Page 27 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

Missy

I saw Gregory at the grocery store. He was with Paisley. He told me there wasn’t anyone else when he broke up with me, but CLEARLY he’s a lying sack of

Winter

Shit, I’m sorry Missy. Want me to beat him up?

Missy

I’ll think about it.

“ S o, that guy was a dick,” Erikson said the moment the door closed. He was loud enough that she was certain Atlantes heard—which was probably his intent.

Winter didn’t disagree, but she couldn’t dwell on Atlantes’ poor hosting skills.

She’d run down her one and only lead, and it hadn’t panned out for her.

She’d been on the move for weeks, and although she’d lain awake night after sleepless night, she’d never found a way out of her predicament.

Atlantes had been her only hope, and he’d turned out to be no hope at all.

He’d said he’d think on it, and the only reason she thought he might actually do so was because she’d proven how powerful she could be, but that didn’t mean he’d come up with anything.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced this had been a fool’s errand to begin with.

How would a Witch know how to stop the Shadow Council anyway?

Like he’d said, his kind was content pretending Wickeds were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Winter buckled her seatbelt in a daze.

Two more days. She had two days left before she’d be forced to join the Shadow Council.

That gave her just enough time to attend Holly’s wedding on Saturday and say goodbye.

Once she joined the Shadow Council, she didn’t think she’d ever see her family again.

She wouldn’t be able to look at herself in the mirror, much less the people she loved most in the world.

Unless . . . well, there was one other option. An option where no one won. If she took herself out of the equation, then her powers couldn’t be used to harm others, and there would be no point in punishing her family.

The idea had been hovering in her periphery for a while, but now she reluctantly slid it to the front of her consciousness and considered it with sincerity.

Winter was a fighter, and it went against every principle she had to stop fighting, but she had to examine every avenue of escape. Even the more permanent ones.

“I don’t like that look. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about my options,” she murmured. “There’s one we haven’t discussed yet.”

It only took him a moment, but when he realized what she was talking about, a look she’d never seen before crossed his face. “No.” It was a flat-out rejection. “That’s not an option.”

Her lip trembled. “When I join the Shadow Council, I’ll be a threat to everyone . . .”

“ No .” He turned to her and gripped her just above her knee.

It wasn’t painful, but it was hard enough to draw her attention.

“You can’t, because if you did, you would destroy your family in a foolish attempt to protect others.

Is that what you want? To haunt their every waking moment?

I’ve seen grief, Win. It’s half the reasons ghosts are tethered to this world.

You can’t do that to them. You can’t do that to me . ”

His look was so fierce, so protective, that some of the fog of despair receded, allowing her to think more clearly.

“You’re a fighter and a protector. You said inside that you know the Shadow Council is going to come after your sisters once they have you in their pocket. How will you protect them if you’re not here?”

He had a point. She might not be able to escape the Shadow Council, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use her position to her advantage and do everything she could to thwart them.

They might be able to force her to work for them, but she’d make sure they regretted every moment of it. “You’re right.”

He continued to study her, his palm warm on her leg. “Do I have your word?” he asked quietly. “Remember, a vow means something, Win.”

“Stop insinuating that my word is worthless. I promise—no martyr shit.”

“I don’t think your word is worthless. I’m just reminding you how much I value a promise.”

The tension in the cab was thick with emotion, but he cleared it when he finally removed the heat of his palm—and his unnerving gaze—and started the engine. He backed out of the driveway and said, “Tell me about your vision inside?”

“It wasn’t anything helpful; it was just another glimpse into the past. Erik the Grimm made it to shore.

” Reluctantly, she recalled the vision she’d had while sitting in Atlantes’ living room, the one that had made her pulse race and her nerves tingle.

“You were right; Erik the Grim looked just like you. It was insane how much, actually.” She didn’t elaborate, but she knew she was beginning to flush at just how much of Erik the Grim she’d seen.

It was tough being a redhead sometimes. She couldn’t keep anything to herself; her skin always gave her away.

“Go on.”

“Erikson, I have other things to worry about right now.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve run down your only lead, and now all you’re left with are your visions. You must be having visions of the past for a reason, so let’s figure it out.”

