Chapter 13 #2
The witch sat in her reading nook, thumbing through the pages of the book which had mysteriously appeared on the backs of magical rabbits.
She had spent hours trying to translate the cursive slop that vaguely resembled the old language.
How was this his life right now? He missed his pub, watching rugby with his brothers, and sunning himself on the rooftop when the London skies allowed it.
He missed having sex. It had already been a week since he had been buried inside someone, and that was far too many days to go without.
If this went on any longer, he would have to hide himself in the bathroom and get himself off. The horror.
Silver light streamed through the window as the willow rattled softly against the panes, casting patterns that danced over her freckled skin.
He watched her stir with a morbid sort of curiosity.
He watched as she bit the end of her pen between her luscious lips, and just for a moment, he wished it were his cock.
She was wearing her pajamas—shorts and a thin cami.
The way it hugged her body made his attention linger.
He had to admit, it was a nice sight to behold.
The moon illuminated another sliver of light onto the smooth line of her stomach.
It was a cold night, even with the fire, and he was particularly taken with the way her nipples puckered through her shirt.
A low, involuntary purr vibrated in his chest before he could stop it, and the bond thrummed in answer.
The way the little witch had moaned for him surfaced in his mind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to use her body while he was here? He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. No, he would never do that. Not after what they did to him. To his father.
The bond was fucking with his head.
Witches were disgusting, he told himself, as he dragged his eyes away, jaw tight, trying to mask the anger in his voice with boredom. “Has the magical bunny book told you anything about breaking this bond yet?”
With one hand, she shut the book forcefully enough to move strands of her long hair away from her face. “I told you, the book has a riddle in it that I think the goddess wants us to solve.”
“Yeah? And I’m the Queen of England, huzzah.” Felix quipped.
She rolled her eyes. “I’d like to hear if you have a better idea.”
“I don’t.”
Felix rested his head on his palm as he looked over at the studious witch. “Let’s see it then.”
She moved from the bed and kneeled to the side of the armchair, passing him the book. He tried not to think about how much he liked the sight of her on her knees. He thumbed through the pages until he reached the riddle.
She translated the old words, smudged together in a barely legible script of loops and curls. If the goddess wrote it, she had terrible handwriting. Or the bunnies had gotten to it first.
He studied it for a moment, but deciphering metaphors was never really his thing; he preferred people to say what they fucking meant. So instead, he handed it back to her, trying not to look at the line that disappeared beneath her shirt. “Haven’t the foggiest.”
She gave him a look. “Helpful.”
“Have you tried Googling it?”
“You think the answer to a magical riddle would be on Google?”
“Perhaps,” he purred.
“Perhaps not. The sacred text isn’t on Google. And if the riddle is, that takes the fun out of it. You should know that.”
“Know what?” he questioned, head cocking.
She smiled. “That it’s not about the reward, it’s about the chase, the thrill.”
“Touché, little witch.”
Moving from her knees, she crossed her legs and studied the book some more, repeating the riddle out loud in the old language. “Freedom is the thing you seek, to come to me and speak. A crown I carry, but not a queen I am. Still, I sit upon a high-seat of red and green.”
“Your pronunciation is terrible.”
“Shut up,” she retorted.
“A tree?” She thought on it for a second, “Yes! I think that’s the answer.”
A smile of pure childish delight lit up her face, enough for the edges of Felix’s mouth to tug upward before he smothered it behind a hand, literally wiping it off his face. She was infectious in more ways than one.
A nail tapped against her chin as she spoke. “It must be the oak tree in the forest.”
“That narrows it down,” he said sarcastically.
“It does actually, there’s a particular tree in the forest—”
“Witch?” Felix interrupted.
“What?”
“When.”
“When what?” she repeated.
“When did I ask?”
“Asshole.” She seethed.
She closed the book with a slap and carried it to her bed. Furiously, she plaited her hair and ignored him. He stretched uncomfortably in the damn chair.
Perhaps that was a bit mean; she was trying to help them break the bond, after all.
He could stand to be nicer to her. After all the witches he had met, she had been the least witch out of all of them.
Although his sample size was quite small, considering every witch he had met had ended with their blood drained from their body and their head mysteriously missing.
This was the first time he had really spent any time around one with a head still attached.
He didn’t hate it as much as he thought.
It was still awful, though. At least that was what he told himself.
He wouldn’t apologize to her; that was just too far. He leaned his head back against his hand, looking bored. “Tell me about the tree, if it is important.”
She looked at him from her bed, side-eyeing him like a pissed-off cat before sighing and turning toward him.
“There is an oak tree in the forest, it’s far larger than any of the others, and it has been referenced in our history from the beginning of the three tomes. If it was going to be any tree, it would be that one.”
Felix clicked his tongue. “When do we leave?”