Chapter 16
Cairn
I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE hell I was thinking when I invited her to stay.
Well, I do, but it’s dangerous. Foolish.
And I hope I don’t end up regretting it.
Now the witch is sitting beside me in the garden. I went into my hut and brought out a blanket, and we’re seated upon it, staring at the moonflowers at the forest’s edge, waiting for them to unfurl.
She’s sitting close enough to touch, but I’m very careful to not touch her. I can feel the heat she puts off from here, and combined with her close proximity, my head is starting to spin.
I’ve not felt like this in a long time. Not since I was a young man falling in love for the first time, then getting my heart broken when she decided I wasn’t what she wanted.
Since then, I’ve kept to myself, have kept my head down.
Plants are so much easier than people, and they never lie or manipulate or mislead.
They wilt when they need water or sunlight or soil amendments.
They bloom when they’re good and ready. They communicate without needing to say a word.
And I like that about them. They’re predictable, safe.
Unlike witches. Especially fire witches. Especially this fire witch.
My gaze slides to her.
She has her knees pulled into her chest, her arms draped around them.
Her hair is down today, chaotic curls falling all around her shoulders and down her back.
She’s not grumbling or scowling or setting fire to anything, and in the darkening night, I almost think she looks luminescent, like a fire burns just beneath her pale freckled skin.
I think of the gloves hidden away in one of the crates she helped me bring in. Should I give them to her now? Would that be strange? Too much?
Am I misreading this whole thing? Maybe she really did just want to bring me cupcakes and watch the moonflowers bloom. That’s innocent enough.
But women have never made sense to me, and Lyra Wilder is no exception. I can’t read her well, don’t know what her glances or lingering looks mean.
I’m a lost cause.
And I’m trying desperately to figure out what to do when Lyra lets out a small gasp.
“Look!” She points, and I follow her finger to the moonflowers, which are slowly starting to uncurl their creamy white petals.
And from deep inside their stalks, they begin to glow.
But despite their beauty, I find my gaze being pulled back to Lyra. She’s leaning forward now, crimson eyes wide, mouth lifting into a slow-spreading smile.
She’s what’s beautiful, I think.
And I’m so screwed. Because I’m pretty sure I’m falling for her. For a student.
Fuck me . . .
“They’re glowing,” she says. “I didn’t know they glowed . . .” She pushes to her feet and glances down at me. “Is it okay if I . . . ?”
“Sure.”
I remain seated on the blanket as Lyra moves toward the flowers. As she draws near, their glow catches her face, turning her skin a shimmering shade of silver. Her smile fades slowly, until she’s staring at the moonflowers with a focused expression, as if they’re a mystery she’s trying to solve.
Meanwhile, I think she’s the mystery I’m trying to solve.
Why her? There are other faculty members here who’ve shown an interest in me, who’ve invited me to dinner or drinks, who’ve tried to get to know me. And I’ve turned them all down. I’ve never been interested in disrupting my calm, predictable life for the chance at something with someone.
But Lyra arrived here like a firestorm. She came into my life without any permission from me, and slowly, week by week, she started to warm something inside me that has been long frozen. And now I’m starting to burn for her.
“Cairn,” she says, drawing me out of my musings.
My name isn’t particularly interesting or exotic, but the way she says it, it’s like a word I’ve never heard before. And I want to hear her say it again and again. I want to listen to all the words she says, all the shapes her lips and tongue make.
The thought makes my cock jump.
So, so screwed.
“What?” I say, tearing my eyes away from her and looking down into my lap, where my steadily growing hard-on is already starting to press against the fabric of my trousers.
“Thank you.”
The inflection in her voice makes me look up. She takes a few steps toward me, then pauses. The sleeves of her sweater are clutched in her hands, and her eyes are slightly narrowed as she looks down at me.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was about to cry.
“For what?” I ask.
One of her shoulders lifts in a shrug. “I don’t know. My wrist, the fox, putting up with me . . .” A little laugh slips out of her. “You’re a good person.”
A good person wouldn’t allow themselves to feel this way about someone so clearly not right for them. I could lose my job. My home. She could get expelled. None of that is good. It’s very, very bad.
And maybe I should put a stop to it right now, before it goes too—
Next thing I know, Lyra is kneeling beside me, the glow from the moonflowers illuminating half her face. Her proximity makes me hold my breath. Her heat washes over me.
What is she—
Before I can pull away or push her back, she leans forward and crushes her lips against mine, almost losing her balance in the process.
It’s rough, chaotic—not so unlike the witch herself.
And it’s also magic. Because the moment I taste her, I know there’s no going back, no slowing this down, no telling her I don’t feel this way about her.
