Chapter Three

The cards were still laid out on the table when Gwen woke. She felt her stomach revolt at the sight of them. Angrily, she swiped her hand over them and gathered the ominous cards back into their deck.

Outside, the sun streamed through her gauzy curtain and left the shadows of leafy vine-like designs on her floor. She should be getting ready for work, pinning her hair back and donning a sensible skirt so that she looked respectable behind the receptionist counter. Instead, Gwen set about making a cup of tea with the knowledge that she’d never be going back to that job simmering in the back of her mind.

It was time that she packed up and left this small town. She’d been aging gracefully, as people told her daily, for the past fifteen years in the town. The townsfolk were starting to notice that she did not look forty-five. She, in fact, didn’t look a day over thirty. That was the kind of thing that raised questions that stirred thoughts of malice and fright in people.

She didn’t hate the witch blood that burned in her veins, but she didn’t like having to uproot herself every fifteen years, either. The power she wielded was passed down from woman to woman in her family, settling brightest in her than anyone had seen in ages. It crackled between her dirty blonde waves and kept her body looking young even after a hundred and fifty-seven years.

The mug of lemon verbena tea was warm in her hand. Notes of herbs and citrus rose on the steam that curled around her nose. She turned and leaned her lower back against the counter, mentally cataloguing everything she needed to pack. Her eyes fell on the tarot cards that had been given to her a hundred years ago. As much as she wanted to hate them for the news they shared, she knew that the cards would be the first thing she would pack and the first thing that would be unpacked wherever she settled next.

An artist had painted them for her before his work became famous. The art nouveau designs boasted woman with swirling hair before celestial or floral backgrounds. Her mother always told her that the best and most reliable tarot deck would be one given to her as a gift. This one had served her well over the years, guiding her away from trouble if she listened. Too bad she didn’t listen when they warned her of her ex. A lot could have been avoided.

Where would she go next? North to Bangor? It was having an issue with the red dragons that roosted nearby in Snowdonia. The last thing she needed was more trouble with dragons, no matter the color of their scales. She could go south and visit Cardiff again. It had been, what? A handful of decades since she’d set foot in the big city. It must have changed quite a bit in the last few years. Or, she could find someplace small and wild to settle down again. She liked the smell of sea water and forest in the air, such a contrast to the busy courts that took up the years of her youth.

Gwen finished off her tea and donned a teal and green floral skirt that swished around her ankles. She would have to leave, but she wasn’t in the mood to pack. The news that the cards had shown her still weighed heavily on her shoulders. Instead, she would go out and treat herself to a pastry and perhaps a new novel to read on a train, because, sadly, the myth about witches and broomsticks were not true.

Hours later, Gwen found herself with a matcha white hot chocolate, a combination of something very old and a very new trend, in hand as she browsed titles of romance novels on the shop’s shelves. It was a guilty pleasure that she didn’t try very hard to hide. There were stacks of them all over her apartment, some that had worn spines that would be packed when she left and others that would stay as a treat for the next tenant. If they liked that kind of thing.

Gwen had given up on romance after her last, disastrous relationship. Dragons lived a long life, much like she seemed to have. No one could blame her for trying to love someone that would live as long as she would. She didn’t want to have to watch the person she loved grow old and wither away. But, she wasn’t prepared for her ex.

Pale green liquid sloshed over her hand. She looked down to find that her hand was trembling. Quickly, she snatched a book from the shelf and retreated to a small table. She wouldn’t think about the dragon. Instead, she would pull her cards from her purse and place them on the table for anyone brave enough to ask for a reading while she skimmed through the random romance novel she grabbed.

She was lost in the world of a sixteenth century horse breeder and his fallen princess when a stranger sat down opposite her. When she closed the book, she wasn’t prepared for the sight that sat across from her. His red hair was fiery and swept back from his smiling, pale gray eyes.

Gwen’s lips flapped for a moment, words unable to be found as she looked at this man. His smile alone sent her mind into a frenzy in which she lost all ability to use words.

“Could you read my cards?” the man asked as he touched the top of her deck to push it toward her.

