The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 48

With heavy lids, Imani tried to wrench her eyes open despite the grainy texture. She tried to swallow, too, but her tongue felt stuck. She coughed instead, her lungs burning as she shot up from the bed she'd been placed on, trying to catch her breath.

Then, like a curtain being drawn, her vision started to come into focus. The ceiling above the bed looked sharper. The room stopped spinning.

Moving her head to the side, Kiran lay beside her, awake and watching. Everything inside Imani bloomed with heat when their eyes met. Exhaustion and concern etched Kiran's features, but his expression eased when she looked at him. Something else still played in his glassy eyes, though.

She didn't like it.

Half asleep and still dazed from the spell, she reached her hand up to his face. The man was a bastard, to be sure, but the blood of another elf was something she didn't want on her hands. At least not yet.

He heaved a sigh, dragging a hand over his thick, dark hair. "I thought you were dead,"

The low and almost melodic tone from Kiran's voice affected her even more this time, and she fought the urge to purr in response. A noise she'd never made in her life. Her overwrought body relaxed, feeling oddly at ease now.

"I thought I killed you, too," Imani whispered thickly.

Then, it hit her that the binding would prevent either of them from killing the other. Kiran might have gotten hurt, but the blow would never be deadly.

Kiran watched her closely, his hand absently rubbing against his chest. He must have also felt the same pressure there from the binding. Then his features morphed into a glare, and he shot her a flat look. "Sorry to disappoint."

With his flippant words, the absurdity of where she was hit her. In bed with Kiran? They were lying far too close together.

Her chest started heaving as her heart picked up, and she sat up.

Distance. She needed space from him. She threw her legs over the bed and found she was dressed in her nightgown again. A quick glance around told her they were not in Kiran's room—this was somewhere else entirely in the palace.

Her robe lay discarded on the floor. Snatching it up, she wrapped it tightly around her and headed to a narrow, tall window. Blinking and shaking her hands out a bit, she ripped open the drapes, taking a moment to compose herself.

Dark clouds moved quickly as a storm brewed overhead. It was still the middle of the night and she nearly shuddered in relief.

Pressing her fingers to her temples, Imani tried to remember how she got in this bed. Flashes of the magic they'd cast assaulted her. The bargain she'd made—with a blood-burning binding.

A warm hand gently curled around her neck, and she stiffened. Kiran ran his hands over her braid and face, his other hand running lightly up her arm like he had every right to touch her. Even the way he stood and the position of his body next to hers was unmistakable in its possession.

Confusion clouded her mind, and her emotions started building.

She needed to leave.

Without a word, she shrugged him off her and turned away. Slipping her wand from its pocket, she started casting her glamour. Nothing happened.

Her brow furrowed as she tried again. Nothing.

Panicking, she pulled her left sleeve up to examine her brands. She took in a sharp breath at what she found. A detailed meshwork of red lines was now burned into the skin on top of her hand. They crisscrossed over her scarred, previously unbranded hand and up her arm. It was massive.