Page 14 of Mortdale

My men snorted, trying to hide their cackling from me. They were somewhat more relaxed than I expected considering their particular opinions on Meridian witches.

She yelped when I grabbed the window and shut it.

Not even five minutes later, she stuck her head out again.

“It’s a waxing moon and the quiet is making me a little anxious.” And then, with the tonality of someone being absolutely serious, she said, “Sing me a song.”

Henry was the first to throw his head back and laugh. Once he was done wiping his tears, he said, “Careful, witch. He’s got an awful small amount of patience for jokes.”

“Don’t talk to her.”

Throwing a pinched glare in my direction, she stuck her arm out of the window and held her palm in Henry's direction. “Name’s Willow. What’s yours?”

I could see him briefly considering it until I said, “Shake her hand and I will cut yours to the elbow.”

He smirked, still tempted. “Sorry, witch. He’s the boss.”

She pouted. “He’s kind of mean. You should all gather around with pitchforks and throw him out.”

“Put your arm back inside.”

She rolled her ridiculously big brown eyes. “I think you should know I am not in the business of cursing. Charms and hexes and such aren’t my forte. I can twist a mean sedge braid for one's good fortune, but that’s as far as I can go in terms of…craftiness.” She itched the tip of her nose. “And the sage braid comes with zero insurance and no returns. And absolutely no guarantee.”

“I don’t care if you even put the pox on him. Just don’t talk to him.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and slammed the window shut.

Had she just—

She shoved the window down again. “Are we there yet?”

Saintly Hells. “What does it look like to you?”

She stuck her head all the way out of the window, looking up at the trees. “I don’t know. Have you named the branch which you perch on, my lord?” Her brows shot up. “Or have you claimed a whole tree since you’re a fancy duke and all?” She flashed me a toothy grin when I narrowed my eyes on her. “Are bat jokes in bad taste around here?”

It was Henry who said, “Coffin ones, too.”

She gasped a little, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Two strikes and nobody told me anything?”

“They’re sort of scared of him,” Henry said, tipping his head in my direction. “You could call their mothers whores and they’d still apologise to you.”

“I’d never call anyone's mother a whore.” She rested her chin on the sill again, staring at me. It was starting to become impossible not to stare back. “What’s his deal?”

“Where do I even start,” Henry chuckled.

Tension had gathered in my stiff neck. “How about with a bullet-sized hole in your head?”

“That’s a good start right there,” Henry said, throwing her a wink. “He’s typically more loving. Fists and knees in the gut, mostly.”

Arthur let out a grunt. “You tryin’ to scare his bride, or what?”

Henry’s brows were up. “Don’t think it’s working.”

She kept chuckling with each word, beaming with each reply. Her round eyes followed the entire conversation with so much unexplainable enthusiasm. In comparison to her coven sisters who did everything in their power to avoid any unnecessary interaction or contact with us.

The forest started rustling in our direction, and every instinct in my body tensed, preparing. Silver Woods was full of courageous, suicidal idiots placing bets on the biggest thing they could find to hunt down. But neither of them were courageous or suicidal enough to attack nearly a dozen vampires in the dark when we were at our strongest.

Arthur, who was riding ahead, slowed. “What the fuck is that?”