A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 18
She pressed her lips together. Fuck, he wanted to pry them apart with his tongue.
That thought alone was enough for him to want to bang his head against the nearest tree trunk. What was so fundamentally wrong with him that he found himself so attracted to the one person who wanted him run through with a sword? Or more currently, a dagger…
Still, she didn’t answer. The woman was careful with her words, choosing to speak only occasionally. Her green eyes, darker around the edges, could only be seen as the moon came out from behind the clouds to shine a spotlight down upon them.
Why wouldn’t she just answer him? Unless…
“You—” Remis laughed. “Do you not know?”
The malice in her gaze melted into a flicker of fear. Her eyes widened before she set her resolve and ground her teeth. That was it. She knew nothing. Had her coven sent her on an errand to collect him but not trusted her with the information? How could she not know?
“We’re almost there. There are ruins up here that we can stay in for the night and tomorrow we’ll reach Croughton.”
He supposed that was as good as it was going to get for him. Hopefully ‘almost there’ wasn’t too far because his knees felt wobbly and he swore on more than one occasion he heard the howl of a wolf. He wanted a warm fire and rest. If he was being honest, he wanted his bed, a hot cup of tea, and perhaps a warm cunt to slide into to rid himself of the tension that was building every time he glanced at her. Her warm cunt would be particularly pleasing. If it didn’t have teeth.
None of this made sense. Not why she came for him. Not how she refused to tell him anything. Nor how damn attractive he found her. He should hate her. Perhaps he was resigned to his fate as he’d tried to convince Merritt. He certainly feared her; she held his life at the edge of her blade. His thoughts were consumed with these freakishly oxymoronic ideals as they pushed through the woods. Eventually the trees gave way to the dip of a valley and at its end were the crumbling remains of old stone and what might have once been homes.
“Oh good.” Remis sighed. “I’m assuming these are our luxurious sleeping arrangements?”
The witch didn’t smile up at him as she stared out at the mess of ruins. Her shoulders were slumped though her knuckles had turned white on the handle of her dagger. She didn’t deign to respond to him but trudged through a pile of snow that the wind had created against the swooping land.
She made it two feet ahead of him before the thought of running crossed his mind. He looked to the trees behind him, considered the state of his numb feet…What was the worst that could happen? She’d kill him? He almost chuckled at the passing thought. He was already marching straight for his death; it could be worth the attempt. Would she be fast enough to catch up with him? He’d looked to the sky several times and never saw a sign of her dragon and unless witches could fly on their own he doubted she could match his pace.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Remis turned back the way they’d come into the brush that was already trampled and ran. He sprinted, feet pounding into the snow and heart hammering in his throat. He made it back into the treeline and—
Snow was shoved up his nostrils. Remis landed face first, an upturned root painfully digging into his cheek and the weight of a woman on his back. Fingers threaded in his hair and then tugged his head up, angling his face. The woman’s face hovered next to his cheek.
“I honestly thought you’d try that sooner,” she practically sang against the shell of his ear. His body warmed as her lips brushed against him.
“You’re quick for a woman.” Remis laughed and her fingers loosened in his hair. He twisted though she didn’t rise from her position on top of him, she let him turn himself so that she sat snuggly over his hips. Her dagger was poised for his ribs as she watched.
She sat up, her weight shifting against him. Her ass brushing his cock in a way he was certain was purposeful. “You don’t need to add the ‘woman’ part. I’m quick. That is the statement. I am fast for a human, and faster than you are, certainly. I wouldn’t try this again.”
He swore for a moment her eyes fell to his mouth, but she stood up off him so quickly he could have imagined it. Her heat was gone and the cold at his back was unbearable without her. Not to mention he’d gone from flaccid to half-staff in his trousers. He tried to reason with his cock; this woman would sooner cut his member from his body than have sex with him.
“Come on my little rabbit. Let’s find a place to rest and if you can behave I promise I won’t kill you tonight.” Her voice had gone silky, a dangerous purr.
Remis glared down at the ground as his feet caught against each other and he stumbled. He pretended to blame the uneven terrain when really he’d been distracted by her. Were all witches also seductresses? Was this how they lured their victims? If so, Remis didn’t think it was the worst way to go.
He followed her back down into the valley, his steps a cacophony of noise compared to her quiet delicate movements. She certainly moved like a predator, all grace and lethal prowess.
If he was a rabbit then she was a wolf.
The valley came to an end where only fractions of an old stone wall remained. There was a clear opening where the city's main road might have once been. Now all the grass was overgrown enough that Remis couldn’t make out where the old path started and where the weeds began. Two moss-covered stone pillars remained mostly intact. The top half of one had been toppled over and lay in a collection of shattered rock behind it.
The witch stopped at one of the pillars and looked it up and down before she continued on. Remis paused where she’d stood for a moment. Here he could see where plants had grown over what could have been art or some sort of meaningful design. He ran his fingers over the surface, softened only by cold damp moss. He thought he could make out the shape of a woman but the structure was weather-worn and the image faded with age.