Still unable to speak, Gwen nodded and set her romance novel aside. When she realized it lay cover up, showcasing a bare chested man with long, dark hair and a woman in a corset her face warmed. She was the Witch of Caernarfon. Why was she letting this man affect her the way he was? She shouldn’t be ashamed to be reading any book.

That was the reminder that she needed to straighten her spine and turn her chin up. She pulled the cards toward her, letting her magic flow through her fingers as she shuffled the worn cards. It flowed around the cards, rushing like water until she realized it felt a little more like something else.

Sunlight.

Her fingers warmed. She set the deck on the table and motioned for the man to cut the deck, trying hard not to meet his gray gaze. Were his eyes gray? Or were they a soft and gentle green? She caught herself studying his eyes and quickly looked away. He laughed gently and reached out with a long-fingered hand to cut the deck. His fingers were graceful as they gripped the edges of the cards. He restacked the cut cards and pushed them toward her.

“You’re awfully quiet for a fortune teller. Shouldn’t you be grilling me about my life so you know what to draw on when you lie to me?”

She couldn’t help herself. She lifted her narrowed gaze to glare at him. “You think the cards lie?” She challenged him.

“I didn’t say that the cards did. I said that fortune tellers do.”

She nodded. “Then it’s a good thing that I’m not a fortune teller. Close your lips and listen to what the cards have to tell you.”

She lifted three cards from the top of the deck he’d cut and laid them on the table that sat between her and the man. Her fingers began to tremble as she turned them over. The Tower. The Lovers. And Death. She jerked her hand away from the cards as if they’d burned her.

How could his draw mirror the one she’d done the night before? Had she not shuffled the deck properly? The magic in her hands had felt odd when she shuffled. Had it summoned her reading over again? That had to be the solution. She managed to read for herself and not for him.

That was her fault.

She swiped her hand over the card before he could say anything, and tucked them back into their deck. “That was a failure,” she admitted. “I’m very sorry about that.”

He studied her face. She could feel his eyes trace the line of her jaw, feel it as it passed over her lips and made its way up to her eyes. She felt almost as if he was caressing her face. It warmed things inside of her that hadn’t been warmed by anything other than romance novels in years.

“I guess that you’ll just have to make it up to me, then.”

Her head shot up. He smiled at her, soft and warm. Her lips pursed, an unsaid question on them.

“Let me take you out for dinner tonight. It’s the least you can do for me after that reading.”

She laughed, a rush of air more than any feeling of humor. Was he being serious? Gwen was used to blending into the crowd. Keeping her head down and away from men had kept her safe for decades now. What was it about this man that made her want to say yes?

“I mean,” he began, a soft teasing tone in his voice. “You did just prove me right. Your reading failed after you chose not to ask me any questions. Now, I’d like the chance to ask you a few of my own over dinner. So, what do you say?”

Her pursed lips spread out into a smile, one that said she ate men like him for breakfast. “I would love to,” she said. “I’ll meet you here at six-thirty.”

“I can’t pick you up at your place?”

“I can’t trust a man that appears out of nowhere as quickly as that. You pick me up here and I will let you choose where we eat.”

He seemed to mull over the option she gave him. She wasn’t going to settle for any less. She had to be cautious. It wouldn’t do to have a stranger know where she lived, even if she was leaving soon.

“It’s a deal then,” he said as he extended his hand.

She took it with the intention of shaking it, but he gently gripped her hand and turned it so that he could bring it to his lips. She could have sworn she saw a strange look cross his face when his lips hovered over her skin, but then they pressed against her skin and she lost rational thought. His lips were warm and soft, and the soft kiss he left sent a jolt right down to her core. One that curled into a warm feeling that she’d long ago forgotten.

“Uh, I should go pay for my book,” she muttered, yanking her hand from his grasp and scurrying away to hide among the bookshelves.

Her heart thumped inside her chest. He shouldn’t affect her the way that he did. She shouldn’t be so susceptible, but her mind pointed out the obvious. She was lonely. She’d been on the run for more years than she’d known happiness. Living in tiny apartments and trying not to make friends or take lovers had not built her the kind of life one could look back on with joy. The only thing she was grateful was how far technology had come in the bedroom when one was by themselves.

