Page 27 of The Witch and His Crow

Being here and confronting my past wasn’t what I expected. If anything, it could easily destroy me long before another person had the chance.

The castle was eerily quiet. For a place so large, filled with countless bodies, there was something still about the air. Dead. Like sound didn’t travel far. I willingly lost myself to the task of memorising the layout, mapping out the corridors and rooms,stairs and wings, knowing such knowledge would undoubtedly come in handy.

This was an arena, after all. A place death would come to haunt. Instead of sand beneath my feet, there was old wood and carpet. But it would, in time, be coated with witchblood.

Barbaric. All of it was. I had a sense that this was why mother wanted to keep me away from the Coven.

It didn’t take long for me to find myself lost to the dark. The little light the gas lamps offered don’t help me. Beside the halo of light surrounding the wall lamps, the floor was practically a sea of shadow. But on I pressed, feeling the safest in the dark. It was familiar and comforting.

It was home.

My hand trailed the wall at my side. All the while I painted a map in my head, fixing it deep in the grooves of my memory. Confident I could find my way back, I continued deeper into the corridor. Then my fingers bumped over the edge of a doorframe. Light from a lamp at my side glanced off the dull brass of a doorknob.

I took the cold metal in hand, turned it, and pushed the heavy door open. I winced at the noise it made. If anyone was inside, they’d know I’d come in from the screech of the hinges alone.

I took in the grandeur of the room before me, quickly discovering that I was not alone at all. A man was standing with his back to me. He was framed by a wall of books—this room was clearly some old library. A hearth burned in the corner, coating the many reading chairs in a welcoming glow. And yet still I couldn’t take my eyes off his back.

He didn’t turn around when he spoke to me. Instead, he focused on the book he was holding, proving that he didn’t take my presence as a threat. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Sorry,’ I said, unsure what exactly I was apologising for.

Stepping backwards, I pulled the door closed again but stopped dead when the stranger finally turned to face me.

Bright blue eyes captured my attention. They were so brilliant they could’ve made the summer sky weep with jealousy.

It washim. The man who killed the witch whose death I had taken credit for.

‘You,’ I exhaled, unable to focus on one coherent thought as those eyes dragged me in.

He was expressionless as he regarded me. Then, ever so slowly, his full lips parted and he replied with a voice born from night and danger. ‘You.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Idid the only thing I found natural in the face of an attractive man—became defensive. My posture retracted, my clueless expression hardening into the fuck around and find out mask I’d worn in the Great Hall.

However, I couldn’t kid myself. As much as my mind screamed for me to leave before more words could be shared, I didn’t move a muscle. I’dwantedto see the man before me, desperately. And now, with the single word ringing around the library with its hint of accusation, I could look at nothing else.

Seeing him proved he was real. Romy hadn’t seen him, and Salem had also believed I’d killed the witch. But standing before this stranger proved I wasn’t going mad.

You.

He was tall. Even with the distance between us, I knew I was inches shorter. He stepped in close, taking the slightly open door and swung it wide. I could’ve stopped him, but I didn’t.

Beside the bright blue eyes, I also found that he had shorn black hair, buzzed almost to his scalp. His tanned skin didn’t just reflect the fire’s light, but absorbed it, revealing warm undertones of amber and brass. No wonder he had an air of cockiness when his jawline was as sharp and square as that.High cheekbones cast shadows in his cheeks. He was straight backed, slim waisted, and thick thighed—all evident details thanks to the almost too tight, long sleeved black t-shirt he wore. His cargo trousers were looser, but still did little to hide the muscle in his long legs. Even clothed, he was a masterpiece. It made me feel weak by comparison.

I quickly realised he was drinking me in too. I felt those haunting eyes brushing over me, like fingers across braille, reading my details like the words in the book he was holding. I longed to shrink away, to remove myself from his line of focus. Instead, I found myself stepping further into the room.

He broke the devouring silence with words brimming with confidence. ‘Have you come to thank me for saving you or…’

That broke the spell. The man’s confidence pissed me off. ‘It didn’t even cross my mind.’

‘Well then, if that’s the case.’ He pouted, clicking his tongue against his teeth. ‘If you don’t mind closing the door on the way out.’

Knowing I should leave was one thing, but being dismissed was a completely different ballgame.

I wished to have more control over myself, but I blamed my infatuation with this stranger on the need to study a potential enemy. To search the details of his stature for any hint of weakness.

Or at least, that was what I convinced myself as I stepped into the room, not out of it.

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