Page 27 of Traitor Witch

I slip my clothes on and heave a cannonball from a crate. It’s still the middle of the night, and a whispered prayer to the Goddess transforms the iron into a sharp, thin chisel.

The sigils for protection, psychic privacy, and secrecy are long, intricate, and will hopefully keep any more dream visitors out. I charge them as I carve, arrowing the Goddess’s magic down the tip of the blade to infuse it into the wood.

I’ve only just finished the second sigil when an anguished yell almost makes me drop the blade.

“Witch!”

The boom, boom, boom of a fist against my door has me taking several steps back. I flick the blade up my sleeve, transforming it into a knife with another prayer before I turn the handle.

Valorean shoves past me, shirtless and dishevelled as he storms into the room. If he wasn't the most irritating asshole I’ve ever met, I might be able to admit that he’s gorgeous to look at. With his white hair rumpled and his trousers slung low on his hips, exposing lines of smooth muscle, it's all I can do not to stare.

Just woken up is a good look on him.

“What the fuck are you doing to my ship?” He draws up short when he sees the cosy adjustments I’ve made to my cabin. “What the— Where are my cannon balls?!”

Opal opens a single eye, looks at the captain, then stretches on my new sheets like she’s rubbing their existence in his face. She jumps down and purrs, winding herself between his legs.

Traitor.

At least Valorean ignores her.

“I won’t sleep in a hammock!” I retort. “You can have your balls back when I leave. Now what the hell are you raving about?”

Only then do I notice the tiny line of blood tracing its way across his pectoral. The wounds are tiny but even from this distance I can see the outline of two sigils. His immortal healing is already closing the cuts but they're definitely there.

I infused the ship with magic, not the man.

Ah shit.

Bond mage.

What happens to one happens to the other.

I really should have thought about that.

Whoopsie.

Val’s staring at me with one eyebrow raised, waiting for my reaction.

“You should count yourself lucky,” I mutter, instead of gracing him with an apology like I probably should. “I usually charge hundreds for protection sigils.”

His eyes narrow. “Stop carving sigils into my fucking ship!”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be such a baby; it’s barely a scratch.”

“You’ve gouged out my flesh!”

Opal, clearly frustrated that this male isn’t going to worship her, chooses this moment to knead her claws into his leg, punctuating his point. Valorean hisses then glares at me as if I’m somehow to blame for the actions of my familiar.

A large shadow falls over us, and we turn as one to find Rysen there, arms crossed over his chest. The vampire is massive, and he seems to only get bigger as he frowns down at both of us. He still hasn’t put on a shirt, and the steel of those tiny nipple rings seems to magnetise my gaze to his chest. He shoots one long, disapproving look at Valorean, who returns the glare, but Rysen’s eyes soften as he turns to regard me.

“Neither of the Coveton covens know that you boarded our ship. So who do you need protecting from, Little Witch?” His deep voice causes goose bumps to appear on my arms.

I shake my head because I’m not about to admit that I’m nervous about a silly dream. “No one. It’s just an old habit.”

“Lie.” The word echoes softly from the hall, and I grimace.

The fae is out there, listening in. I have no idea why he hasn’t barged into my cabin with Val and Rysen, but I hate knowing my every word is being fact checked.