I tell her the cost while filling two mugs with honeyed mead, then slip the coins she gives me into the coin purse around my waist—where I keep the money just in case a drunk warlock thinks he wants to be clever.
The witch scurries away, mugs sloshing as she goes, and over her head, I finally see what I’ve been looking for all night.
Her.
And oh, wow.Wow.
Tonight, she looks dangerous—like she might eat men whole and then string their teeth onto a necklace to display for all the world to see.
Her hair is wild, untamed. The smoky makeup she wears makes her crimson eyes more vibrant, like candles burn behind each iris. And that dress, pulled tight and laced at her hips...
Am I going to faint?
I’m definitely feeling lightheaded, and I know for certain it’s not from the one mug of mead I’ve been nursing all night.
With some difficulty, I pull my gaze away from her, but my head still feels muddled as I pour and serve and take the eldertokens that’re offered to me. The next time I glance up, searching for the fire witch, she’s nowhere to be seen.
My stomach sinks.
Foolish, I tell myself.It’s better this way.
Hopefully she avoids me all night, sticking with her roommates and students her own age. With the way she looks tonight, I’m not sure I can trust myself around her.
So, yes, this is for the—
“Hi, Mr. Axton.”
That voice . . .
I look up from the palmful of coins I was counting, and there she is, close enough I can see the tiny golden necklace she wears around her throat—close enough I could take her into my arms, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her far away from here.
Though I strive not to, I can’t keep myself from looking at her body. Wrapped in that tight black dress, her every curve is visible, and the hints of skin peeking through the laces along her hips tempt me to reach out and touch her, pluck the laces with my fingers until they fall away.
She braces her hands on the booth and leans forward, tipping her head, looking sharp and catlike. “Happy Samhain.”
Clearing my throat, I stand up straighter and command my dick tonotget hard. Whether or not it’ll listen is another story. “Happy Samhain, Miss Wilder.”
Her smile is coy, knowing. She dressed like this on purpose, certainly. And now here she is, draping herself over the booth, knowing full well what it’s doing to me.
“What can I get you?” I ask. There are other students in line behind her; I can’t allow myself to let on about how badly I want her.
“I’ll take five,” she says. She hands me a few eldertokens, and if I’m not mistaken, she lets her fingertips graze my palm slowly, her touch like fire against my skin.
I pull away and focusveryhard on the honeyed mead and not on the fire witch standing right behind me. After filling five mugs, I slide them toward her. Another witch appears at her side, a tall dark-haired man behind her. He looks too old to be a student here, with eyes too sharp and with too much experience. But it’s none of my business who they are. Lyra isn’t even any of my business—despite me wanting her to be.
“Thank you!” she says, taking two mugs and letting the others grab the rest. After taking a few steps away, she turns back around and says, “I’ll see you around later, won’t I?”
Another student is already stepping up to the table, trying to tell me how many mugs they need. But my eyes are on Lyra. And though I shouldn’t, I give her a small nod. Because of course I want to see her later. How could I not?
She gives me another one of those tempting smiles, then moves off into the crowd, hips swaying as she goes.
Chapter 22
Lyra
POPPY YAWNS, THE LIGHT FROM the bonfire reflecting in the round frames of her glasses. “I’m exhausted,” she says. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”
Alina and Raelan are already gone, though I’m pretty sure wherever they are, they’re definitely not sleeping. So it’s just me, Poppy, and Maeve still standing by the writhing fire, watching as festivalgoers dance around the flames to the tune played by a troupe of musicians standing on an elevated platform nearby.
