Page 6 of A Witch for Solstice
Are witches truly exempt from the whims of fate? I make a mental note to consult with my cousin on the topic. He’s had a few interactions with the Riverbend Coven.
“I’m not sure I believe that kind of love exists. I mean, it seems a little too convenient, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it be better towooeach other the old-fashioned way and prove you really want to be together?” she chirps while I’m undergoing a mini existential crisis, questioning everything I’ve ever believed in. Perhaps she notices my deflated look because she adds, “I suppose fated love would be nice, though, so I understand why you’d hope to find it. Sorry to hear your time is almost up, but who knows—maybe tomorrow you’ll lock eyes with someone who gives you the warm fuzzies!”
“The warm fuzzies,” I echo, her words rekindling my hope. “How can I give you those?”
“Huh?”
“You offered a deal when you arrived, and I’m taking you up on it,” I state. “Let me live out my dream of giving someonethe warm fuzziesbefore I have to announce a mate tomorrow evening.”
If Brigid wants an old-fashioned wooing, then that’s what she’s getting. I’ll give her some time to come out of her shell, help her get comfortable here, and discuss a suitable arrangement in private before my announcement.
Damn the council and their lists of suitable companions. They’ll be snorting flames over this sudden turn of events, but I’ve dreamed of this moment for too long to ruin the magic by explaining myself to them.
And this moment does feel like pure magic when Brigid flutters her lashes seductively.
“Oh, I see. I think I know what you meant when you saidlet me take care of you,” she says, kicking at her silken binds again. “Well, I’d love to let you please me for the day, but I can’t figure out how to get out of this damn contraption.”
“It might help if you eat something,” I suggest.
“Good idea, Your Majesty.” She grunts, turns onto her belly, and scoots backward like an inchworm toward the food tray.
Sweet baby wyvern prophet.She’s obviously not accustomed to any sort of pampering. I have my work cut out for me.
“First things first, call me Matty.” I grab the tray as I stand, then drop into a crouch beside her with it balanced on my knee. Plucking a cake from the arrangement, I hold it near her mouth. “Here.”
She recoils from the tree-shaped treat. “You can’t be serious.”
“Right.” I set it back and swirl my fingers over the selection of crackers and rolled meats. “Cake isn’t a proper breakfast, is it? Would you prefer some cheese?”
“Cake is thebestbreakfast,” she quips. “But this can’t be what you want from me.”
I scoop the cake up again and swipe it across her lips. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing than feeding cake to a beautiful woman.” She licks the green frosting, and the sight of her wet pink tongue sends desire swirling in my low belly. “Come eat.”
She obeys, supporting herself on her forearms to stretch her neck and take a bite straight from my cupped hands. I repress a groan as her tongue sweeps over my palm, softer and warmer than I’m expecting. After a few mouthfuls, she’s able to push herself up higher, the mothsilk unraveling to release her arms. She eyes the assortment of sweets, and I push a mini snowball cake between her teeth.
“See, you’re doing so well,” I encourage her. “Talk to me. Tell me about your life at the Academy.”
I listen with rapt attention as she bathes in the warm glow of the fire pit burning in the middle of the dome and tells me about her lonely life in a charmed dormitory. I learn that Brigid is an early bird, preferring to rise before the sun to get to her job as a potions assistant. She doesn’t really start to relax until she mentions the stray cats at the Academy—the unwanted familiars she feeds every evening.
“Will it be ok if I write a letter to an acquaintance back at the Academy asking her to look out for them?” she asks. “I trust her enough to leave something out for my favorite grumpy tabby.”
“Of course,” I answer. “You can write to anyone you like. There aren’t any restrictions on your communications.”
She sighs her relief, and the mothsilk threads twist over her shoulders, reconfiguring themselves into a halter gown.
“It worked,” she says, lifting her hand to touch the straps that have just tied themselves into a bow behind her neck. Moving onher hands and knees, she stops in front of me. “Now that that’s out of the way, shall we seal our deal with a kiss?”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
I sink to my heels and cup her chin as she leans toward me. It’s bliss when our mouths meet, the touch of her warm lips the very thing my body has been craving. It must do something for her too, because the fire pit crackles, its flames threatening to spill outside of the stone ring.
Smoke mixes with Brigid’s scent, a wave of the aroma washing over me as I open my mouth to let her explore carefully, trying to be mindful of my razor-sharp teeth. She quickly gets the hang of me, and the forked ends of my tongue flicker with joy when we meet.
Her jaw drops with a startled squeak, but she only pauses for a second before she goes back to kissing me. I’m getting carried away thinking of all the ways I could elicit those noises from her body.
“There. The deal is sealed,” I pant as I pull back. “I promise you will always have access to your magic, a home in my territory, and the protection of the Dragon Queen.”
“And I will be your witch until Solstice,” Brigid pledges, but I plan on winning her kiss beneath the mistletoe tomorrow night and sharing the Solstice with her each year. She tips her face up. “Even if that means staying locked in your fire chamber and eating cake all day.”
