago.… he’d practically thrown himself at her. What the hell had he been thinking?
Clearly, he hadn’t been thinking because if he’d been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have let himself get so close to a witch unless it was to take her life.