She should have known better than to tempt the deep, dark, demon part of me that wants nothing more than exactly this.
My mate, fleeing.
Dark woods, to hunt her down in.
A chase. A capture. A claiming.
Or perhaps she knew exactly what she was doing. Perhaps she was well aware of what the sight of her fleeing would do to me.
Perhaps she wants it just as much as I do.
Her magick lingers in the rain-soaked air—a bright, metallic beacon leading me straight to her.
I’m tempted to open a portal, to follow the strands of our bond that seem woven into the air and the earth and the fabric of the realm itself, and bring myself straight to her.
But I want something else more.
The chase.
The pursuit.
The catch.
Spreading my wings wide, I lift from the ground in a few mighty sweeps, buffeted by the driving rain.
It’s not ideal weather for flying, but I don’t intend to let this chase last long.
I’m not sure Icanlet this chase last long.
A week apart has felt like a year, a decade, and just one look at my star sitting there on that barstool, waiting for me, was enough to burn away any capacity I might have had to draw this out.
I need her.
Goddess, do I need her.
My eyes are keen and sharp in the dark, adapted to seeking and finding. I scan each inch of forest floor I glimpse through the canopy, tracing all the paths my star might use to flee. Just as I approach a small clearing, I see a flash of gold through the darkness, and instinct pours through me like liquid fire.
There she is.
My mate. My other half. My wicked little witch running from me, tempting me, the most delicious prey I could ever imagine.
As soon as she reaches a gap in the trees, I strike.
A hard dive, wings spread wide to slow my descent and keep me from crashing into the ground. Arms wrapped around her strong, warm body. A gasp of surprised pleasure echoing in my ears.
I roll my body so it takes the brunt of the impact, and even the promise of bruises as we skid to a stop on the forest floor barely registers.
How could it?
I’ve got my witch in my arms, back where she belongs.
Where she’ll always belong.
Seren, however, isn’t quite ready to give up the fight.
With a surprisingly deft maneuver, she levers herself away from me, lunging like she’s going to regain her feet and run again.
“Not so fast, witch,” I growl, pulling her to me again and rolling the two of us so she’s on her back on a patch of mossy ground beneath the trees.
