Page 21 of Traitor Witch (The Deadwood #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

NILSA

L eviathan.

They’re supposed to be a myth.

But there’s no denying that enormous sea serpent bending over the ship. Just like there’s no doubt in my mind that the creature is Cas.

I can see it in his turquoise eyes. Somehow, even in this form, they're so expressive. So human.

There’s fear in their depths for the briefest instant, before the human light fades, replaced with a primitive kind of curiosity.

Cas’s beast.

I’m not afraid. Not even when he lowers his head and sniffs me, dripping sea water all over my already-soaked clothes.

My lungs still burn, but the pain is nothing compared to my awe and confusion. If I just reached out, I could touch him.

But the instant I raise my palm, a freezing cold hand grabs my wrist, stilling me.

“Are you insane?” Kier is the one holding my wrist, but it’s Rysen speaking.

The vampire has dropped onto the deck and is standing protectively between me and Cas’s beast.

But the leviathan doesn’t look angry. It looks sad, almost mournful.

Like it misses the contact we never had.

“No.” I shove to my feet and push past both of them until I’m standing in front of the huge beast. Each of his huge breaths wafts warm, salty air over me, blowing my hair back with the force of it. “Look at him. He’s not going to hurt me.”

I reach my hand out again, and this time, neither male tries to stop me.

Even standing, I can barely reach the top of his snout, so I settle for awkwardly rubbing the scales of his upper lip.

His body is a combination of teal scales and dark furry mane that shouldn’t work, but does. There are bony spines along the bottom of his jaw and across the tops of his eye ridges that add a menace to his draconic face.

His eyes are small and double lidded, and from the back of his head, armoured plates, covered in long, seal-like fur, give the impression of an alien mane.

Two long, whisker-like… things dangle from the back of his jaw, they flick out, tasting the air, almost like feelers, but I don’t get to examine them closer.

“Oi, if you’re feeling useful, get us out of here!” Val yells. “East! And keep us away from the shore!”

The leviathan gives him a disgruntled look. Just that one expression telling me he doesn’t like Val any more than I do. He dives back into the water anyway, teal body disappearing beneath the stormy waves and taking my distraction with him .

Mother Goddess, I just drowned.

I can feel the shaking coming on as I fall back onto my ass.

Some part of me is dimly aware of a massive rope, the thickness of my leg, being unravelled and the lurch as the boat changes course. A different part of my mind even recognises that we’re now being pulled to safety by Cas.

But most of me is stuck back under those waves. Reliving the crushing darkness.

The suffocation.

The coldness.

A heaviness settles on my chest, making it hard to breathe. That, in turn, fuels the memory of my drowning, drawing me deeper into the labyrinth of panic.

A cold hand rubs gentle circles on my back, dragging my consciousness back from the brink with each careful glide of skin against skin.

“Deep breaths.” Rysen is in front of me. His deep, soulful brown eyes breaking the ocean’s hold on me. “Your first death is always the worst for any immortal.”

Death?

I… died?

Theoretically, I knew witches could come back as long as our heart and head were still intact.

Reality is a lot different.

I drag in more air at Rysen’s coaching, each lungful still laced with the salt of the sea. He and Kier block the ocean from my sight with their bodies. The vampire’s voice drowns out the waves.

It takes a while, but eventually, the weight on my chest eases. Breathing becomes second-nature and my mind slows to its regular speed.

“Take her below deck and get her warm,” Rysen instructs Kier, as soon as my shaking stops .

The fae helps me to my feet and offers me his arm in an unexpected, gentlemanly fashion. We make it to the hatch just as the moonlight breaks through the clouds. The constant roar of thunder stops abruptly and the sea evens out.

No more lightning.

I’m no sailor, but this is not natural.

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 high priestess 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.

They’re formed of emotion and magic and—while they can be read like traditional sigils—it’s far quicker to just touch them and get the short version.

I start with the silver chains of warning, the ‘why’ of his curse.

