I shake my head, trying to get rid of that feeling. Curiosity brings danger. It can make a person forget to protect themselves.
The curiosity I feel won’t leave me alone. More questions come to mind. What if it was this soldier who changed the magic in the land? What if he was the one who summoned the storm? There’s another shift around me and it’s then I hear the crack of thunder far too close.
“I am at a loss—” He raises his voice and then pauses again to let another loud crash of thunder die down. “I do not wish to disturb you,” the soldier says, starting again. “But with the rain and the lack of a portal, I am trapped.” The smallest break in his voice speaks of his honesty. “And I am at your mercy.”
I cannot speak.
I search for the words to reply, but I can’t think of what to say.
“I ask,” he continues, “that you take pity on me. I will not stay long. Only as long as it takes for my portal to charge. Then I will go and leave you in peace.”
It is not the first time a being has been at my mercy. Many beings who cannot cast spells but need one to get by have been at my mercy. I have received letters from frantic mothers and desperate fathers. I have heard from determined daughters and sons who will not rest until they have a solution. I have received a great many requests for mercy in the words that pour off the pages in my letter box.
My heart aches with empathy as if I’m the one who’s cut off from home. Yes, I have lived in the cottage alone for the years since my coven was taken. I kept our physical home, but not the people who made it home, and I have been homesick for them more often than I haven’t.
I know what it is to be far from everything you know without a way to get back.
I wave my hand at the door, undoing the latch and the bolts, then pull it open fast, before I can lose my nerve. If he can step through the doorway, he may enter. It is as simple as that. I will aid him in leaving this place as soon as the storm passes.
Outside, it is very dark from the thunderclouds, but more lightning burns across the sky, and there he is.
Something shifts wildly when I open the door. My heart won’t behave, and my lungs don’t know what to do. The sight of him…it does something to me I’ve never felt before.
He is tall and broad and muscled, wearing leather armor. Every inch of him that I can see is soaked from the rain, and dark hair runs in streaks across his forehead. He does not look like the kind of man who would ever need someone’s pity. Certainly not mine. He is too strong. His presence overwhelms me. The shadows from my fire cast shadows on his sharp features, and it is like a gust of wind has come into the house and stolen my breath all over again.
My curiosity is no less powerful. It feels like a fire raging through me.
This soldier is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen.
* * *
A Spell Jar for Courage
Recipe requirements:
A jar with a cork lid to carry the spell
A pinch of salt to cleanse and purify
Tiger’s eye crystal for courage
A sprinkle of cinnamon (or a stick of bark) for abundance
Orange candle to seal the jar
Add your ingredients one at a time, stating the intention and purpose of each ingredient as you touch it. As the wax seals the jar, state the following:
For the good of all and to the harm of none, I am my own hero. Within me I possess the courage to open every door. I am able to walk through any space I desire. I am guided, protected, and being shown all possibilities for my higher self with strength. There is nothing that can stop me for I am capable and worthy. Courage walks beside me and holds my hand when I am in need.
When the wax has covered the lid and sealed the spell in the jar, blow out the candle and whisper, “So mote it be.”
Keep the jar in a safe place and shake if necessary to remind yourself of this truth: you already possess all the courage you will ever need.
Chapter Six
Ryker
If I had seen this woman in battle, I’d have died right there without striking another blow. Her beauty is a gift from the gods. I’ve never seen a soul so lovely. From her dark hair with waves that caress her face as the wind slips between us, to her striking hazel eyes that spark mischief and wisdom. She embodies a power in her slender frame that is draped in such delicate cloth.
