CHAPTER TEN
ELLIOT
Cold droplets pelt the side of my face, plastering my clothes to my body, but the feeling barely registers.
My entire focus is on the witch in my arms, the smell of saltwater and her sweet jasmine scent tangling together until I can’t tell where the ocean ends and she begins.
The soft press of her lips against mine, not hesitant but hungry, both her body and magic responding to every touch, every squeeze as I leisurely stroke her lower back and neck, pulling her closer.
Closer, but still not close enough.
“Wren,” I pant her name like a prayer as I break the kiss, our foreheads pressed together while the storm rages around us.
She opens her eyes, lashes clumped with raindrops as she meets my gaze, and this time it’s not guarded, not sharp-edged and defensive, but open and soft. A side I’ve never seen of my witch before.
My witch.
My sea lion rumbles possessively in my chest as I push a wet lock of hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear.
Lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating her flushed cheeks and swollen rosy lips.
Every instinct inside me screams to drag her against me and kiss her again until she forgets every reason she’s ever had to keep people at arm’s length.
This is all moving too fast. She’s only here for the summer, I remind myself. She may very well leave me before I have a chance to convince her. I feel a deep tug in my core. Does she feel the pull of the bond as I do?
But she stands here with rain dripping from the tip of her nose, her hands fisted in my soaked shirt like she doesn’t want to let go either, and for one dangerous moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if she stayed.
Slow mornings tangled in my sheets. Her laughter carrying through my house. Her magic woven into every corner of my life.
She’s ours. Mate her, mark her. She can’t leave us.
The thought hits with enough force that my chest aches.
I can’t force her to stay, but I can help her survive herself.
“Your dragon is getting soaked. We should get him inside.” I draw back and nod toward the little beast. He scuttles through the wet shoreline sand, tail flicking back and forth as he pounces into newly formed puddles with delighted chirps.
“Oh. Yes, of course.” She steps away, and I instantly regret the loss of her warmth in my arms. Her expression smooths back into cool calm, her walls sliding carefully into place. For one precious moment, she’d let them down. Let someone in.
When was the last time she’d trusted anyone enough to do that?
I turn and grab her discarded bag and umbrella from the ground as she scoops up her mischievous fiend.
“Sorry for startling you,” I say as I follow her through the tall grass toward the path leading to the Prescott house.
“Sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry. Sorry for unloading my entire sob story on you. Sorry for being so short-tempered and closed off when all you’ve been is kind.” She glances at me over her shoulder, violet hair whipping wildly in the wind.
“Of course. It’s what neighbors are for.” I give her a half-hearted shrug, hoisting the bag higher on my shoulder.
“Do you always kiss your neighbors?” Her eyebrow lifts, and a tiny spark of the sharp-tongued woman I’ve grown addicted to shines through.
A grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Hmm. Well, I’ve lived in Crescent Cove for quite some time, and the only neighbors I’ve ever had are old Mr. Barq, who lives a mile north, and your house.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake.
“You’ve kissed my aunt?”
“I never said I kissed your aunt.”
“You also didn’t say you never kissed her.”
“I’ve never kissed your aunt.”
“What’s wrong with my aunt? She’s beautiful, smart, and intelligent.” She plants her hands on her hips.
Rain clings to the exposed skin of her thighs, and the thin fabric of her cover-up molds to every curve beneath it. The sight nearly derails my train of thought entirely.
“I never said anything was wrong with your aunt. Just that I’ve never kissed her.”
“But you’ve wanted to?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
“I’ve never wanted to kiss your aunt.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” I drag a hand through my soaked hair and resist the urge to groan. One minute I want to kiss her senseless, the next I want to toss her over my shoulder and carry her home just so she’ll stop arguing with me. “Why does it matter?”
“I want to know,” she says simply, crossing her arms over her chest.
Goddess help me.
Standing there with rain pelting her skin, violet hair whipping in the storm, and steam practically rising from her heated body, she looks less like a witch and more like some sea siren conjured straight from the depths to lure men to their deaths.
And I’d drown willingly.
I step forward, closing the space between us until I can feel the warmth radiating from her body despite the storm. I lean down until my lips nearly brush her ear.
“Because I don’t just go around kissing anyone, no matter how beautiful, smart, and intelligent they may or may not be. I want someone I share a real connection with. I want to kiss someone who gives back every bit as much as I do.”
My voice lowers.
“Someone I can’t stop thinking about.”
I inhale deeply, resisting the overwhelming urge to drag her against me and steal another kiss until she’s breathless and dizzy.
“But you kissed me.” She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze.
My eyes drop to where her tongue darts out, catching raindrops from her bottom lip, and my entire body tightens.
“So I did.”
The words come out rougher than intended.
Because if I keep looking at her much longer, I’m going to forget every reason I should slow down.
And the terrifying part?
I don’t think she’d stop me.
Silence settles between us, broken only by the steady patter of rain and the muffled crash of ocean waves against the shore as we make our way toward her back porch.
Gin’s barking echoes through the back door the closer we get, excited little yips growing louder by the second.
Lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the cottage in silver light before thunder rumbles overhead.
“Why don’t you come inside and wait out the storm?” Catherine asks, unlocking the back door and ducking inside. “I can make something hot to drink while we dry off.”