The second my palm grazes the icy skin over his pectoral, I shudder.

Heartbreak. Agony. Betrayal.

The three emotions blast into me like a shock-wave. Despite their age, time seems to have matured and strengthened the curse rather than diminish it. It’s so strong that it takes a second before I can summon enough magic to tease the three threads apart.

The moment I do, the story starts to play out beneath my fingertips.

Young, hopeful love. Excitement and butterfly wings of hope. The leap, the rush of breaking all the rules. Then the sting of cold, unfeeling rejection. The pain of betrayal. The agony of loss.

Kier broke a witch’s heart. For fun. Because he wanted to win a bet. He sweet-talked her for months, convincing her of his affection until she agreed to leave her coven and join him in the fae courts.

She gave up her coven, her family, her world.

Everything and anything for love.

I suppose some people might call it romantic, but all I can think is how na?ve it seems. If stupidity is a symptom of romance, maybe my lack of a harem is a blessing.

Once she’d crossed into the fae realm, Kier rejected her in front of his court. But not before she’d given him her full name, enabling him to command her to do whatever he wished. Her pain sings extra sweet as I ‘read’ that part of the history. It’s almost overwhelming, but I fight through and finish learning the tragedy on Kier’s skin.

In shock, covenless, and humiliated. She grew depressed as a slave in the winter court. In the end, death seemed a kinder fate.

But not before casting this curse, intended to protect other witches from his lies.

I glance up at him in shock, snatching away my hand instinctively. This wasn’t what I was expecting from the silent fae.

My own desire wars with another woman's heartbreak, leaving my mind a hot mess. It takes several seconds to separate the two.

Without saying anything, he takes my palm in gentle fingers and draws it up to his throat.

The details of the curse slam into me.

Every time he speaks, he feels unimaginable pain.

“You deserve it,” I mutter. “What you did…”

I can see exactly how his curse can be broken.

Kier has to find a witch who knows everything about his curse, yet loves and trusts him enough to willingly exchange full names with him, regardless.

I step back, shaking my head. Now I can see why Glenna refused the two requests I saw. Reading a curse is like experiencing the trauma of the witch who cast it for yourself.

It’s like I’ve bonded with the witch who cursed him. Like her pain is mine. It takes me a long second to work through and separate her from me.

“You already know what they say.” He has to if I wasn’t the first to read them. “The only possible reason you could want me to read them, is either to tell your crew…” He shakes hi s head sadly. “Or because you want me to break the curse for you.”

I take a deep breath. “My best friend is now the high priestess of our coven. If I survive my mission, I will put in a good word for you.” His frown makes me pause, considering. “If you were hoping I might be able to break it myself… you’re mistaken. The curse is quite clear; the witch who breaks it must love you, and my Goddess has made it quite clear that love is not in my future.”

My fists clench by my sides at the reminder.

I read the question in his eyes but choose not to answer as I stride to the door. Feeling like the world’s most awful bitch, I swing it open, glue my eyes to my shoes, and wait.

“I need to dry off,”

Kier doesn’t object, shrugging his shirt back on with a calm swiftness that belies the tension lingering beneath his muscles.

He's silent as he leaves the room.

I go to close the door, but his hand comes up, taking my chin and forcing my eyes to meet his.

The certainty there says he doesn’t think this is over.

I can only hope the grim knowledge in mine tells him that it is.

For an instant—a crazy, stupid, instant—I think he might try to kiss me.

I'm not sure I'd stop him. A huge part of me wants to inch forward and taste the ice cold burn of his lips on mine.

Then Opal slips through and kicks the door shut in his face, forcing him to snatch his hand back or risk it getting caught.

“That was…”

No. There are no words that can express the last hour of my life. I let my head fall forward against the door, then do it again in frustration .

Is it stupid that I almost wish I was the witch who could help Kier with his curse?

Of course it is.

That doesn’t seem to stop my heart.