Lucenna’s glamor spell fell off the way a snake shed its skin. It dried and peeled, withering away. Her white hair whipped forward as she kicked and thrashed.
“Release me!” She called on her Essence, but it sparked uselessly in her hands.
“You have no power here.” The Briar Witch flashed her a feral smile and nodded to the blood-red symbols painted on the dark ceiling. “My wards keep out all magic but my own.”
Lucenna stifled a whimper, refusing to show fear. Inside, her mind screamed. Never had she been so stupid. Her heart thrashed behind her ribs, breath coming in heavily as her mind grasped for a clue on how to escape. It reminded her of the men when she’d kept them trapped in her spells. Was this the helpless desperation they experienced?
The Briar Witch went to a table and rummaged in the mess. “Did you know, we witches are polite folk? We don’t go sneaking into another’s dwelling without permission. If we did, well, it never ends favorably for the intruder.”
She turned, and Lucenna inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of the dagger in her hands. Firelight shone through its translucent edge. The blade was made of pure white crystal.
“What are you doing?” Lucenna demanded. “Stay back.”
“I’ll not kill you, sweet meat. But merely take what we bargained for. I promise it will only hurt a little.”
“We didn’t bargain for anything. I no longer want the clovers. Let me go!”
“And relinquish the chance to be beautiful? I think not.”
When she neared, Lucenna threw back her head and smashed into the witch’s face, knocking her back into the table. The witch whirled around with a red welt on her forehead, and she hissed, curling her fingers into claws. Cold smoke ensnared Lucenna’s neck and head, locking her in place.
“Hold still. I don’t want to scar that pretty face. It’ll soon be mine.” The witch snatched a handful of Lucenna’s hair in her fist and lifted the crystal dagger to her hairline.
The scream she’d been holding back tore from her throat.
Heavy footsteps thudded behind her, and something white hit the witch. Then she was the one screaming. The Briar Witch tripped backward, howling and clawing at her face as her skin sizzled and blistered. The hold on Lucenna vanished, and she hit the floor.
“On your feet, lass.” A hand hauled her up.
She fell against a chest, and a warm arm wrapped around her waist so tightly she could feel every hard muscle. It was the man who’d been there moments before. His mouth curled in a smirk, and he heaved her to the door with him, tossing handfuls of white sand across the ground as they retreated.
No, not sand.
Salt.
He yanked Lucenna out into the alley, and the one-eyed man slammed the door shut behind them, dumping more salt along the threshold.
“Get to your horse.” The man shoved her toward Fair, and they ran for theirs.
She didn’t need to be told twice. Yanking the reins free, Lucenna swung onto Fair’s saddle, and they raced out of the alley. She dared to glance behind her in time to see the entrance seal shut with a brick wall. Lucenna didn’t stop until they entered a busy road bathed in sunlight. With a heaving breath, she leaned on Fair, hugging his neck as she waited for her heart to stop racing.
“Are you all right, lass?” The man chuckled behind her. “You’re nearly as white as your hair. That was foolish. She had you in her snares. If I hadn’t been there—”
“Yes, thank you,” Lucenna said testily, annoyed that amanhad saved her.
“She doesn’t sound particularly grateful,” he said. “Does she sound grateful, Eagon?”
“I wouldn’t say so, Captain.”
“I’d be more grateful if you hadn’t waited until the last moment,” Lucenna growled. “She nearly carved off my face.”
She whipped around to yell at the man, only for her glare to melt away.
Gods.
Dark blond hair curled at the nape of his neck and fell forward around his chiseled jaw, layered in stubble, brushing over his dark brows. She took in the angles of his face, the cheekbones, and … sensual mouth. Eyes the color of the clearest sky looked at her from behind thick lashes, woven through with the deepest blue of the sea. Her stare dropped to the black trousers that clung to his muscular thighs wrapped around his steed, moving to the many weapons and dark blue coat he wore. It fit him indecently like a second skin, straining against his broad chest and arms, showing every groove and ridge. Her stomach dipped, remembering how they had enveloped her.
“That would have been a pity,” the captain said in that interesting accent. It was thicker than the one she was used to hearing in Azure, a lilt pleasing to the ear. He smiled, and two dimples appeared as his gaze roved over her face. “The witches have a set of rules by which they live. In regards to their homes, you must knock to request entrance, or you forgo any truce. Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before wandering into a witch’s den without permission, aye, lass?”
