Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cutting off demon feeding is remarkably satisfying. My phone buzzes in my pocket forty-five minutes after setting the old man free, and I pull it out to read the message. “We’re supposed to meet the other group by the corn maze.”
“Where’s that?” Asher finishes with his candy apple and tosses the sticky plastic wrap into a garbage can.
“Near the back, where the fairgrounds connect with the farm field next door.”
Feeling drained but on the high of three successful banishments, Wylder, Asher, and I make our way through the midway and over toward the entrance of the cornstalk maze.
I’m focused, wondering about the effect our efforts will have on the stability of the ley lines, when a rush of air slams between my shoulder blades and I’m thrust forward.
My boots catch on uneven ground, and I’m in an awkward scramble to get my feet under me when I pitch face-first toward a patch of muddy earth churned up by festival traffic.
Asher grabs the back of my jacket in time to slow my crash, but my knees hit hard, and I barely get my hands down to keep from eating dirt. “Whoa, P. Are you good?”
“Yeah.” But the prickling heat spreading across my spine tells me I’m not.
Behind us, high-pitched laughter rings out.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is, but as Asher helps me to my feet, I do anyway.
Amber Draven stands with two other mean-girls flanking her like discount bodyguards. All three wear matching smirks and expensive fall fashion that screams ‘trust fund seasonal capsule wardrobe.’
Amber tosses her honey-blonde hair over one shoulder, her mouth curving into something that might pass for a smile if it weren’t so venomous. “Aw, what happened, Poppy? I’d bet those disgusting boots tripped you up. Where did you get those anyway? Are they from your life as a street rat?”
One of her friends snickers. “Must be hard, always stumbling around in the midst of her betters.”
Asher tenses beside me, but Wylder steps forward first.
His expression is ice. Pure, controlled fury wrapped in perfect stillness. “Back off, Amber.”
She blinks up at him through expertly mascara’d lashes. “Relax, Wylder. We were just having a little fun. No harm done, right?” Her gaze flicks to me, dismissively. “I’m sure she’s used to worse. She’s a survivor, after all.”
Wylder steps between us, blocking her mocking stare. “I said, back off.”
The steel in his voice cuts through the ambient noise of the festival. A few passersby slow, sensing unfolding drama.
Amber’s smile falters, but only for a second. Then she’s laughing again, stepping closer to Wylder with the confidence that comes from never being told no.
“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” She gestures toward me like I’m some unfortunate stray that wandered onto the fairgrounds. “Are you really going to throw away your standing in the coven, your family legacy, and your future to slum it with someone who doesn’t even belong here?”
Wylder doesn’t move. “She belongs here more than you ever will.”
Amber’s face flushes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Poppy doesn’t strut around expecting people to fawn over her just because she hails from a founding family.
While you’re putting yourself above everyone else, she actually focuses on her skills, training the goddess-given gifts she’s been given.
Tell me, when was the last time you spent even an hour on training? ”
She rolls her eyes. “Who needs to train when you’re a natural?”
Wylder scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that. Now, run along and find someone else to bully. We’re actually doing something important.”
He turns his back on her and closes the distance, frowning at my muddy palms and knees.
“Wylder.” Amber’s voice drops, saccharine sweet and coaxing. “Think about what you’re doing. You’re making a mistake here, but it’s not too late. If you look beyond this moment, you’ll see that as Emberwood’s power couple, we could—”
His face twists like he’s just taken a drink of sour milk, and he wheels back to face her.
“Power couple? What makes you think I have any interest in you? You’re spoiled, entitled, and mean.
I actually pity any guy who looks at you and doesn’t see that the only thing beautiful about you is the outer package. And even that is fake.”
The words land like a slap.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Her perfectly composed mask cracks just enough for me to see the rage underneath.
“And you’re pathetic,” she hisses. “Wasting your potential on some nobody who got her magic handed back to her like charity. Her mother was a disgrace, and she’s worse. At least Zoe Hallowind had the decency to die before—”
That’s it.
I lunge.
But Wylder is faster.
His arm hooks around my waist, spinning me into his chest before I can reach Amber’s perfectly highlighted hair. I’m pressed against him, breathing hard, ready to incinerate her smug face with spirit fire and consequences be damned.
And then Wylder kisses me.
It’s not soft. Not tentative.
It’s claiming.
His mouth crashes against mine with enough force to knock the fight right out of my body. One hand tangles in my hair, the other splayed across the small of my back, anchoring me to his muscled frame.
My brain short-circuits. Wylder Howe is kissing me.
Why is Wylder kissing me? Is it to shut down Amber? A distraction to settle me down? But in the stomach-flipping clutch of the moment, the question loses importance.
Holy crapamoly, this man knows how to kiss.
