Page 92 of A Bolt of Magic

McColl

I stand before the floor-length mirror in the bedroom of the house we are staying in, turning slowly to examine my reflection from every angle. The gown my mother had delivered earlier is stunning. It’s a flowing creation in shimmery fabric that catches the light with every movement. The neckline dips low enough to show the tops of my breasts. The silver strappy sandals complete the ensemble, making my legs look longer than they actually are.

My mother knows me well. I couldn’t have picked better for myself. It’s simple, flattering, and yet not overly revealing, as some gowns favored by my kind can be. I pick up the tiny jacket that perfectly matches the dress and pull it on, doing up the clasp. With the jacket on, there is the barest hint of my cleavage on display.

My mother is going ahead with the celebration this evening to mark what she calls “a new era for our people.” She’s also made it clear that it is to welcome her daughter home. I want to roll my eyes at that. If she missed me so much, she could have sent a search party after me. They knew it was the emptyfaewho had captured me. Therefore, they knew exactly where I was going. There was a window of opportunity for them to rescue me. One she didn’t take. Not for me. A celebration such as this is the last thing I want or need.

I’ll be on display, as will Kian, and yet, refusing would only anger her. And right now, with Kian’s life still potentially hanging in the balance, I can’t afford to give her any reason to withdraw her support.

I lift my chin and force myself to project the confidence I don’t feel. Time to play the part of the dutiful daughter. Of course, there’s still the question of what to do about Kian. Do I tell him what my grandmother said?

If he tries to talk me into going ahead just so he could keep his powers, I would be hurt. If he pushed me away and refused, I would be hurt, too. I’d feel rejected all over again. If we had a magical night together and he left, I would be heartbroken. But if I never got to experience his touch, I would live with regret. Would regret be easier to live with than heartbreak? I have this feeling that proceeding would be the wrong thing to do, and yet, the thought of making love to Kian feels so right.

I’m so confused that my head has started to hurt.

The only thing I know for sure is that my mother wouldn’t accept Kian. The rest of the coven would follow suit. Kian’s people wouldn’t accept me if he ever were to return to the throne.

We would never work. I’m not sure why I keep torturing myself with thoughts of us when there is and can never be an us.

No, it is best left well alone.

I leave my bedroom, noting that the house my mother provided is, indeed, grand, perhaps the finest in the village, barring hers, of course. I take in the high ceilings, elegant furnishings, and magical lights that respond to touch. She wasn’tlying when she promised us the best. Why? She’s being too nice. Far too accommodating, and I don’t like it.

I make my way down the sweeping staircase, my hand trailing along the polished banister. The silk of my gown whispers against my legs with each step.

Kian is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and my steps falter when I see him.

Sweet Kakara preserve me, but he is handsome. When someone from the village arrived to bring us food and drink, they also brought fine clothing in a wrapped-up parcel for each of us.

Kian is dressed in formal attire. He is wearing a deep green velvet jacket that brings out his eyes, fitted black trousers, and a white shirt that’s open at the collar just enough to hint at the strong column of his throat. The edge of his mark is just visible. His blond hair has been styled back from his face, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw and those striking cheekbones. He looks every inch the king he is, and the sight of him steals my breath. I have to force myself to keep walking, my hand tightening on the banister so that I don’t fall on my face.

His eyes seem to darken as he takes me in, his gaze traveling slowly from my face down to my feet and back up again. The appreciation I see there makes me hot all over.

“You look beautiful, McColl,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “Breathtaking.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “You, too,” I manage, trying to keep my tone light despite the way my heart is racing.

We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and I can feel that familiar tension crackling between us.

“We should go,” I say quickly, smoothing down my skirt. “We’re already running late. My mother won’t like that.” I grip his arm just as he’s turning. “Wait! You should know a few thingsbefore we go. We have to attend this celebration, but we can’t stay too late. Witches are…we’re…”

“Yes…?” He lifts his brows.

“We’re…um… I’m not sure how to explain…”

“You can tell me,” he urges.

“We’re different.” I sigh.Why can’t I just say it?

He laughs softly. “Out with it. You’re starting to worry me.”

“Okay, fine! Witches are highly sexual beings. Any celebration is an opportunity to flaunt. Let me put it this way: I’m overdressed, and so are you. The men are normally shirtless, and the women…” I shake my head. “They barely cover their…parts.”

“Which parts would those be?” he smirks.

I smack the side of his arm. “You know full well which parts. It’s not uncommon, as the night progresses, for…” I groan. “For there to be orgies.”

“Orgies? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of an orgy.”

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