14. Look at Me
Look at Me
B eeping. Insistent, constant beeping pulled Greta from the deepest dream. It was a lovely dream. The Lycans never attacked, and she continued her training as a future coven leader, her mother strolling alongside her through the woods, pointing out various plants. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, reality crashing with the force of a tidal wave. She wished she’d stayed asleep.
Overlapping voices, murmuring quietly, became a chorus to the beeping. Greta’s lips attempted forming words, but cotton replaced her tongue, nothing coming out of her mouth. More tears leaked out, panic settling into her limbs. She tried lifting her hand and her fingers twitched.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re awake. Gabriel, quick, get the doctor,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up, a quiet authority in the tone.
Greta’s eyes wouldn’t open, but she could feel wetness on her cheeks. Her last memory was of a Lycan snapping sharp teeth at her throat.
Unus. Duo. Tres. Greta counted to three in Latin, trying to calm her racing heart, the beeping increasing in intensity the more she freaked out. She heard the click of a door opening, shoes scuffling across the floor, and then a warm hand touched her forehead. Someone peeled open her eyelids, revealing a blurry shape floating in her line of sight.
“Someone alert Geralt that the Luna is awake,” the male voice said, the man manhandling her eyes. She wished he’d quit touching her. A drop of her tears must’ve touched his skin, because he let out a hiss, snatching his hand away from her. Greta almost forgot about the spell she’d cast years ago, turning her bodily fluids into weapons against Lycans. She did it as a precaution against being raped while enslaved.
She’d had to slaughter two goats under the light of the full moon, not an effortless task in a palace filled with Lycans capable of devouring a goat in one sitting. She received thirty lashes when they discovered the goats were missing, but the price had been worth it in her mind. None of Selene’s creatures could defile her.
A familiar scent drifted into the room, stirring something within her. She recognized Geralt’s voice when he barked, “Everyone, get out.” Her whole being tugged at her to get closer to him, an emptiness within desiring to be filled. Dry lips finally moved, forming a garbled version of his name.
“I’m right here, witch,” he said near her head. When he placed a hand on her forehead, she released a sigh, his touch relaxing an invisible thread of tension inside of her. Her magick moved sluggishly, but pressed against her skin, seeking him. She frowned, feeling as if a tired, feral cat scratched beneath her skin.
“You were out for a while, witch. You gave me quite a scare,” he whispered. She could hear the faint smile in his voice. When familiarity formed between them, she couldn’t decide, but she felt at ease with only his presence filling the room, except for the wild magick flaring and subsiding in waves inside of her. She recalled their brief conversation before they departed from the cabin. She heard his voice in her mind on multiple occasions .
Her blurry vision turned in his direction. Redness filled her line of sight, and she gasped in surprise when he came into sharp focus. She possessed average eyesight, but it was if someone turned on high definition behind her eyes. She could count every strand of hair sprouting along his jaw, a couple of days’ worth of shadow.
“What did you do?” she tried asking him.
Don’t use your words, witch. Think your message at me, he spoke in her mind. Her eyes widened. Furrowing her brow, she tried it, uncertain if he received her messages.
What the hell did you do to me, wolf? Why are you in my head? She thought to him. His full lips stretched wide, a sign he heard her, glittering green eyes locking with hers.
Mate, he growled. One word and her world tilted on its axis, again.
? *
* ? Steam ahead. Skip next chapter to avoid spice.