Freeing the Witch by L.J. Longo

Author:L.J. Longo [Longo, L.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

When the sun rose, a soft misting rain covered the jungle. Emaula watched the light break over the vibrantly green world with a strange calm.

Sleep had been difficult, and she’d dreamed of him last night.

In another life, when he smiled sloppily at her and confessed his love, she’d answered by grabbing his shoulders and kissing him. In her mind, she pulled him into the rain and danced like the nagas wanted, her hands full of his broad chest and brown skin, her lips wet from the rain and his kisses. Then he’d sweep her upstairs, and strip them out of their wet clothes, and make love to her in real life.

No reason for that viciousness from him.

“Damned witch.” He’d screamed it with such misery. “I don’t want you!”

It didn’t seem real in the misty morning. Like some bad dream that would burn away with the fog. He’d been unfocused and so drunk … so full of anger. He hadn’t been himself.

It filled her with grief and self-hatred. She glanced at the traveling bag she’d packed. Unless Jasprite insisted she stay to work off her debt, Emaula would leave with Nav’s group, head down to the ship and travel … who the hell knew where. Elsewhere.

Her magic whispered to her, something sinister and strange. Out of habit, Emaula ignored it, but the magic insisted. It suggested there had been someone else. Another witch tormenting Porter. It only knew one other witch, and so it whispered Mother over and over again.

No, Emaula couldn’t delude herself. Just because her magic wanted him, didn’t mean she could take him. Just because he was handsome and kind, didn’t mean he wanted her. Just because he had trouble speaking, didn’t mean he couldn’t mask fear and hatred behind an easy smile.

If she’d any sense of self-preservation, she would cut him out of her thoughts now. Wield the knife before the charming oaf managed to disarm her. If she did it right, she could stay here. She could go downstairs, look him coldly in the eye and very magnanimously forgive his misconduct the night before. Scold him that he ought never repeat the event. Reject him soundly, coldly, and leave no room for doubt. She ought to—

There he was in the yard below, carrying two traveling chests from a guestroom. He’d changed his vest for a black cotton tunic, but she could still appreciate the way his broad shoulders and narrow hips made her belly flutter and her knees buckle.

“Damned beast,” Emaula muttered.

She turned away from the window.

The only responsible choice was to leave. Finish the last breakfast today, thank Jasprite for her hospitality and then … leave.

Before her magic had the chance to hurt Porter again.

****

The wolf, of course, was unavoidable.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, he came in from the smokehouse. He carried about a hundred tiny links of sausage in his arms and smiled at her.

“Good morning, Ms. Emaula.”

“Mr. Porter.” Her heart fluttered. She could not put from her mind how he’d smiled and said he loved her last night.

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