Page 4 of A Witch for Solstice
She’s so sleek with her perfectly-coiffed hair, a whole head taller than me in the kitten heels she’s wearing. I fold my arms over my chest, aware that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea with my chin-length auburn waves and a heavy dusting of freckles layered over my pale skin. I close my eyes, waiting for her to laugh or announce her distaste, but her heels tap along the stone as she steps closer to me and traces a claw beneath my chin. “Anything?”
Fire flares behind my eyes. I can’t even see past the orange and red haze when I open them and croak my response, “Anything.”
My knees give out, and she catches me around the ribs, stopping me from collapsing into the chest.
“Hmm.” She lifts me effortlessly, arranging me in her arms to carry me princess-style. “Then let me take care of you, little hellcat.”
A question forms in my mind, but it turns to ash, incinerated before it ever reaches my mouth. Everything is burning. I hear doors swinging open and a frantic flurry of murmured questions.
“Cancel tomorrow’s meetings with the visiting families,” she calls out to a dragon-shaped figure made of flames.
“Matty, the nobles are arriving for the ball, and they’ll be expecting—”
“Cancel them, Daniel,” she repeats, tightening her hold on me as she sprints through the building.
“The shock will wear off soon,” she whispers, a rush of cold air sweeping over my body. “You can rest now. You’re safe here with me.”
CHAPTER 3
MATTY
The witch burns like a star through the night, hot and bright. She writhes in a feverish fit, setting everything aflame, and I hold her in my arms, shielding us both from the worst of the blaze. I wait until she sputters out completely, her face finally settling into the peaceful repose of sleep.
Placing her gently on the stone floor of the training dome, I study the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose and soft cheeks, wanting to touch the dark circle marking the pointed ridge that rises from the indent in her upper lip.
I curl my claws into a fist and resist the temptation. Fate has delivered my mate to me, and I must ensure that she recovers from the conditions she suffered at her Academy.
It’s my duty.
My heart lit up the moment I opened the Royal Chest and caught her scent, our bond snapping into place almost immediately. That joy dimmed rapidly, though, when I saw the sheer desperation on her face.
She must have endured something unimaginable to have thrown herself at my feet like she did. And the way she reacted to fire—I’ve never seen a witch burn with such intensity.
Once I’m sure she’s out of danger, I trudge out into the snow, letting the cold wind whip some of my fury away as I sneak out under the cover of night and race up to the castle to grab a plate from the kitchen. I take the long way, avoiding anyone who might try to ask questions about the scene in my throne room. Right now, my top priority is making my fire witch—my Brigid—happy.
She stirs in her silky cocoon as I reenter the training dome. Her eyes blink open at the sound of the door latching behind me, staring at the metal bars and trapezes hanging from the curved ceiling. She attempts to move her arms, but her limbs are restricted by the silvery fabric I wrapped her in when she was burning.
“What the—ahh!” She flails about in vain, flopping over on her side to face me. Her jade eyes widen in recognition, her body relaxing as she seems to remember where she is and how she got here.
“Hello, little hellcat.” I step closer and place the food tray down beside her. “I’m so happy to see you’re feeling better.”
“Iamfeeling better,” she says, as if she can’t believe it. “Except for the fact that you’ve got me all tied up here. Are you planning on keeping me as your captive?”
Her fists create two lumps beneath her wrap as she punches at it, a crease forming between her reddish-brown eyebrows. I grin, which only causes her frown to deepen, but I can’t help it. She’s adorable.
“Well, you did say I could doanything.” I crouch behind the tray. “But no, you’re free to come and go as you please. I only wrapped you up to protect your modesty.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she says, her voice infused with mild sarcasm. “I’m sure that waking up naked in a torture chamber would’ve been slightly more alarming than waking upin a torture chamber, fully covered, with my arms and legs bound.”
“It’s not a torture chamber.” I gesture to the metal obstacles jutting from the walls. “It’s my training dome. I can practice breathing fire and landing here without causing any real damage.” I hook a claw beneath the edge of her makeshift sleeping bag. “And Mortellian mothsilk becomes quite pliable once you stop struggling against it. The fabric is enchanted to suit your personal needs.”
The weavers of Mortellia spin their spells into each thread, making the cloth useful for a variety of purposes. My own outfit is made from it—fashioned into a tunic that fits around my wings and a pair of leggings.
“Mortellian mothsilk?" She sits upright, her arms still strapped tight to her body. “That’s one of the most expensive materials in the realm! You wouldn’t waste it on a random witch you just met.”
My poor mate. She’s still recovering, but soon she’ll understand that I’ll make sure she’s comfortable here. I’m usually meticulous with my territory’s budget, but with her, I’ll spare no expense.
“Mortellian mothsilk is one of the only fabrics that can withstand the heat of a fire flooding session. Doesn’t your coven keep it stocked at the Academy?”