His lips are firm, warm, tasting faintly of cinnamon from the cider we drank earlier. The scent of pine and earth surrounds me, grounding me even as my heart tries to beat its way out of my chest.
I forget about Amber. About the crowd. About everything except the way his thumb strokes along my jaw, gentle despite the intensity of the kiss.
How long has it been since a guy kissed me like this?
Too long. Waaay too long.
When he finally pulls back, his green eyes lock onto mine, dark and unreadable. “Ignore her. Let the noise of negativity fall into the background.”
My lips tingle, and I bring my fingers up to touch them, my thoughts still scattered like leaves in the wind.
Amber makes a strangled sound somewhere behind us.
Wylder doesn’t look at her. He keeps his gaze on me, his voice low. “You good?”
I blink. “I, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
He winks. “Good.”
Only then does he turn to Amber, his arm still around my waist. “Are we done here?”
Amber’s face is the color of a ripe tomato. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. “Picking her over me is a huge mistake, Wylder. You’ll regret this.”
My brain finally comes back online, and I find my voice. “Careful, Amber. My mom always said, ‘You need to be humble in life or life will humble you.’“
Amber’s eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice. Take it or leave it.”
Amber scoffs, spins on her heel, and storms off with her posse trailing behind her like remoras.
As she passes a cluster of apple crates and decorative hay bales, I flick my fingers, murmuring the words to a spell Rowan taught me for ‘petty vindication purposes.’
A sudden gust of wind swirls up from beneath Amber’s skirt, lifting it Marilyn Monroe style. She shrieks, slapping her hands down to hold the fabric in place as festival-goers turn to stare.
Her friends scramble to shield her, but it’s too late. The spell lasts five minutes, and Amber will need to find a washroom or race back to her car if she doesn’t want half the county to see whether she prefers boy short undies or a thong.
Asher barks out a laugh beside me. “Oh, that’s beautiful. Chef’s kiss, P.”
I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. “Be humble or be humbled.”
Wylder’s hand slides from my waist as he steps back, but not before I catch the flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, Hallowind. Let’s get out of here before you cause a scene.”
Asher snorts. “Before she causes a scene? That ship has sailed, Captain Broody, because that kiss was fire. Sizzling, panty-melting fire.”
No kidding. I meet Wylder’s gaze, a dozen questions fighting for dominance in my scrambled thoughts. “Yeah, what the hell was that kiss about?”
Wylder blinks at me, feigning innocence. “That’s a conversation for later.”
Asher loops his arm through mine and sends me a wicked grin. “For the record, I support every chaotic choice just made.”
“Noted.”
As we head toward the corn maze, my heart is still racing.
That’s a conversation for later.
Uh-huh, can’t wait.
Rowan and Orion are lounging on a hay bale beside the entrance to the cornstalk maze, and grin up at us as we approach. “Everyone still got all their parts and pieces?” Orion asks.
I wiggle my fingers in the air. “So far, so good. Where’s Sebastian?”
They point to where Sebastian is walking back from a concession stand with two drink carriers stacked one on top of the other.
“How many have you got so far?” Wylder asks.
Orion grins. “Four, you?”
“Three.” I accept the offered hot chocolate from Sebastian with my thanks.
It’s common knowledge that the best and easiest way to restore magical mana is by consuming sugar or chocolate.
Hot chocolate, chocolate milk, brownies, and chocolate cake are the go-to options. “The bottle traps are amazing.”
Sebastian nods, handing out drinks to everyone. “We’re lucky these are just low-level energy harvesters. If they were anything more, we wouldn’t be having such a good night.”
Asher’s jaw tightens. “How many do you think are out here?”
“Too many.”
One is too many in my book.
Sebastian has a spirit affinity like me, but I wonder how Orion and Rowan are matched up against our foes. “Can either of you see them?”
Orion points to Rowan and then Sebastian. “Those two can. I can smell their charbroiled, rotten funk, though.”
Rowan shrugs. “For me, it’s not exactly sight. It’s more like reading the shadows and gauging the negative space left by their presence. I can make out their silhouettes clearly enough that I could fight them if it came to it.”
That’s good to know, but we can’t very well bust loose and start a demon Donnybrook right in the middle of a county fair.
“We’ve been lucky so far that we’ve been able to take care of things without causing alarm,” Sebastian says, mirroring my thoughts. “The last thing we need is an obvious—”
A woman’s horror movie scream slices through the festive soundtrack like a serrated blade, and a moment later, a panicked stampede comes flooding out of the corn maze.
The six of us hustle to the side to avoid being trampled.
Wylder curses and tosses his cup into the trash. “What’s that you were saying about us being lucky?”
“Dude, you totally jinxed us.” Rowan pegs Sebastian with a look that makes me laugh.
I hand my hot chocolate to Asher and with that, the six of us rush against the flow of traffic, racing into the corn maze.