Page 80 of Traitor Witch

I’m no sailor, but this isnotnatural.

Kier doesn’t comment, so I suspect he’s known the same for a while. But it still sends a chill down my spine.

If this storm was directed at me, it would have taken an enormous amount of magic. Weather magic is difficult. Just starting a small, localised misty rain could give a single witch burnout. It would have taken several covens, working in concert with a lot of expensive materials to do something on this scale.

That it had been performed at night suggests the Lunars are responsible, but Danika had no reason to do this.

No. It can't have been the witches.

I keep my thoughts to myself as I let Kier lead me back to my cabin. The moment I’m below deck, my shaking stops. Of course, the fae notices, but his supportive arm doesn’t disappear. It stays in place right up to my cabin door.

“You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us,” I mutter, twisting the handle. “I’m a Lunar. I can handle myself.”

“You are—” He breaks off, grimacing. Before I can say anything, he grabs my arm and pulls me into the room, slamming the door behind us.

He tugs me right up to the window before he releases me, his hands going straight for the hem of his shirt.

My alarm bells go off straight away.

“I might be a Lunar,” I growl, pulling magic into my hands, “But I am not just an easy lay.”

He doesn’t stop, yanking his rain-soaked black shirt over his head without pause. Exposing his curse marks to my eyes.

Okay, maybe for him, I could be easy.

I don't drop my defensive position, but I can't help my eyes tracing over the lines of his body.

Even knowing he's cursed doesn't dim his appeal. The raw, masculine power in his body makes me want to drag him over to the bed and put an end to the year of enforced celibacy I've been suffering.

But still, he could at least ask first.

When he looks at me again, his eyes soften, taking in my defensive stance with a hint of sadness.

“Read.” He gestures to the white curse sigils across his chest, and the red chain collaring his throat.

My stupid curiosity is my worst trait. One of these days, it will probably get me killed.

That knowledge doesn’t stop me from letting the Mother’s magic dissipate with a snap of my fingers and inching closer.

He has saved my life before, I reason to myself. What harm can just reading the sigils do? I kind of owe him that much at least.

It’s not like I’m volunteering to remove the curse.

“You know how this works?”

His jaw clenches, but he nods anyway.

So I’m not the first witch he’s asked to do this. Interesting.

Palm outstretched, I trace a finger down one silver chain. His skin is cold, as if each plane of his chest has been chiselled from ice. For a moment, I just want to stand there and touch. Explore every inch of him to find out if ice fae are really this cold everywhere.

If he is, I want to know if I can make him melt for me.

But this is serious, so I shake off the temptation.

Curses are dark magic. Much more serious than the hexes and jinxes Lunars play with for fun. Theoretically, a highpriestess can petition the Goddess to undo a curse but only two people ever came to petition Glenna for her help.

She sent both away after reading their sigils.