Page 93 of Dark Flame
“Worried for my well-being again, Hellion? A man can get used to this.” There’s caves and shit all over the mountains, and it won’t be overly difficult to find one, not that I’d like to be so far away from her.
“A bit,” she mumbles, twisting to face the house, the single light on downstairs. The witch is observing us through the back window, her face concealed by tricks of light—presumably for Harlow’s benefit, but I’m able to see. “I can ask Morgan if she knows somewhere safe.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Even if we’re both aware this Morgan witch would rather see me burn in the sun than help me. “She’s by the back door.”
Harlow heads for the door and enters, peeking back before the house swallows her up. The moonlight is at an angle that reveals her small smile. A smile I’ll cling to until tomorrow night, when I’ll get to see her again.
The door shuts, and she talks quietly with the witch, their conversation audible with the help of my enhanced hearing. It’s a quick exchange where the sound of Harlow’s plea distracts me from the words being said, and then the door’s opening and the older witch is stepping outside, crossing towards me.
“Alec Dormer, is it? You’ve made yourself quite known around these parts.”
I watch her, not in the mood to get into this. The witch will demand I leave, and the only thing preventing me from ripping out her throat is Harlow’s obvious affection for her. The quicker the conversation finishes, the quicker I can start seeking shelter.
“Because of you, I now need to modify the spell on the border,” she muses. “Honestly, I never foresaw one of my own getting close enough to a vampire to make this an issue. Your kind creates a lot of problems, and when one member holds the very thing many vampires crave, you understand why I’m cautious about you being on my land.”
“Because you want to protect Harlow. Except you didn’t in the past.”
She flinches before the hurt slides off her, replaced by fury. “You know nothing about the past, vampire.”
“I do, actually.” And then I summarize everything Freya told me the other night, about Harlow’s fake parents joining the coven under false pretenses, getting close to everyone before murdering the real Sinclairs and taking Harlow for themselves.
The witch—Morgan, Harlow called her—straightens, observing me from beneath her nose despite being shorter than me. “Hm, I should ask how and why you know all that, but I’m getting the sense it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re here for Harlow, and you’re right; I didn’t protect her well back then, but I’m vowing to do better this time.”
No one can protect her better than me.
“When news spreads she’s mine, my brethren will cease coming for her. Those who think to go against me will meet their deaths. She doesn’t need you.”
“But she wants the coven, doesn’t she?” Her small question throws me, snarky, reminding me a bit of Harlow. “If she didn’t wish to rejoin us, she’d be running back with you.”
“She claims to want this,” I agree, “but time will reveal how this all plays out.”
“In that, we’re in agreement, vampire. You care for her, so I hope you’ll help me protect her from the next threat.”
“Threat?” If I had a heart, it’d be pounding. The single word unlocks the monster within me, the part demanding I break into the witch’s home and snatch Harlow away, bundle her up and take her home to keep her safe from everything, even a fucking paper cut at this point. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a reason Violet and Arthur kept her for themselves, and I fear it’s not good.” Her gaze travels to the sky, scanning over the nearly full moon. “Something’s out there,” she murmurs. “I felt it the moment I felt Harlow’s signature. Something’s coming…and since she’s your life and death in physical form, you’ll protect her. I fear our joint efforts will be required.”
I don’t like what she’s saying. That a threat is coming, unknown at this point.
If Freya pops around, the witch has a few more questions to answer.
“For now, you have a problem.” She glances towards the southeast region, the snow-capped mountains in the distance. “Sunrise is in a few hours. She requested I help you get somewhere safe, so—and I can’t believe the words that are coming from my mouth—I’ll permit you to stay inside my home, warded in my basement. It’s windowless, so no daylight can enter. The enchantment I’ll place on the door will only permit Harlow or myself to enter, and I’ll let you out at sundown tomorrow.If”—she juts a finger into my face—“your fangs even think about coming near me or my family, you’ll lose them, and I’ll send you on a one-way vacation to the sunniest, hottest place you can imagine. Understand?”
“My fangs will only ever be near one witch.”
Her nose wrinkles as though the very thought is abhorrent, but she gestures for me to follow inside. She leads me down the hallway, stopping by the door across from the kitchen. Before entering the lightless basement, I tilt my head towards the ceiling, listening for the telltale scraping of feet or breathing from my mate.
Morgan smirks knowingly. “She’s upstairs in a room directly above us. Probably already passed out. In you go so I, too, can get to bed.”
On the top step, a dart of my hand stops her from shutting the door. I stare at her, her purple eyes similar to Harlow’s, but wrong too. A telltale sign of a witch, but Harlow isn’t my enemy any longer, while this woman technically is.
Which is why I speak two words that grate at my throat, the wrongness of saying this to her a scalding brand on my neck, but meaning them regardless.
“Thank you.”
She bobs her head before shutting the door, hiding her flash of surprise. Her spell work is a murmur before the wooden door fizzles with a white coating that soon fades into nothing, and her steps pace away.
Thirty-Six
