The Warlock's Daughter Read Online Free

against the ground. Melting, they became cool raindrops. Warmer they grew, and warmer still. Hissing as they slanted down, they dissolved the ice on the ground, turned the earth to mud.
    The rain began to dampen Carita's wide skirts in huge, wet splatters. It puddled in the mud at her feet, dashing it onto her hem until her gown sagged with the weight. The feathers of her hat grew sopping wet and drooped over one eye, while the dye that colored it dissolved to ooze in a silver-gray streak down her face.
    Abruptly, the rain stopped. Around them, the air steamed with the change of temperature so they stood in a seething white cloud shot with clear light from the returning moon.
    Renfrey watched Carita's face. He waited.
    Puzzlement hovered in a frown between her brows. Then some explanation must have occurred to her—some error she had made or fault within herself—for her self-possession returned. Her tone even, she said, “Shall I give you the sun to dry you?”
    “A pleasant thought,” he replied. “But we wouldn't want to wake the populace or alarm them, now would we? Do you think you could manage a small fire?”
    She nodded, a brief gesture of disdain.
    It was a bonfire, licking skyward in hungry orange tongues of flame. The smoke was acrid in the lungs; its pinewood smell pervasive. Crackling, roiling in its red heart a few feet from where they stood, it washed their faces with color and flared brightly in the black pupils of their eyes.
    “Very nice,” he said in tones of congratulation as he reached to take her hand and lead her a few steps closer to the flames. “It should dry us both out if anything will.”
    She glanced down at her bedraggled gown then met his gaze with a species of shock moving over her features. “I never—” she began, and then stopped.
    “You never get wet when you indulge in a temper tantrum of the elements?” he said with sympathy. “What happened this time to your powers as a witch?”
    “I told you I'm not a witch!” she snapped as she dashed the dye from her face. Reaching to catch her skirts with both hands, she gave them a furious shake that sent water droplets flying around her in every direction. It effectively dried her gown, returning her miraculously to her former perfection of appearance.
    He stood watching a moment before giving a wry shake of his head. “What are you then? Goddess? Grace? Fury? Nymph? Sprite? Fairy? What?”
    “Nothing. I'm simply—”
    “I know. Daughter of a warlock. A woman it is hazardous to touch, to hold, to desire, to love.” The leap of confusion into her eyes was a potent combination with her unhappiness. Recognizing it, he went on with a shading of regret, “You do realize that it's a challenge no man can resist? I'm afraid it has made a kiss, at least, inevitable.”
    Her eyes widened, grew darker. “No,” she said on the edge of panic. “You can't!”
    But he could. Taller, stronger, more determined, he swept her into his arms and pressed his mouth to her parted lips.
    The force of the contact stunned thought, routed complacency, jolted his heart to a violent rhythm. His blood crashed through his veins like storm surf, while his skin radiated such intense heat his clothing took on the smells of wet and scorched linen, silk and wool. His breath stopped. His brain felt as if it were simmering in the cauldron of his skull. Behind his eyes was the blood-red haze of a desire more compelling than any he had ever dreamed.
    The only coolness, the only anchor for his sanity, was the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. The only thing that stopped him from seeking deeper nectar, searching for deeper quenching, was a crashing pain across the toe of his boot.
    He wrenched backward with the chill tinkle of breaking porcelain in his ears. The vase Carita had been holding lay in pieces at his feet. She had dropped it, perhaps, or possibly she had thrown it down with purpose. Either way, it was effective. The throbbing pain brought the self-control