Pulling his cloak tighter against his body, Remis followed the witch as she walked slowly amongst the rubble. A howling breeze was barreling between buildings, ruffling his hair and threatening to blow him away. The thin top layer of the snow was caught in the wind's fury and thrown up into their faces. The witch sighed and tugged her hood up.
All around them, what could have been homes or storefronts were now nothing more than a few standing walls and rotting broken doors. In some places, a few windows remained intact and frost was already coating the corners. Remis’ boot caught against something in the snow. It jingled as he kicked it. Brows pulling together, he leaned down and plucked the item out of the snow, dusting the white off it. It was heavy with moisture but made of fabric and it drooped down in his hand. He gave it a slight shake, and when it jingled again he turned it over.
A faded smiling face looked back at him. A doll with a ribbon tied around its neck, a small bell attached at the end of it like a necklace and its charm. His throat tightened. Children had lived here. It was silly that the idea had only just occurred to him. Of course, if there had been a town here there had also once been children. What had happened to these people? The owner of this doll? Remis propped the doll up against the nearest fragments of whatever building had been there.
“Don’t dally,” the witch called over her shoulder.
Hairs rose on the back of his neck. His attention scanned the rubble looking for watchful eyes but not even the witch was watching him. He started forward, hurrying as something like fright rose up within him.
Remis wasn’t sure that ghosts existed. He’d heard stories of such things of course, but usually they could be chalked up to tricks of light and people not in their right minds. What happened to spirits after they passed? His mother believed they went to live with her god, but what if whatever had happened here had trapped their spirits? What if the child who’d lost their doll was watching him now?
He was starting to scare himself. Chuckling, though the sound was dry, he hurried to catch up with the witch. The road she’d turned on offered homes that were much more intact. Several had broken windows and looked as if time was slowly starting to make them sag but porches were still erect. A rocking chair moved in the breeze, creaking against the wooden planks underneath it. Something clattered in the distance and the hiss of an animal echoed around them.
The witch only scowled at the noise and came to a stop. “Seems as luxurious as any other one.” She motioned to the home, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she played on the words he'd said earlier when they’d arrived. Before he’d tried to run and before her body had been on top of his.
Remis shook his head and started up the steps behind her as she shoved a shoulder into the closed door. The porch groaned so loudly at their movements he wondered if it would cave in under them. With another shove of her weight, the woman splintered the wood frame with a crack and the door swung open, hinges screaming in protest.
“Hope you’re not afraid of the dark,” she called as she sauntered forward.
For most of his life, Remis had thought the worst thing in the world was his father. Nothing could be more terrifying than his disapproval and the rings on his knuckles when Remis was to be punished. He supposed that had left him with this terrible need to be liked. So then he feared people hating him and had grown quite used to changing the mask he wore to suit the people he was around. More often than not he wore the mask of false confidence and arrogance noticing how people took to that better. Yet the idea of heading into this abandoned house with the witch who'd hunted him down turned his stomach.
She’d promised not to kill him tonight, but of all people, he couldn’t trust her.
Still, he had little choice in the matter, and when the gust of wind behind him started to sound like an old woman sobbing he hurried inside after her.
The air in the home was damp and musty. He wrinkled his nose and pulled his cloak up over his face. At least when he’d slept on the raft he’d had the open air around him.
The witch's shadowed silhouette had stopped in the room to his left. A bit of moonlight poured in through the cracked window. They stood in an old living room, a simple fireplace right before them and furniture broken and dust covered on either side. Bookshelves ran from floor to ceiling, several of them toppled into a pile on the floor. He wondered if the old books were half the rotting smell.
“Sleep. We’ll be safe here, from the dragonis at least, and then we will be moving again in the morning.” She settled into an armchair.
Remis took stock of his options. He could lay himself down on the dusty ground, sit in the matching armchair opposite her, or he could try the couch that was missing a leg. He opted for the couch, scowling when the cushions flattened underneath him. A loud crack split the air before another leg broke and Remis lay with his feet tipped toward the ground and his head still at the original height. The witch let out a laugh, as beautiful as Sunday morning bells, that she quickly muffled behind her hand. His body went still at the noise. Perhaps she had a heart and soul in that wicked body of hers after all.
“Funny,” Remis murmured before crossing his arms under his cloak. This was going to be a long damn night.
22
Meira
The man snored in his sleep. It wasn’t a slight snore either. He sounded like a damn trumpet. Not that Meira was trying to sleep. She’d worried that if she did, he’d find a way to sneak off again and this time she wouldn’t be able to catch him. But the man didn’t wake once after he’d fallen asleep in a matter of seconds.
Damn him.
For far too long she’d sat in that armchair watching him. Then her thoughts kept running back to her catching him out in the snow, his firm muscles below her, how he’d twisted around to face her, and she’d felt the reaction of his body under hers. Even now as she seethed about this entire circumstance her thighs were clenched tightly. She could let her hands slip below her waistband, relieve herself of this tormenting ache. The thought of him catching her in the act thrilled her. What would he do?
