Page 28

Twenty-Eight

ELSPETH

T he rain hammered down, thoroughly soaking me. Why hadn’t I just waited to get out of the storm? Probably because I was a stubborn idiot, afraid if I stayed any longer, I’d run into Draven. So instead, I’d run out into a storm.

Wind battered me, making it hard to push forward. The forest was a short distance from here, and if I could get under the cover of the trees, the rest of the walk might not be so bad.

Squelch.

I looked down to see my foot completely encased in mud. “Witch’s tits,” I muttered, yanking my foot. It wouldn’t budge.

I let out a groan of frustration, yanking it harder and harder to no avail. So this was it. This would be my end. Death by mud. I’d either starve, or the mud would slowly swallow me whole. I was regretting so many of my life decisions right now.

Rain pelted me so hard I couldn’t see through the downpour. Thunder rumbled threateningly, the clouds a slate gray.

My heart spiked. This was bad.

Through the heavy curtain of rain, a figure appeared. I stiffened, wondering who would be out here in this weather. Only someone unhinged. Someone capable of terrible things. Like murder. I swallowed, my mind whirling.

I set my jaw. Well, I wouldn’t let them take me so easily. A hood covered their head, cloak billowing behind them. They were tall, muscled. That was fine. I was scrappy. I could pack a punch if I had to.

My hands balled into fists by my sides, and I did my best to brace my legs as they came closer. When they were just a few steps away, I reared back my arm and threw the hardest punch I could.

My fist connected with their jaw, a satisfying crack splitting the air.

“Witch’s tits, woman,” a gruff voice said. A voice I’d know anywhere. Draven’s hood flew backward, revealing his scowling face. He rubbed his jaw, his hair slicked back, droplets clinging to the ends of his wavy strands. “Do you just punch every stranger you pass on the road?”

I crossed my arms, feeling defensive. “I do when they’re coming out of nowhere in a storm, looking hulking and threatening. You could’ve called for me, said something to reveal yourself.”

He worked his jaw back and forth. “I thought you knew it was me.”

“How could I have possibly known that?” I threw out my arms.

“Maybe if you didn’t assume the worst,” Draven yelled over the roar of the rain.

I looked away. I supposed I tended to do that sometimes.

“Do you want my help or not?” He stepped closer.

Rivulets of water ran down his face, dripping onto his lips, so close to mine. My heart pounded for a different reason now, and my chest heaved.

“Well?” he asked, his tone softer as he studied my face like I was studying his.

“Yes,” I said quickly, looking away. “Please.”

He gripped my arms, attempting to lift me from the mud that completely encased my boots. He gritted his teeth and yanked, but it wasn’t any use. If Draven couldn’t help me, I might be well and truly stuck.

He took a deep breath and stepped back. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Those weren’t four words I wanted to hear. I didn’t trust anyone outside of my family. “Why?” I asked with a shaky voice .

“I can’t pull you out,” he said. “I’m going to have to use magic to free you.”

I narrowed my gaze. “You just happen to have a spell for getting someone out of mud?”

He nodded. “I think so. I have one in mind that should work.”

My eyes bugged. “Should? As in there’s a chance of failure? There’s a chance that you could accidentally spell me to be stuck here forever? Spell the mud to entomb me?”

“I’d never do that,” he said, his gaze so intense it struck me. “I’d never hurt you.”

Magic wasn’t predictable. Creating good spells took time, work, skill. Witches attended the Coven Institute when they were eighteen to go into specialties: potions, earth, healing, weather, gems, woodwork, and so many more. New specialties were popping up every year as we became more innovative with our magic. But if you were too hasty with a spell, if you cast one before you were ready, it could end in disaster. It did end in disaster for many witches. I eyed Draven, realizing that, for some unknown reason, I trusted him. At least, I did in this moment. I trusted that he wouldn’t do me any harm.

I nodded. “Do it. Do whatever you have to.”

I expected him to draw a wand from underneath his cloak. But he didn’t. He just walked around me in slow circles. He crouched down to study the mud, grabbing my calf and moving his hands up and down.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Working,” he said without looking up at me.

His hands felt so strong and steady on my leg. I closed my eyes, imagining those hands in a different situation, imagining him massaging my legs. Lightning crackled above, and my eyes shot open. I needed to get a grip.

“Okay.” He stood and faced me, then began speaking Ethorial. No wand. No spell written out in front of him.

I watched in awe. Only the most powerful witches could cast magic using their words alone. Typically, witches needed conduits for their magic: wand, objects, ingredients. But there were a rare group who could do magic without any of that.

He raised his arms out, closing his eyes and continuing to speak.

Mud began whirling around my feet. I looked down to see it hollowing out like someone was digging into it. More of the mud flew away, revealing more of my boots that had been stuck. Witch Superior. He was doing it.

I watched in amazement as the mud spun and spun until I could see all the way to the grass the mud covered. This was magnificent. Brilliant. I lifted my boot, then lifted the other one and took a step forward.

Draven opened his eyes and reached his hand out. I latched onto it as all the mud stopped spinning and dropped down with a splat. Before it could encase me again, Draven reeled me forward and straight into his chest.

We were both breathing heavy, rain soaking us. We should’ve moved, gotten under cover or to safety, but I couldn’t make myself budge. Draven’s arms were wrapped around me, safe and protective—not something I’d felt in a long time. I rested my head against his chest, and I felt his chin perch on the top of my head. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, just me and him, the world fading away. It was the same feeling I’d had kissing him in the closet.

“We should get back,” he finally said, and disappointment swept through me as he stepped away, nudging his head in the direction of his manor.

We walked to his home in silence, his hand clutching mine the entire way.