Her spell weaves around me, and my hands move of their own accord, gripping her by the waist and lifting her smoothly into my lap where I’m still seated on the blanket in the dry grass.
A little voice in the back of my mind tells me to be careful, that someone could see us. But they’d have to be way out here on the edge of the woods, and with the night growing darker still, they’d need to draw close to make out who we are, who the hitched breaths belong to.
Lyra’s weight settles atop me, and my cock strains for her. Then her hands are on either side of my face, and she pushes her fingers through my scruffy facial hair.
I should trim it. It’s grown way too long.
She breaks our kiss, and breathlessly, she whispers, “I love your beard.”
Okay, in that case, maybe I won’t be trimming it.
When my hard-on jumps again, Lyra’s eyes widen.
She definitely felt it. Then she arches a brow, and her mouth quirks up on one side.
I’ve only a moment to consider what’s going through her mind before she reaches between her legs and trails her fingers along my cock.
With only the fabric of my trousers separating us, the touch makes me groan.
“Fuck,” I grunt out.
I want this. I want her.
An image flashes through my mind of Lyra on her back in my bed, legs spread, pussy stretching around my cock.
No.
This can’t happen—for many reasons.
She’s too young, too small. I’d hurt her, I’m sure of it.
And not to mention I could lose my job and she could be expelled.
And I can’t let that happen to her. She’s been working so hard—I saw it when she transplanted those sniffleblooms, then again when she fell in the mud and had to rein in her temper before it flared and burned the campus down.
Being with me like this could ruin her.
And it’s my responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen.
So even though it’s physically painful to resist her, especially when she’s sitting on me like this, I lean away, preventing her from capturing my mouth with hers.
“We have to stop,” I whisper, voice husky with hunger.
Her lips—swollen and red from kissing me—pull into a pout. “Why?”
“You know why.” I take her by the waist and move her onto the blanket beside me, then try (and fail) to arrange myself in my trousers. But there’s no room, nowhere for my cock to go, so it just sits there, hard and throbbing, as I prevent myself from doing what I so badly want to do to her.
“No, I don’t.” Lyra crosses her arms and glowers at me.
“Because,” I grumble, “if someone sees you with me, you could get expelled. And . . .” I let out a slow sigh and scoot away from her. “And I don’t want that to happen.”
The glower softens, and Lyra’s tense shoulders droop. “No one’s going to see us out here,” she says, but I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s uncertain.
Good. She should focus on her studies, not on me. I’m just a minotaur groundskeeper, a man who likes flowers and herbs and staying away from people. I’m no good for her. And she’s no good for me.
With a grunt, I push to my hooves, then turn away from her and cross my arms, wishing my hard-on would go away and stop tempting me.
“They might,” I say gruffly, not allowing myself to look at her. “It’s too dangerous.”
Lyra’s clothing rustles as she rises to her feet, and I feel her approach from behind, but I don’t turn to look at her. “We could . . . go inside.”
That same image pops into my mind: her legs spread, bottom lip caught between her teeth, chest rising and falling with panted breaths.
I shake my head hard and flick my tail. “No. That’s . . . not a good idea.”
“But you want to.” A hard edge has entered her voice. “Don’t you?”
“What I want is irrelevant.”
“Just admit it.” She eases around me, and I tense at the feel of her hand on my arm. The moonlight catches her crimson eyes as she gazes up at me. “Tell me the truth.”
Staring down at her, I consider my options. I could tell her no, that this was a mistake and I’ve no interest in her. But I’ve never liked lying, and the fact that my dick is still creating a tight bulge in my trousers says more words than I need to.
A sigh whooshes out of me, and I scrub one hand down my face. “Yes, I want to.” My gaze meets hers again, and I’m unwavering. “But we’re not going to. And that’s final.”
I’m not sure what I expect her to do. Pout, maybe, or narrow her eyes and set me on fire.
Instead, her lips pull up into a sideways smile. And that’s more terrifying than her chaotic fire magic.
What’s she thinking right now?
“Okay, Mr. Axton.” She steps away from me, and I suddenly don’t like when she says my name like that.
It reminds me of our imbalanced power dynamic, our age difference, the fact that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling the way about her that I am.
And I think that’s exactly why she used it. To nettle me. Provoke me. Taunt me.
My nostrils flutter with a hard exhale.
Meddlesome witch.
“Well, enjoy that last cupcake,” she says, taking another few steps away. “And I’ll see you soon.” Pushing her vibrant red curls over her shoulder, she tips her head and says, “Try not to think of me while I’m gone.”
My lips pull into a deep scowl.
Then she’s waving goodbye and setting off through the moonlight, walking back toward the castle, leaving me standing in the dark with my cock still throbbing for her.