“I don’t mind a little water.” I grin and step onto the porch. “Sea lion shifter, remember?”
Gin barrels between Catherine’s legs the moment the door opens, barking wildly and running happy circles around me while rain lashes sideways across the porch hard enough to sting. Droplets cling to the exposed skin of her thighs, and my mouth goes dry.
“Down, girl,” Catherine scolds, though she’s half laughing as she holds the door open wider. “Just come inside. You can set the bag near the door. I’ll deal with it later.”
I follow her into the kitchen, warmth immediately wrapping around me from the cozy space.
It smells faintly of vanilla and herbs, something sweet lingering beneath the scent of rain.
I lean against the counter, scratching behind Gin’s ears while Catherine moves around the kitchen setting up the tea kettle.
She turns, and her gaze immediately drops to the puddle gathering beneath my boots.
“You’re dripping water all over the floor.”
I glance down innocently. “I’m dripping water? Wren, we just walked through a rainstorm. We’re both soaked.” I gesture toward her, unable to stop my gaze from lingering where the thin fabric molds to her curves. “You’re a water witch. Work your magic.”
Her shoulders tense instantly.
“I told you, I haven’t done magic in years. I’ll get us some towels.”
She tries to brush past me, but I step into her path before I can stop myself.
“Just try.”
“I can’t.” Her lips press into a thin line. “Move, or go home, Elliot.”
“You’re the one who invited me in,” I remind her. “Call the water.”
“Elliot.” My name comes out sharper this time, but there’s uncertainty beneath it now. Fear.
Not fear of me. Fear of failing.
“Humor me, Wren.”
Something flickers across her face. Frustration. Vulnerability. Then finally, reluctant resolve.
“Okay, fine. But if something blows up, you’re paying for it.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You can do this.”
I reach out without thinking and give her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Her breath catches softly beneath my hands, and for one reckless second, all I can focus on is how easy it would be to pull her against me again.
How much I already want to.
She steps back quickly, opening her palms before closing her eyes.
Even Gin settles down, tail wagging slowly as she watches expectantly from the floor. Mango remains perched nearby, flicking his tongue with complete indifference.
Nothing happens.
I wait.
And wait.
“Do you need like… an enchantment?” I ask carefully. “A magic wand?”
Her eyes snap open and she glares at me, though there’s no real heat behind it.
“Witches only need wands to concentrate their powers for extremely difficult spells. Calling water is one of the first natural instincts a water witch learns.”
“Okay, fair.” I hold up my hands. “Then what can I do to help?”
Truthfully, I hate the uncertainty in her eyes. Hate how quickly she doubts herself. I’d read every book I brought her, searching for some way to help her reconnect with this part of herself, but none of it feels useful standing here and watching her struggle.
“I need you to be quiet so I can concentrate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her lips twitch before she closes her eyes again.
This time, the room changes.
The air hums faintly, vibrating with magic so thick I can almost feel it against my skin. Her lips move silently as the rainwater clinging to my clothes begins to tremble. Slowly, impossibly, the water peels away from my body in shimmering rivulets, gathering in the air between us.
My breath hitches.
The droplets swirl faster and faster until they form a floating orb of water suspended above the kitchen floor.
Catherine’s eyes fly open.
Shock flashes across her face.
Gin barks excitedly, spinning in frantic circles while Mango watches with the same unimpressed expression of a creature who apparently sees magic every day.
The orb wobbles.
Splash.
Water explodes across the kitchen floor.
The tea kettle immediately starts shrieking.
“Ugh,” Catherine groans, throwing her hands up before storming toward the stove. “I told you. I’m a failure.”
“No.”
I cross the kitchen in two steps and catch her wrist, turning her back toward me before she can retreat behind sarcasm and self-loathing.
“You’re just rusty.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Catherine, that was amazing.”
“It lasted all of three seconds.”
“Three seconds longer than it did yesterday.”
Her lips part slightly.
“You just need to learn to accept yourself again,” I continue more gently.
“Your whole self. Not just up here.” I lightly tap her forehead before sliding my hand down to rest briefly over her chest. “Everything that makes you special. Your knowledge, your talent, your stubbornness…” My mouth curves slightly. “Your magic.”
Something fragile flickers across her expression.
“You barely know me,” she whispers. “How can you put so much faith in me?”
Because you’re our mate.
My sea lion finally stirs after being silent through the entire ordeal, the possessive certainty in his voice nearly knocking the breath from my lungs.
Because somehow this woman has crawled beneath my skin in only a handful of days.
Because every time she looks at herself, she sees flaws. Every time I look at her, I see someone extraordinary.
“Because from the moment I met you,” I say quietly, “I could see the spark inside you. It never went out, Wren. You just buried it under so many layers that you forgot it was still there.”
Her eyes glisten, though whether from emotion or lingering rainwater I can’t tell.
“But you have the potential to bloom in every part of your life.” I grab a potholder and pull the shrieking kettle off the stove before filling two mugs with steaming water and dropping tea bags inside. “Even when summer ends.”
The words ache more than I expect.
Even when you leave.
“You can rise to the top without giving up the parts of yourself that matter. The corporate world doesn’t deserve to take your magic from you.” I hand her one of the mugs, our fingers brushing. “And neither do you.”