“I was removed from the community when I was eight, given to the Archdruid that ruled at the time.”
“Given away?” She wanted to see his expression, but he pressed her closer, his chest now flush against her spine. She was thankful for the murkiness of the water, her body sensitive as he continued his painfully slow strokes.
“Hmmm,” he grumbled, sending vibrations across her skin in such a way she had to suppress a moan. “They blamed me when the black witches attacked, thought it was because of my magic that they found the community.”
“What? But you were a child!” Anger darkened her tone, and she swore she felt lips against the side of her neck. She hitched in a breath, not daring to move as those same lips brushed against the shell of her ear. Not a kiss, but it still made her insides ache, her breasts heavy as the water teased in gentle ripples against her oversensitive flesh.
She clenched her fists, her hands wanting to stroke him in return, make him forget. But she wasn’t only a witch, she was a witch who practiced the same magic that had destroyed his childhood. “Why have you come back?”
They fell into silence, her own heartbeat a roar inside her mind as he continued to stroke along her sensitive skin. She had never been so intimate with another person, never having allowed herself close enough when fear would coat her tongue. She had had sex, a carnal joining of the most basic instinct, but that was nothing compared to the desire that throbbed just then.
Kyra couldn’t stop the shiver that rattled down her spine, didn’t stop Xander when he placed his left hand on her hip and those talented fingers began circling there too.
“Open your third eye,” he whispered, and it took her a second to realise it wasn’t just the whistling of the wind. “If the manacle lets you.”
She obeyed, concentrating on opening her mind to see beyond the mundane world, her third eye opening to see perceptions beyond ordinary sight.
Her resulting gasp made him laugh, his thumb moving to brush her thigh.
Colours burst across her vision, as if she sat in the centre of a rainbow. She wiggled, Xander releasing her so she could spin, hand lifting out the water to reach for the sparkles. “What is it?” she asked, her smile genuine.
“It’s called a ley line, a natural energy. They seem to connect ancient sacred sites around the world, undetectable to everyone who wasn’t attuned to the earth. As a witch, you wouldn’t be able to sense them, but you can see if you concentrate.”
She knew what it was, but had never realised they could be so beautiful.
“Hmmm. This ley line runs straight through, but it was attracted to the crystals imbedded into the surrounding rocks. They couldn’t understand why I loved being in here so much, they said I must have been a mermaid.”
Kyra’s resulting laugh made him smile, just a slight tip of his lips. “Thank you,” she said, meeting his eyes of frost.
“For what?”
“For showing me.” She let her third eye slip, unable to hold it any longer as the manacle on her wrist burned. His face was cool, but not completely expressionless as his eyes dripped to her lips, and her own opened as if readying themselves.
“You asked why I came back,” he began when he moved until her hands pressed flat against his chest. His skin hot, hotter than the water. “I came back because it was the first time in over twenty years that my mother had reached out to me, and at dinner we’ll find out why.”
Chapter21
Xander
Xander couldn’t stop staring at Kyra, the attention making her squirm, her blush almost permanent as they slowly made their way towards the dining hall. He enjoyed making her uncomfortable, his beast almost infatuated as she shot him a look of pure fire. A silent fuck off that made him want to smile.
He had had no intention to do anything other than bathe, but her skin had looked so soft, an invitation that he couldn’t ignore. He had wanted to push, to see what she would do when he began to stroke, his mind ravaged with images of blood and death.
He had expected a fight, had wanted a fight with this witch that had such unexpected compassion in a magic bearer trained in death. And instead she had softened beneath him, despite his cutting words. With every squirm, every intake of breath his beast had growled across his mind, pushing, wanting more as she allowed him to caress and tease. And it was definitely allowed, he knew for a fact that if he pushed her too far he would feel her wrath. She had an inner strength that fascinated him, but he wanted to know exactly why she sometimes recoiled at touch, or why her eyes would widen in panic before she quickly hid them behind thick lashes.
He would find out the story behind every flinch, every nervous reaction because he had decided that he wasn’t going to keep his distance at all. Not until this… hunger was diminished. This need. And she had given permission to touch, whether she had realised it or not. Her body had welcomed his caress, pressing back against him with every stroke. When she had shifted in that water just an inch, exposing the delicate slope of her neck he couldn’t help but brush his lips across that bit of sensitive skin, savouring her pulse race at his touch.
“You’re scowling,” she said, her own frown pinching her brows. “You’re going to scare them, stop it.”
Xander lowered his lashes, allowing his expression to turn cold, empty. He wasn’t sure how he felt when Kyra’s eyes widened, but she remained where she was. She had redressed in her own armour, her hair bound tight once more as she dressed in a black dress and leather belt. Her legs were bare, her boots hitting her at the knee.
She looked like a witch, power contained just beneath her fingertips. He wondered if she noted the amusement as he did as they stepped into the dining room, the Seers who had attended silent.
They glared, eyes full of hatred and ignorance. They ignored him completely, eyes widening and then skirting away to return their full attention to the small witch at his side. Instead of crumbling she lifted her chin, meeting every angered gaze with a cool and collected one of her own. His beast gave a pleased growl, and from the way she turned to face him he suspected he had accidently vocalised the rumble.
Five guards hovered, guns strapped open on their hips, their hands relaxed on the grip. His mother stood at the head of the table that sat thirty, her smile wide as she gestured for them to take the two open seats at the far end. The Seers began to talk amongst themselves, quietly at first but the volume building until he had to concentrate to distinguish between the different conversations.
The spirts that would usually linger were gone, scared off. That was the main subject between the Seers, their concern for the dead. No one spoke to either of them, which was preferred as they both quietly ate the broth served.
