The Witch and The Thief

6

Lachlan forced a swallow down a too-tight throat and fought against the overwhelming desire to fully encase himself in darkness. Instead, as though to prove he wasn't as affected by her as he was, he held the shadows at bay, and cooly attempted to meet her gaze. Which seemed to be stuck somewhere around his chest?

Aye, he had kissed her, and by the heaven's, he wanted to again. Something had to be wrong with him. Either that or the damn bracers weren't working correctly, and she'd managed to cast a discombobulating spell on him. "You kissed me back."

"Why did you do that?" Maera said with a frown, not liking his tone or the irritated look on his face replacing the daze of passion.

If anyone was going to be upset about what had just occurred, it was damn well going to be her. After all, this was her chamber; therefore, she ought to have first rights.

Lachlan helplessly shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled the shadows in around him... just slightly, wishing he was capable of lying. "I didn't want you to scream."

Maera stared at him in slack-jawed amazement, refusing to examine why his admission stung so profoundly and doused what remained of the desire burning in her gut. "You didn't—why are you even here?"

Good question, considering Lachlan was now a firm believer that the plan he'd spent the better part of the last week concocting was doomed to fail. Lachlan shook his head and shrugged again as he admitted, "I needed your assistance."

She folded her arms over her chest, "You certainly have an odd way of going about getting it. Did you think you could bind my powers and then seduce it out of me?" Another minute in his arms and he most definitely would have, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"What? Nay," he exclaimed, barely remembering to keep his voice low.

He pulled the shadow's tighter as he glanced toward the door to make sure it was still closed, then returned his attention to her. Clenching his hands into tight fists, he cleared his throat and said in a calm, quiet voice, "The thought never crossed my mind. And besides, circumstances have changed."

Maera frowned, unsure why she found his reply so offensive. Didn't she want him to leave? Nothing about Lachlan, her intense attraction to him, or this strange situation she now found herself in made any sense.

She should be screaming like a banshee or charming him into removing the bracers, not arguing over his motivations in delivering such a soul-searing kiss—let alone her participation.

And for the life of her, she didn't know what prodded her to ask, "So, you no longer need my help?"

Hadn't he said as much? Maera cringed and whispered a plea that the floor would disappear from under her and swallow her whole. It didn't happen, of course, which only irritated her further since if he hadn't cuffed her with the blasted bracers, she could have ensured it would.

Lachlan averted his gaze, worried she'd see the truth written in his face, then pulled the shadows in around him for good measure. He should leave. Why did he believe this would work or that it was even a good enough plan to follow through? What possible reason would she or her coven have to aid him in dealing with Nathair? They surely wouldn't lose sleep if he died. No one would—well, perhaps Rhys might, but they hadn't seen one another for almost two years, so either his friend was dead himself or in hiding.

T'would be far more prudent to resign himself to his fate instead of continuing down this dangerous course. If nothing else, he had a better sense of the warding magic from inside the vault and could return another night for the stone. Maybe he'd get lucky and be killed trying to steal it. It'd be a far more preferable end than what Nathair would do to him.