Page 66 of The Witch and His Crow

‘You’re a puzzle,’ I snapped, flustered by his ability to shift from disdain to, dare I say it, playing. ‘And I fucking hate puzzles.’

It took Arwyn a moment to retrieve his fingers from my chin. Then it was his lingering warmth that pissed me off more. Normal me would not jolt forwards and push someone— actually who was I kidding. Yes, normal me would.

Arwyn slumped backwards, the rest of the mead spilling over his shirt. He landed on his back, sprawled out, whilst I stumbled to my feet and hovered over him.

‘You ignore me,’ I sneered down over him. ‘You tell me that I’m the problem. Then you touch my face like I’m some long-forgotten lover. Either continuously treat me like your enemy, or don’t. This game is fraying my last nerve.’

A hand clamped my ankle as I stepped back. The room turned on its axis as I tipped and ended up on the floor. There was shuffling, straw being crushed beneath the weight of a body. By the time the dizzy spin stopped, Arwyn was straddling me. ‘I’d argue that this game is only just getting interesting.’

‘Get off me.’

Arwyn leaned down, like a shadow blanketing me. ‘Make me.’

I strained my neck up as much as his weight allowed. ‘You really want a repeat of what happened the other day?’

‘It’s all I’ve been dreaming of,’ Arwyn goaded with a smile, infuriating me more. If I had my Gift, this man would’ve been flying through the ceiling of the stable. Although he might have preferred that after my next dirty move.

I brought my knee up, smashing it into his groin. Arwyn’s eyes widened, his mouth parting in a gasp. The weight eased enough for me to roll out from under him. Hekate, I really shouldn’t have drunk that ale. Just the sudden movement made the room spin violently again. Turned out, all my knee to the dick achieved was us both being stretched on the floor beside each other.

I was the first to laugh. Arwyn followed. It didn’t take long for us to be in a fit of giggles, hands clamped to our mouths. The room had not stopped spinning. In fact, I was forced to shut my eyes just so this sudden humour didn’t melt straight into sickness.

‘You win,’ Arwyn announced. He reached out and grasped my hand. The moment he anchored himself to me, the spinning stopped. Everything stilled. I thought alcohol dulled the senses, and yet here I was hyper-aware of everything about Arwyn.

It then hit me that the alcohol was provided by a witch. Who was to say the mead wasn’t spelled for a purpose?

‘Of course I do,’ I replied.

‘Interesting, do you always get what you want, Hector?’

My throat dried instantaneously. ‘Yes, actually. I do.’

Arwyn rolled over to face me. I caught him out the corner of my eye. He watched my profile for a moment, took an inhale and then decided now would be the moment to answer my first query.

‘I’ve been unfair to you tonight, and I’m sorry. I just… I overhead some of the things you were saying to Eleanor and it… uncovered a few memories I try my darnedest to keep buried.’

‘Thou shalt not fear the truth,’ I stammered some old verse I’d heard banded around. ‘Or the ability to apologise for being a prick. So, thanks.’

Arwyn mumbled something beneath his breath. I turned to face him, just in time to see him wince.

‘Shit, now I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Does it hurt you when someone is being insensitive?’

He didn’t miss my obvious sarcasm, but I had to admit to myself, I regretted it the moment I saw the clear discomfort in his eyes. Me. I’d caused that.

‘It’s fine.’ Arwyn sat up and hooked his arms around his knees.

I don’t know what drove me to do it, but I followed him, running my hands over his back to comfort him. Where my palm brushed, his muscles tensed. ‘Would this be the moment I stopped being a dickhead, and ask you what you overheard?Unless my prying into those memories you want to keep buried makes me more of the twat?’

Arwyn peered over his shoulder. When our eyes connected, the pressure of a force collided with me. ‘I lost my mother to Witch Hunters as well, Hector.’

He didn’t need to say more. I knew what that felt like. Arwyn’s reaction to the Witch Hunters earlier, the way he panicked and then the distance tonight. It all pointed towards trauma response—fight, flight or freeze. Arwyn had experienced all three in the space of twenty-four hours.

I bit my lip. ‘Lost or…’

Arwyn swallowed hard. ‘Killed. Seems like many of us witches share that story.’

Beyond the stable’s walls, thunder rumbled across the sky. Not but eight seconds later, stark-white light flashed between the cracks in the panels. A storm was brewing. But what I couldn’t ignore, was I’d been accusing Arwyn of being one of the very monsters who killed his mother. If I was accused of such things, it would hurt me more than I could imagine.

‘Then we’ve found out we have something in common,’ I said, trying to distil the brewing tension. ‘At last.’

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