Page 15 of Cursed by the Love Witch (A Monstrous Holiday #2)

15

THE HIGH WARLOCK

H e should’ve stayed a bird and remained perched on her window.

Venturing into her room was a gross misstep, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to come and see her. He had felt her reach for him—call out to him in a way only his kind can fully understand. Still, he should’ve remained distant and never looked through her things.

Seeing her tear-stained cheeks and hearing her soft whimpers snapped something inside of him. What was the cause of her distress? What had brought such sadness to someone so vibrant?

When he had spied the letter on her desk, everything became clear. A hot rush of anger swam in his blood—the desire to find the one responsible and tear him apart was palpable. How could anyone send someone as lovely as Darcee such vile words?

He wanted to demand answers from her and make those responsible pay, but as her breathing finally turned deep and even, he decided to remain a silent visitor. Her room was exactly as he remembered from watching her days ago. Being inside of it was even better than he imagined.

Everything smelt like Darcee—the fresh scent of his lilac bouquet mixed with her unique smell. Everything was pink, from her bedding to the frilly clothes spilling out of her closet. Used candles and incense littered her desk. Various spell jars and an empty cauldron sat near her altar. He thumbed through a book entitled My Lovers , expecting to find a list of all the people Darcee had been with.

Not that he much cared; the past was the past, but he was curious—wanting to know everything about her, even in an unethical way. However, it wasn’t a list of her lovers but all those she had brought together. As he went through each page, pride swam in his chest.

She was a talented love witch, of that he was sure. Her kindness and compassion danced through every story. No wonder he had always been drawn to her—Darcee is frightfully easy to love.

He would know.

His eyes find the note again. Reading it over again, his anger burns hot. How could a father write this to his daughter? His hands began to tremble. If only he knew?—

“Bael?” Darcee’s soft voice cuts through the room.

He turns on his heel, knowing that a quick transformation is out of the question. She’s spotted him, and he should own up to it now.

Her eyes are wide, and her hair is a mess of pink curls. She holds a thin pink sheet to her chest as if it or the scrap of fabric she calls a nightgown conceals any part of her. Swaths of pale skin are on display, glimmering in the moonlight. Her lips are still puffy from his kisses earlier.

His entire body hardens in an instant at the delicious sight of her.

Darcee’s magenta eyes blink under lowered brows.

“Bael?” she repeats. “Is—is that you?”

The apprehension in her voice spurns him to wave his hand. Her candles blaze to life and illuminate the dark room. She blinks again to adjust to the light. If she was a vision in moonlight, candlelight makes her a divine goddess.

“It’s me,” he says, taking a small step towards her.

She sags with relief, falling back against the mountain of pillows stuffed behind her. Her bed is a mess of pink satin sheets and a ruffled quilt hanging entirely off one side.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice is gentler than he’s ever heard it.

“How did you get in here?”

Reluctantly, he nods towards the open window.

“Flew in.”

“I knew that bird had your eyes,” she mumbles, a yawn sneaking up.

He nods, not knowing what else to say. Darcee’s eyes soften as she stares at him.

“Why did you come?”

He licks his lips—she deserves the truth—all of it. For now, he’ll settle for giving her only some.

“I heard you call to me.”

Her eyes widened.

“You—you did?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even know what I was doing—only knew that I wanted you here. With me.”

“And here I am. When I discovered you were sad, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t…” He swallows loudly, coming to stand at the foot of her bed. “Will you tell me why you were crying?”

Darcee’s lovely face pales to an alarming degree. With a quick shake of her head, the misery in her eyes nearly makes his knees buckle.

“It’s a long, terrible story.”

A tenderness he’s only felt towards Darcee hums in his veins. A moment of silence stretches as they watch each other.

“I should go. It was wrong for me to enter your room without you knowing.”

Turning from her bed, he makes his way back over to the window. Metal coats his tongue as he prepares to transform into his avian form. His fingers flex, but before he can release the spell, Darcee calls to him.

“Wait,” she says, eyes dancing around the room. “I wanted you to come here tonight—to be with me.”

Reaching out a delicate hand, the sheet falls to her waist. The nightgown barely conceals her breasts, yet his attention is only on her face. There is a vulnerability there he’s never seen before. That letter has left her rattled. She called him because she needed him here when she was feeling vulnerable.

“Stay with me.”

He follows it like the command that it is. He removes his shoes and shirt until he is in nothing but a pair of silk trousers. He takes her extended hand and kisses the back of her palm, delighting in her shiver. He pulls back the sheets and quilt and settles in beside her.

They both say nothing as he curls around her, dragging her back until her spine is flush with his chest. His arm slides under her pillow, and the other drapes along her waist. They fit together perfectly as if they were made for each other.

He inhales her scent and lets it soothe him. Darcee sighs contently in his arms.

“You’re so warm.” The words are barely a whisper.

Her breathing turns deep and even. Tonight wasn’t about desire or passion. No, it was about something more important: comfort. She called for him and no one else. She wanted him.

Good , he thinks. She is mine. Now and forever.

He counts her breaths until sleep claims him, too.