Page 56 of Traitor Witch

“That’s our mate!” I growl.

He shakes his head, takes my arm, and drags me further to the left.

Nilsa’s laying quiescent on her front. Her creamy skin marred by blood and… ink? I watch her lie, perfectly still, as the other witch—and the other woman is definitely a witch—smears her leg with some paste.

She’s getting a tattoo? I frown.

Do Solars normally have tattoos? Is that what’s hidden under those shapeless robes?

“She’s still hurt,” I grumble, fangs impeding my words.

Kier looks pointedly at the exposed markings which circle my upper arm.

“Those weren’t my choice.”

He just rolls his eyes, jerks his head back at Nilsa, and moves to lean against the chimney of the roof.

I grumble, pace a little more, then settle on joining him.

“Why the heck is she getting a tattoo?” I ask, even as my vampire-enhanced sight notes some on her calves that look older. Whatever she’s having inked into her looks like the markings she gave Valorean.

Sigils, she called them.

Now that my mind isn't consumed with the need to protect my mate, the scent of her blood starts to tease me. My fangs drop, my mouth watering at just the memory of tasting her.

The other witch works over Nilsa for hours. The moon rises and sets, and dawn begins to break the horizon before she finally stands and stretches.

Nilsa moves much more slowly. I can read the pain in her every careful movement as she pushes herself to her feet and sways.

Kier clears his throat, grabs my arm again, and turns us around before I can see anymore of her nakedness. The vampire in me wants to rip his head from his shoulders, but I know he’s right. We shouldn’t be staring at her without her knowledge.

It’s an unexpectedly gentlemanly thing for the fae to consider, but I put it down to his life before he became a pirate.

We wait longer than we should, because when I turn around, Nilsa is gone. Only her cat remains, staring at us from the doorway with an intelligence that makes me question, for the hundredth time, whether that cat really is just a cat.

My eyes linger on the sheet she’d been laying on, still stained with Nilsa’s blood. My fangs, which have only just begun to recede, ache once again.

I turn away, disgusted with myself.

I’m better than that. I’ve worked hard to become better than that.

I don’t wait for Kier. I step off the roof and land heavily on the street below. We wait out of sight of the doorway, and it proves to be the right choice because Nilsa comes flying out of it soon after.

Our mate lands in a heap on the other side of the street, groaning softly in pain. I want to go straight to her side but Kier holds me back again.

Yeah, our stalking her might not go down too well.

She’s staggering as she moves, her weakness palpable in the sluggishness of her walk and the way her cat circles beneath her, mewling.

The vermin of the streets have noticed too. They haunt her steps, beady eyes shining from the darkness of every alley.

They’re so focused on the prey that they don’t expect to meet their death at the hands of a vampire.

No one looks at her like that.

Nilsa wanders away from the main street. Further from the safety of the salty sea air and into the slums. The scent of her blood lures me after her as much as my desire to keep her safe.

This is not good.