Page 23 of Traitor Witch
“Excuse me,” Rysen growls, turning on his heel.
Ugh, men.
I don’t wait for Kier to do something. I shut the door in his face.
Pause.
Open it again.
“I accept your apology,” I mutter.
His expression doesn’t change as he nods, turns, and follows after Rysen.
I close the door, softer this time, and turn to Opal who’s investigating the crates with as much confusion as I was.
“You were right. This was a bad idea. We’re on a ship filled with weird-ass pirates and I have no idea how to get in this hammock, let alone sleep in it.”
“You know it’s not so bad, at least you get your own bathroom.”Opal jumps up onto the windowsill, blue eyes scanning the water below.“I can’t see the unstable one? Do you reckon he’s a tuna shifter? I could really go for some tuna right now…”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s get you charged up in case they expect me to use any of my ‘Solar’ magic.” I sink my hands into her fur, focusing on pulling the moonlight down into her as I whisper a near silent prayer.
“They give good ear scratches.”Opal seems undeterred by my preoccupation.“And the big vampire is a good cushion.All nice and warm... Plus, the fae snuck me some nibbles when the others weren’t looking.”
My hands clench in her fur, and I try my best not to think about how warm the yummy-looking vampire with the steel nipple rings might be.
Goddess, the instant I saw him I wanted him. Not that that’s unusual for these pirates. Every single one of them—even the bastard captain—is gorgeous to look at. If I wasn’t concealing my identity, running from two covens, and absolutely certain they’re either lunatics or hiding something, I might invite a few of them to my bed.
Or hammock…
I pull the last of what I need down from the moon, letting the magic settle into Opal fully before I remove my hands from her silky fur.
She settles in to clean herself as I examine my sleeping arrangements. Fortunately, the Moon Goddess is a hedonist. Using divine magic for any purpose involving comfort and pleasure is heartily encouraged amongst Lunars.
It’s only Solars who reserve all their magic for practical purposes.
I raise a hand at the hammock and another at a crate, whispering a tiny transformation spell.
I can’t create something from nothing like mages can, but I can work wonders with whatever’s available.
The wood from the crates and the metal from the cannonballs becomes a bed frame before my eyes. The sailcloth and hammock turn into a plush mattress, firm pillows and soft sheets. I keep going, magicking a fuzzy rug, some curtains to block out sunlight and a desk before I stop.
I’ve used a lot of the crates and it makes me grin to think of how Valorean will react to my improvements.
Bastard should have given me proper furniture and not a bloody hammock.
“Serves him right,” I whisper, slipping off my still wet boots and sinking my bare feet into the rug.
Glenna’s athame falls out, still red with traces of her blood, clinking onto the floor for the second time that evening.
I grimace as I pick it up. I don’t know why Danika had insisted I take it; usually an athame is buried with its witch. They’re powerful magical tools, and dangerous in the hands of someone too inexperienced to use them. Most witches aren’t gifted one until they’re at least a century old. I gingerly rinse it in the bathroom and leave it on my new desk beside the ring on its chain.
An athame tainted by the blood of its own witch… Any sane woman would chuck it in the ocean.
But it’s the last link I have to Glenna. Maybe it's selfish, but I don’t want to let it go.
Opal’s already on my pillow, her claws digging in as she kneads her chosen spot.
I’m so damned tired, and my mind keeps flashing back to the sight of Felicity’s head dangling from my hand.