“I think it’s more likely that my power is simply expanding, and the visions are coincidental.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not.” His palm once again landed on her thigh, his fingertips slightly curled around the inside of her leg.

The last time he’d gripped her thigh while driving, it had been out of “habit,” and she’d told him to remove his hand.

She was about to call attention to his unintentional “habit” again, but when she looked over, he was watching her.

He deliberately slid his hand half an inch higher.

Oh. So this was . . . on purpose.

She should tell him to move it. She should. And yet the words were trapped in her mouth. Maybe in a minute. One minute of touch couldn’t hurt.

“The vision, Win?”

Right. She took a deep breath and brought the vision to the front of her mind again, her heart rate picking up slightly.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not,” she denied automatically. Although maybe she was, because she was thinking about what Viking Erik and Irish Winter had done and she was .

. . oh god, she might be a little aroused .

The vision had flashed forward days, or perhaps weeks from when Irish Winter had first spotted the Vikings off the coast. Viking Erik had met Irish Winter in a meadow before he had to leave again.

He’d been wearing a dark tunic and bronze arm rings on his forearms. A large battle ax had been strapped to his back.

His blond hair had been mussed, and he’d been savagely raw and wild.

Irish Winter been angry with him—and not because he’d pillaged her village, because he had not—but because he was setting out to sea again.

Because he was leaving her. They’d fought, and that fight had turned scorchingly erotic. Viking Erik had been filthy .

Winter wondered if . . . she glanced sideways at Erikson, and knew she was definitely blushing now.

“Win,” he warned, “if you want to stay friends, you’d better stop looking at me like that.”

“What? Of course I want to stay friends. I told you it was nothing. Viking Erik didn’t attack Irish Winter’s village. But they did, um, have a tryst.”

The truck hit a bump, forcing his hand a fraction higher up her thigh. She caught her breath, but he didn’t remove his palm, and she didn’t nudge it away, either. Goosebumps sprang up on her arms.

“A tryst?” he asked lightly, but his knuckles had turned white on the wheel. “Are you saying they were lovers?”

“Yes.”

He made a humming noise. “Interesting.”

“But he left her to go pillaging or some other shit. She wasn’t important enough to stay.”

Erikson lifted a blond brow in her direction. “Even more interesting.”

“How so?”

“Never mind.”

“Uh-uh. I shared, now you share.”

“Is that why you don’t get attached to anyone? Because you have abandonment issues?”

Her eyes bulged. “Are you shitting me? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your therapy rate, Dr. None-of-your-business.”

“So we’re not at the ‘feelings’ part of this friendship yet?”

“Screw you.”

“I’ll take that as a no. All right, go on then.”

“Go on with what?” She leaned forward to adjust the vent. Her skin was prickling all over. A combination of the dirty vision, his unnerving bluntness, and how he’d peeled back layers of trauma with a single question was making her skin itch. Was that why it was suddenly so hot?

“Tell me about their tryst.”

“There’s nothing to tell. They had sex in a meadow. End of story.”

His blue eyes met hers in surprise. “That’s strange; I had a dream about that exact thing. We were in a green meadow, and I had an ax strapped to my back. I was rucking up your tunic and kissing you, and then I woke up.”

It sounded impossible that he could have experienced his own form of her vision, but she couldn’t think of a single other explanation for how Erikson could have dreamed a nearly identical scene. Except it seemed he’d woken up before all the dirty parts.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s exactly what I saw.”

He tsked. “Oh no you don’t. Whatever I did to you in that meadow must’ve been really good to get that blush going, and I’ve had a shit day. Regale me.”

“First of all, it wasn’t you and me,” she said primly, “it was two other people that just happened to look like us. And they didn’t do anything much. They kissed.” Everywhere. “They had sex.” He’d made Irish Winter’s throat raw from screaming.

Erikson sighed.

“Fine! You want all the dirty details? Erik the Grimm buried his head between her thighs and made her come so hard she saw stars, and then he fucked her in the dirt. Then against a tree. Then bent her over a boulder.”