Gwen paused and looked down at the book in her hands. The dashing, dark-haired man that looked back at her had his hand around the woman’s waist and pulled her possessively close. She shuddered as she remembered why she was running, what waited for her if she stopped too long, if she made a scene. Gwen crammed the book back onto the shelf and slipped out the front door and onto the street.

Men were trouble. She didn’t need one in her life making it more worrisome than it already was. One thing she knew for certain was that she wasn’t going to meet this man for his date tonight. They hadn’t even exchanged names, let alone numbers. There was no way he was going to find her.

***

Cameron grumbled a string of expletives under his breath as he watched the Witch of Caernarfon slip out the bookstore’s door. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. He pushed himself from the table and glanced down. The witch had been so flustered that she left her cards behind. Quickly, he swooped them up and charged behind her.

Outside, he could mingle with the small crowd that walked the street. His height and bulk gave him away, traits of dragons that were hard to ignore, and so he hung back a little. It was easy to keep his eye trained on the blonde waves that fell around her head. Just the sight of her made his heart thump.

When he entered the bookstore, Cameron knew that he could smell witch. It smelled like a grassy day in the sunshine, carrying hints of lavender and sage. He didn’t expect it to lead him to the small blonde woman seated at a table. The sight of the ancient tarot cards beside her told him that his nose was not wrong, but he could barely believe it. Her pale, ivory skin was flawless and her lean body gave way to curves that could easily cause Cameron to lose himself.

This was not the witch that he expected to find. The prospect of seducing this woman seemed much more appealing than it had before. His body certainly agreed, growing stiff at the sight of her. The urge to grab her and carry her to somewhere private swept over him. It was an unfamiliar and almost overpowering desire that he had to shove down.

The beast inside of him rose his head in observation while they followed the woman. Its eyes were trained on the witch’s behind, curvy and soft. Cameron’s beast was a quiet animal that rested content and patient inside of him. Most times. It could be devastating when it lashed out, a fact that his older brother had learned the hard way.

Now, his calm and patient beast growled with a quiet ferocity that scared him. He couldn’t tell if the beast was wary of the woman or felt the same way he did.

Owain’s words sauntered through his mind while he watched the witch turn a key in her door. He was supposed to be wary of the witch and what she could do. He had to put a leash on his desires while he dealt with her. If Cameron let his guard down around this woman, she could cause more trouble for his family.

Cameron stepped back, his hand reaching into his pocket to touch the well-worn cards in his pocket. He wondered what it was about the reading that had shaken her. Clearly, the reading had found something. He knew little about the cards, but the imagery said enough. Falling, loving, monster. He worried that the cards had warned her about him.

He meant her no harm, but the witch had been hiding from something. It was no small leap to see him as a threat if she was afraid. The thought made his beast rise again, filling his human body so completely that he was afraid he might burst into his dragon form right then and there. The beast’s desire to protect her was so pure and raw that Cameron found himself very confused.

He retreated, having found her place of hiding already. All he had to do now was wait. It gave him plenty of time to sort through the emotions that the beast had thrust upon him so unexpectedly. His head pounded, but his hand stayed firmly glued to the cards in his pocket.

Could it be?

The emotions that the witch had stirred inside of him began to unravel over the hours that he waited outside. Little by little he picked them apart, the attraction, the fierce protectiveness.

There was a chance that the Witch of Caernarfon was his mate. He scowled. That was unlikely. He held rank within the family, if only for being an honorable and patient man, but he was in no way deserving of the prestige that mating the Witch of Caernarfon would bring upon him. She was meant for a family leader, no doubt.

Cameron eyed the door that the witch had slipped into earlier while he pulled his phone from his pocket. If anyone knew how to sort the thoughts and emotions tumbling through his head, Gareth would. Rhiannon had swept into his life so suddenly, a tiny and young dragon with a fierce heart that became his mate.

Gareth would be able to tell him what he was feeling. So, Cameron leaned back and listened to his phone ring. After that, he would figure out a new approach to win the witch’s heart for his family.