30. Chapter 30
30
Chapter 30
Bronwen
I adjusted the neckline of my dress in the mirror, my reflection pale and a little too tired. After spending the first half of the morning helping Mama in her sewing room, I anxiously got ready to meet August. No matter how hard I tried to focus on anything other than him, my mind always went back to him. His silky hair between my fingers. His smooth, muscular chest pressed against my body. His full lips on every part of me.
Gods! If I can’t get your mind away from that, how am I going to focus on the journal?
I reached for my cloak, draping it over my shoulders as the soft knock came at my door.
“Come in,” I called, my voice steady.
Papa stepped inside, his presence filling the small space. His weathered face was drawn tight, a hint of worry etched into his features as his eyes swept over me.
I stiffened under his gaze, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders. He didn’t look like that this morning.
“Where are you off to?” he asked, his tone casual, though his eyes betrayed his concern.
“Just meeting a friend.”
“A friend,” he repeated, his tone carrying an unspoken question. He stepped closer, his brows furrowing. “Be home before dark.”
I tilted my head, studying him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally spoke. “I just got word that a group of witches were found dead. It looked like they were killed in the woods a few days ago.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to go hunting right now.”
My breath caught, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. A wave of guilt churned in my stomach. I swallowed hard. “Our witches?” I asked carefully, though I knew they weren’t.
“No,” he said, his tone heavy with frustration. “But we are looking into it. I sent a letter to Adar, but we are keeping this quiet. There is no reason for more of the Legion to be snooping around right now. Until we know more, I want you home before dark. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I said quietly, though the words felt heavy on my tongue.
Papa’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he turned to leave. “Be careful, Winnie.”
As the door closed behind him, I let out a shaky breath. My fingers tightened around the edge of my cloak, my mind racing. The memory of those witches burned vividly in my mind, their faces frozen in terror as the flames consumed them. I had done it to save him. To save August. But no one else would see it that way, and I couldn’t blame them. How could I justify taking the lives of witches to protect a vampire?
The guilt twisted in my chest, clawing at the edges of my resolve. It wasn’t just the witches. It was the way I had wanted him to live. The way I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, even when I knew what he was—what he would always be. My actions had blurred the lines of who I was supposed to be, leaving me adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.
I had betrayed everything I was supposed to live for. My family. The coven. The mission to protect our kind. And yet, the weight of that betrayal was nothing compared to the pull I felt toward him.
Toward August.
***
This was a mistake. I should have stayed home, kept myself busy with Mama, but my feet had carried me here of their own accord. To this place. To him.
I had to keep my focus on the goal. Find and kill Carrow. But now the lines were blurred. Did he now have something he could hold over me? Is this going to change things? I didn’t want it to.
But I also wanted to feel him again. Gods alive I had never felt something like that.
I stopped near the clearing, the pond shimmering like glass in the sunlight. The water was still, undisturbed, as though it were holding its breath. I stood there, hands tucked under my arms, and waited.
“Punctual as always,” his voice broke the silence.
My heart lurched, though I kept my expression steady. August stepped out from the shadows, his pale hair catching the light and giving him an almost ethereal glow. His steps, though confident, had a slight hesitation, as if he were bracing himself. His hands remained loose at his sides, but I caught the faint clench of his jaw—a crack in his usual composure.
He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over me with a look that made my skin prickle. And then, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking, he relaxed and a smug smirk formed on his lips.
I clenched my fists, wanting to take that look right off of his face.
My annoyance towards him was still there. At least that didn’t change.
“So,” he drawled, “are you ready to go, Winnie?” He extended his hands toward me.
I took a step back. “How about I draw from you to get us there faster?”
His smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild irritation. “Oh no. You’re not drawing magic from me again.”
“It’s the easiest way,” I argued. “I’ve never done it with someone else, but I’m sure I could. If you’d just let me—”
“No,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “I’d prefer not to have my blood boiled today.”
I took a step closer, the frustration bubbling over. “Then what? You carry me like some—some sack of potatoes?”
He tilted his head, amusement creeping back into his features. “Yes, Winnie.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “What about what you said yesterday? I’ll be yours to do whatever you desire. ”
“I say a lot of things when I’m horny.”
My mind shot to me saying I was his. “Me too. ”
A smirk crept on his lips. My hands itched to grab him, to force him to comply, but before I could make a move, he was behind me.
His hands closed around my wrists, pinning them together effortlessly. For a moment, his fingers trembled, barely perceptible, before his grip steadied. I froze, my breath catching as his presence loomed close, too close. His voice was a whisper against my ear, low and laced with amusement.
“What will you do now, Winnie?” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck. “No hands, no magic. Are you still so sure of yourself?”
A shiver ran down my spine, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to remind me of his strength.
“Let me go,” I said, though the words came out shakier than I intended.
He chuckled softly, the sound sending another shiver through me. “Ask nicely.”
I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. “August.”
His eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something more intense. “Maybe if you moan my name like you did yesterday, I’ll comply,” he said, his gaze dropping to my lips.
Betraying heat formed in my lower belly. Though I wanted to protest further, I knew it would do no good.
And I knew of a better way to get my way.
I closed my eyes, swallowed my pride, and said his name, barely above a whisper.
He immediately released my wrists but stayed hovering above me.
Before he could say anything to fluster me more, I grabbed him. The world around us seemed to tilt and blur, the clearing dissolving into a rush of shadow and light. My feet hit solid ground, but the air felt heavier, warmer—a stark contrast to the crisp forest air we had left behind. The familiar scent of smoke and cedar enveloped me, grounding me as the dim light of his home came into focus.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, August grunted and staggered back, grabbing his chest. His other hand briefly brushed the edge of the table for balance, the movement small but telling.
“Fuck, Winnie.”
I walked toward him, my hand gliding down the soft fabric of his shirt. “Let me make it up to you.”
“What?” His voice cracked, uncertainty laced heavily through it.
I didn’t know where it came from—whether it was the room and the memories it held, being so close to him again, or the faintest trace of his magic still humming through me—but I wanted him. Needed him. My mind screamed at me to stop, to consider the implications of what I was about to do, but my body moved with a confidence that belied the turmoil within me. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on the journal until I felt him again.
I pushed him down into the cushioned chair. Slowly, I dropped to my knees, my gaze fixed on his. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat a reminder of the risk I was taking. The vulnerability in his expression wavered, giving way to something darker, something unsure. I could see it—the flicker of doubt, the hesitation just beneath his facade. It mirrored my own uncertainty, the quiet battle between wanting to take control and fearing what it would cost me .
“Winnie . . .” he began, his tone hesitant.
“Just let me,” I whispered, my hand trailing down to rest on his knee.
The silence that followed was deafening. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, his breath uneven as he hesitated. For the first time, the tension between us felt fragile, like it could shatter at the slightest provocation.
I stayed there, waiting, my own vulnerability pressing against the air between us. Whatever came next, I knew there would be no going back. And that thought thrilled and terrified me in equal measure.
Once? A moment of weakness. A mistake.
Twice? It was so much more.