Darknight (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

then, hot as the desire I still felt for him. Another tradition, another ritual. One might think that a prima should travel to meet her prospective consorts, rather than make so many men come to her, but I’d always been told the binding must happen on her clan’s land, so that her powers might remain within her domain. By sealing me to Connor here, in the heart of Wilcox territory, it meant that my loyalties were now supposed to lie with them, rather than with the family I had left behind.
    So Connor might profess distaste for his brother’s methods, for the way I’d been brought here by force, but in the end he’d still gone along with Damon’s plan, compelling me to join myself with the Wilcox clan. Well, almost. Connor and I had made the consort bond, but it wouldn’t be complete until we slept together, and as far as I was concerned, it would be a cold day in hell before that happened.
    “You’re just as bad as your brother,” I snapped, and pushed my chair back and stood. There was no place for me to go except that cramped little guest room, but I’d rather stay in there for the next ten years than spend another minute in Connor’s company.
    “Angela, please — ” He reached out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.
    Warmth surged through me. Yes, let him touch you…let him take you….
    “No!” I cried out loud, and wrenched my arm away.
    He let go at once, wide-eyed, as if shocked himself by the reaction he must have felt within his own body. “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to — ”
    I didn’t want to hear his excuses. Ignoring his pleading look and the barely eaten food on my plate, I turned and hurried up the stairs, running for the guest room and then locking the door behind me. A whispered spell put an extra binding on the lock, but I had no idea whether it would be effective. I didn’t know what to think, here in the heart of enemy territory.
    A long silence, and then I heard slow, heavy steps outside in the hallway. Connor said, sounding close enough that he must be right on the other side of the door, “I’ll leave your sandwich and water here if you want it.”
    There was a faint clink , as if from setting the plate and glass down on the wooden floor. Immediately afterward, he moved away again. A minute later came the soft thud of the front door shutting.
    Good. We needed some distance between us. Miles, preferably.
    Why, then, did I feel so abandoned?
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    H e’d been gone almost half an hour before I cracked the door open and cautiously peered outside. No one, not even Mary Mullen the ghost. I snagged the plate and water, and then closed the door again. Instead of going to the table to eat, however, I stayed where I was, back against the door as I ate the sandwich bite by deliberate bite. It was good, too, rich and plain, with just a bit of an interesting spread — aioli? — to keep it from being too bland. I figured if nothing else, I needed to keep my strength up.
    I’d need that strength to keep myself from having flashbacks to the way Connor’s hand had wrapped around my wrist, the heat of his flesh against mine, the way I had wanted to give in. It was the worst ache I’d ever felt, that need for him.
    And it didn’t seem as if it was going away any time soon. If ever.
    Time ticked by. The clock on the table told me it was now past one. Connor probably had enough to keep him busy, I supposed. After all, it was only four days until Christmas. Outside, people were probably navigating the icy streets looking for those last-minute gifts, or getting together with friends, or shopping for their holiday meals, or any one of a number of things people did while getting ready for the big day.
    Dimly, I realized it was my birthday.
    No, you will not cry , I told myself. It’s just a day, one out of three hundred and sixty-five. No big deal.
    Easy to say, I supposed. But the more I tried not to think about it, the more my thoughts kept tugging themselves back to the plans Sydney