No. She scolded herself. This was senseless. No matter what they experienced in some other timeline it meant nothing here. Attraction was only that. They were just two people who found each other appealing to the eye. She couldn’t actually like him; she didn’t even know him.
Thus, she reasoned, she shouldn’t care what he thought.
Her hand slipped into her leathers and under the thin layer of her undergarments down to her slick folds and that sensitive bud. She bit into her lip to keep quiet and found a rhythm that grew the traitorous pleasure. All too quickly her mind raced back to the memory of dancing against the hard planes of his body and how his swollen cock had found her core through their clothes. She could remember the wonderful feeling of his teeth against her skin and the flick of his tongue over her breasts.
Her entire core tightened at a blissful peak. Her head tilted onto the back of the chair, her mouth open wide. Though she tried her best to stay quiet a moan managed to escape her. When she came down from her high, she wasn’t sure that it had been enough, she could certainly go another round, but the snoring had stopped.
She cracked an eye open. Remis was perfectly still on the couch, his eyes closed, and chest still rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep. She exhaled and went limp in the chair. The need for sleep nagged her now. Her eyes drifted closed.
When Meira woke up, the sun was coming in through the window catching every piece of dust floating in the air. The space on the couch where Remis had been was empty. Dragons. She leapt from the seat, startled when a voice came from behind her.
“Good morning.”
She turned, her braids whipping around her with the movement. One almost whacked Remis in the chest but he caught it in his hand, fingers stroking the end once before he let it fall. “Were you just standing there above me watching?” Meira snapped, wanting to shove the chair out from between them so she could pummel him with her fists.
He huffed a breath. “Hardly. I was looking through the books. I got bored. I’m only here now because you flew out of that chair like your ass caught fire.” Those black eyes trailed her body as though he was imagining her ass right now.
Her cheeks flamed but when she turned toward the bookshelf evidence of what he said waited. Streaks were left in the dust where his finger had drawn several lines. A few covers were cleared of dust entirely and when she glanced at his cloak she saw where he’d wiped them against himself.
“What happened here?” He motioned to the home, though she imagined he meant more than just this one place.
Meira had never planned to return here, never wanted to see what had become of this place, but it was better than waiting to see if the dragonis found them in the woods. So when she’d reached the village’s limit and the columns—depicting the story of how the first witch had been born and then created the first coven—and found it was nothing more than forgotten history on rotting stone, she’d had to shove the torment of feelings that flooded her body deep down. She hardly let herself look at what had once been a floral shop, the old apothecary, and the butcher shop. Her body had moved on autopilot leading her right to the very street she’d grown up on.
She hadn’t been able to actually make it to her home. The idea of it had clumped in her throat and she couldn’t breathe around it. Instead, they’d stopped here, an old neighbor she couldn’t really remember.
“The town was ransacked and most of the inhabitants killed when Emperor Grandith came into power.”
When he’d sworn to kill all witches, is what she couldn’t say though it was implied. This was common knowledge. The hatred had been brewing for some time, starting with his father before him who’d never had anything good to say about a witch, or so she’d been told. Emperor Grandith had come to his own hatred more organically. He’d once loved a witch, had fought side by side with her when they’d seized the country and made it what it was today.
Meira’s mother had stories about how they’d slowly turned on each other, how one day the witch had marked Grandith with a huntress mark. Only Grandith wasn’t the one who’d been hunted. In the end, in his fear and rage, he’d hunted down every witch he could find.
“Oh.” Remis blinked. “This was a coven?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, terrified of the onslaught of memories that might come forward if she thought too hard. “Not the entire town. A small coven did live here though. The village didn't harbor hate for them like the emperor did and refused to give them up when he started his terrible crusade. Despite what you might think and the ridiculous things you’ve been told, witches aren’t evil.” The words spilled off her tongue fueled by years of never speaking them and festering under layers and layers of resentment and anger.
“The witches served the city. They were healers, masterful farmers, great crafters of steel, and teachers, but when his army came for them, the town fought for them…” Emotion clogged her throat.
“They slaughtered the entire place?” He’d gone pale in the early morning light.
“They burnt the women first. All of them. They didn’t know who were witches and who weren’t and so they all burned. Then they slaughtered the children.” Meira hadn't stayed to watch the end of everything she’d known. She’d been terrified and had sprinted through the woods barefoot as her skin was whipped by stretching branches. When she’d finally reached the next town a day later she’d heard the rumors and could somehow smell the charred flesh from miles away. Smoke still drifted as fires had smoldered into the next morning.
“And the men?”
Meira frowned. “Those who didn’t beg forgiveness joined the others, but most were spared.” Men weren’t witches. Though they harbored them, these were productive members of the Empire and the emperor took pity on them. He’d been rumored to have told them he understood how easily a man could be swindled by a woman’s form as though every witch in the city had paid for her existence by being beautiful to look at.
It made her sick.
