Page 67 of Traitor Witch
"I used sigils to ward the ship from psychic interference, from every magic I could think of. How are you still in my head?"
I shrug. "I don't know how witch magic works, but I can promise you, nothing can come between two halves of the same soul."
"Witches don't have mates," she repeats the same mantra and I seethe with frustration.
Why the Goddesses haven't blessed their daughters with the same soul-deep knowing that the rest of the supernaturals possess is beyond me, but it's damned inconvenient.
I would already lay down my life for her if she were in danger. But, to her, I'm a stranger she needs to ward against.
"But sirens do, little witch, and you're mine."
I will convince her of that, if nothing else.
She sighs and shoves another, imagined strand of hair from her eyes.
I frown as I notice the new marks adorning her arms.
"You have new tattoos?"
Shit, they're sexy.
She freezes, then looks down at the exotic symbolstracing a perfect line along the back of her arm and down to her wrist.
"New sigils," she says at last, her voice heavy. "A lot has changed."
That... doesn't sound good.
I move closer, shattering an invisible boundary as I shuffle so I'm sitting right next to her, so close our skin brushes.
"Want to talk about it?" My siren seeps into the words, lulling her, instinctively trying to give my mate comfort, no matter how much I try to hold him back.
She laughs, but it's a humourless sound. "I'm an exile. Covenless unless I find the person who killed my High Priestess. These pirates are harbouring me for now, but what happens when they discover I'm not a Solar?"
"You think they'd harm you?" I can't keep the anger from my voice.
"No," she whispers. "I don't think they're that kind of pirate."
"You're afraid of them?"
"I fear nothing."
I snort. "Everyone fears something, even warriors."
"Shadows don't."
"So that wasn't fear I saw on your face when we first met?"
I know it was, I still remember the feeling as though it were my own.
I doubt she'll appreciate learning about that particular quirk of siren matehood, so I bite my tongue. It won't really become an issue until we see each other in the flesh, anyway.
"Shut up," she mutters, blushing.
I just grin. "Make me." The retort is natural, instinctive. So much so that a little too much of my siren slips out and I know exactly what the effect will be before it happens.
Her pupils dilate, eyes darkening with arousal, and her lips part.
Shit.
