Page 32 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

I wake to dwindling smoke and the distant hush of birdsong.

The fire’s burned down to glowing embers, casting soft light through the thinning mist. My back is warm, pressed against Bennet’s chest.

His arm is draped over my waist, fingers splayed across my ribs like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.

I don’t move.

Not yet.

Because I know the second I do, the illusion will shatter. We’ll be back in Aetheria, fugitives sneaking through foreign woods, hunted by giants and goddess knows what else.

But here, in this flickering space between dreams and daylight, I can pretend.

Pretend I’m not scared out of my mind. Pretend I’m not starting to want things I have no right to want.

His breath stirs the hair at the nape of my neck. Slow. Steady.

Helen stands. “Morning.”

I move away from Bennet and stretch, rolling my shoulders and trying to shake off the fog in my head. Bennet stirs behind me but doesn’t wake.

“We should move soon.” She disappears behind some trees, presumably to take care of morning business.

I turn back to Bennet. I don’t want to wake him. He’s so peaceful in sleep. But Helen’s right. It’s best not to linger.

As if he can hear my thoughts, his eyes blink open. “Hey.” His smile is sleepy.

My heart jerks in my chest at the warmth in his face. I lean over and brush my lips against the expression, wanting to hold on to it.

I draw back but his hands come up, locking me in place, deepening the kiss.

“Okay, lovebirds. Let’s get going.”

We break apart.

After a quick breakfast of granola bars and dried fruit, we continue our trek.

The morning sun filters through the dense canopy, casting fractured beams across the forest floor. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and moss, every breath heavy and green. Our footsteps crunch on the loamy path, and distant animal calls echo through the trees.

My muscles ache from the relentless hiking and a night on the unforgiving ground, but I push on, falling into step behind Bennet and Helen.

I should be focusing on the path ahead, the mission, the dangers, but instead I keep replaying his voice from the other night, low and breathless in my ear.

And goddess help me, I want it again.

I’d convinced myself this thing between us couldn’t be real. That it had to be the magic, proximity, shared trauma, anything but actual affection. But I’m not sure I can pretend anymore.

Maybe he’s worth it. Worth the fear, the risk, the uncertainty.

Worth giving up everything I know.

And then reality slaps me in the face. I have the kids. And Mimi. Like I can just pack up my life and move to a magical kingdom in another dimension.

Sure, Jan.

We walk on, and on, and then something shifts. The air thickens, presses in. A prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck. My shoulders tighten. It’s like walking through invisible static, every nerve on high alert.

I stop in my tracks. Please, no more giants.

Pressure builds between my shoulder blades.

I drop the shield around my mind like a curtain falling, reaching instinctively. Bennet?

He halts and then whips around, leaping toward me.

A blast of heat sears past my shoulder and I instinctively flinch away.

He yanks me down, Helen diving to the ground right next to us as a lightning bolt explodes against the nearest tree, sending burning bark and embers scattering over our heads, stinging my exposed skin.

Okay. Not giants.

They emerge from the shadows, living smoke and flames, their skin flickering between red and black and molten gold. There are five of them, circling us like predators.

Definitely freakier than the shadows they manifested back home. And more solid.

I scramble up, heart hammering.

Bennet steps between me and the advancing ifrit. Helen’s hands glow with gathering power.

One of the ifrit lunges.

Bennet meets it head-on. He ducks the first swing of burning flames.

Helen chucks magic at the creature, slicing across its arm, dark liquid sizzling as it drips to the ground. The ifrit hisses, and another rushes in from the side.

Helen throws up a shimmering barrier just in time. The ifrit’s lightning collides with the shield, sending cracks skittering across its surface before the magic disperses. She lets out a strangled breath, sweat beading at her temple.

Bennet distracts them, dodging and parrying like a whirlwind, his limbs a blur. Helen uses his distraction to throw more magic at them, but they recover like it’s nothing, like Bennet and Helen are angry kittens and they are, well, beings of fire and smoke.

And I just stand there.

Shit, shit, shit. How do you fight a thundercloud with fists that have never thrown a punch?

They’re made of fire and smoke and rage. And I’m just a rando human with a magic I can’t use. I’m going to get them killed because I have no idea what I’m doing and never trained as a ninja. I should have taken that self-defense class.

They move closer and closer.

No exits. No options.

I press against Helen, both of us backing up as Bennet stumbles to regain his footing. We’re out of time.

The ifrit raise their hands in unison, fire blooming in their palms, ready to burn us alive.

And then?—

An arrow slices through the air.

It buries itself deep in the ground inches from the lead ifrit’s foot, quivering with the force of its impact. Purple magic smokes from the arrow, and when it comes into contact with the ifrit, they hiss as one.

Another smoking arrow flies. Then another.

The ifrit freeze. Their heads snap toward the trees.

Figures drop from the branches with impossible grace, their faces obscured by scarves and hoods. They move fast, loosing arrows and blades in fluid motions.

One of the ifrit snarls, twisting to launch a lightning bolt, but a shimmering wall of magic absorbs the attack, swallowing the flames before they reach us.

The ifrit hesitate.

More figures step into view, surrounding them.

With a final, frustrated snarl, they vanish in a burst of flame.

The moment stretches, thick with tension.

My breath rasps in my throat as I take in our rescuers—cloaked, weapons drawn, their faces hidden. One of them steps forward, her movements familiar in a way that knocks the breath from my lungs.

She lifts a hand, yanking down her scarf.

And the world tilts.

“Mom?”