Sorceress by Wilder Carina

Author:Wilder, Carina [Wilder, Carina]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Wolf Ear Press
Published: 2015-12-13T08:00:00+00:00

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CIRCE HAD KNOWN that the man was coming. Even if she hadn’t heard the far-off beating of hooves on the ground, she would have sensed him. Though how or why, she couldn’t say. After all, she hadn’t sensed, from the outside of the inn, what awaited her inside.

Since she’d left Dundurn not a minute had passed when she hadn’t thought of Phist. Of his eyes, his smile. His scent. His lips—those wonderful lips. And of how desperately she wanted and needed him back. To finish what they’d begun.

But for a moment she had been pulled away from images of the man she loved, when this man had stepped into the inn.

He was tall, imposing. An air of authority hung about him as his cloak did, enveloping him, swirling around his form as he moved. His face showed the signs of war that a shield did: external scars, concealing internal ones. But they seemed to serve only to make him more handsome, more noble. Bravery was painted on him in dark strokes, his strength clear as sunlight.

On his chest was a series of blades of varying sizes. So, he was a killer. Quick, agile. Powerful.

And around him sat an aura of coldness. Not the sort that comes of an uncaring person, but rather the frigidity of a man who has shut down his own heart. Here was the opposite of Phist—Phist, whose heart sat exposed on his own sleeve. This man, this Caedryn—he was destroyed, broken into a thousand tiny pieces. He was a shell, walking, devoid of life. Devoid of joy. Someone had robbed him of it.

And inside, Circe’s heart beat hard for him. For his wounds, his hurt. Whatever it was that had brought him here, to this dark place, he was a good man. He’d rescued her—had he not, she would have had to abuse her powers. To risk pursuit by not only the inn’s current residents, but their friends as well.

Now she had a temporary protector. A good, strong man. And shame set in as she realized that for a few minutes her mind had moved away from Phist, from her reasons for being there. She had been consumed by curiosity, by a new sort of desire setting in. This man was sensual, intriguing. Something in him touched her deepest nerves, even when he didn’t move a finger.

“Thank you, Caedryn. Forgive me—Lord Caedryn. For what you’ve done.” Circe laid a hand gently on his forearm—a forward gesture. Immediately she withdrew it, stunned at her own desire to touch him. No—she was here to look for Phist. Not to find other men interesting.

Sera’s words came to her then: When you meet him, you’ll know.

But this couldn’t be. This strange, looming man with his cold expression, so unlike Phist. He couldn’t be the one who would join them in the Ritual.

She turned away to enter her room.

“One moment,” he said. “Tell me your name.”

“Circe.”

“Circe. Allow me to ensure that your chamber is secure.”

She moved aside, allowing him entry, and watched as he examined the room’s window, its wardrobe, the lock on the door.

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