Winter Fire (The Witchling #3)(50)

Morgan listened, her eyes on Beck as much as they were on the speakers. He was a natural dealing with people and his family, a sentiment she wished she shared. His striking profile – the chiseled cheekbones, strong jaw and full lips – made her heart quicken every time she sneaked a look at him. Having his hands on her body when they wrestled was insanely distracting. She almost missed a few blocks because of it, and the thought of him kissing her …

Halfway through dessert, she began overheating. Her fire magick was antsy anyway at being confined with so many people. It yearned for the calming warmth of earth magick, and her thoughts about Beck did nothing to quiet it.

“You’re glowing,” Adam whispered to her.

Morgan glanced at him then down at her arms. Fire outlined her body. She was grateful there were no other fire witchlings around; this happened when she was turned on. It was humiliating. Connor knew when she was watching a movie with her favorite movie stars. The magick responded to her emotions more than it did to her commands.

“It’s a little warm in here,” she said, hoping he didn’t know better. “Think I’ll get some air.”

“Want me to go?”

“No, I’m good. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He nodded. Morgan stood and quietly exited the ballroom. When she was in the foyer, she realized just how stuffy it had been in there. One of the massive front doors leading into the lobby was open, and she walked through it and into the night.

A small gazebo off to one side overlooked the lake nearby. She shivered in the cold air and watched her breath drift upwards towards a cloudless sky. Crossing to the gazebo, she leaned against the railing. A couple of lights reflected off the lake’s surface; it was otherwise dark.

Sighing, Morgan propped up her chin with one hand. Her magick was settling, no longer confined in the ballroom.

“I meant to tell you,” Beck’s quiet voice jarred her. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“What do you want?” she asked without turning.

“You always glow brighter when I’m around,” he observed, amused. “Either you want to torch me or …”

“Right now? Torch.”

He joined her at the railing. “Can I ask why?”

She really was glowing. Morgan cursed her magick, then the night. During daylight, it was too faint to see.

“Why did you set me up with Adam tonight?” she returned.

“Get you out of the dorms.”

Morgan faced him, leaning her hip against the side.

Beck mimicked her position.

“Okay,” he relented. “Maybe it was my way of trying to protect you. If you’re here with me, then you’re not in danger from Dawn’s lackeys.”

“I’m not here with you.”

“Look, Morgan –“

This was it. The moment when he rejected her. Thanks but no thanks. You’re sweet, but … Why did it make her want to cry?

Morgan started away, not wanting to hear what his lame excuse would be.

“Woah, wait,” Beck said and caught her arm. “Can we talk without you getting pissed?”

She flung her head back and sighed. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Alright, that’s it,” he said, a note of anger in his tone. “You wanna stop being so bitchy towards me? I’m doing what I think is right.”

“Bitchy?” she asked archly, facing him. “One minute you’re kissing me and the next, you’re eyeballing some blonde.”

“We both agreed to walk away.”

“I know. You’re making it hard,” she said.

“Morgan, I’m trying to protect you.”

“Beck, I don’t want or need you to protect me. You know what I want?”

Beck studied her quietly for a moment. Suddenly, he laughed.

“Yeah,” he said. “For the first time in my life, I get it.”

“Get what?” She planted a hand on her hip.

“You want me to make up my mind.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“But you’re afraid of what I decide, either way,” he continued. “So you being bitchy to me sometimes and sweet to me at others is just as much about you being scared as it is me trying to walk away.”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open.

“Slam dunked that round,” he said, grinning. “Come on.”

He walked out of the gazebo.

Morgan stared after him, unable to digest what just happened. Or why he was happy and leaving, when he hadn’t done or said anything she wanted him to.

He stopped a few feet away and beckoned to her again.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she said, perplexed. She went to him and stopped a few feet away.

“I want to show you something.”

Morgan looked around. The lake, the lodge, the gazebo. There wasn’t much else to see. Beck leaned forward and took one of her hands, pulling her closer. Unconvinced, she went.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed her. Fog pooled at his feet.

She hesitated, but did as he asked. A mist swept over her, making her shiver. Suddenly, the quietness of the lake turned into the sounds of a drum and singing. Morgan’s eyes flew open, and she stared. The cloud cleared.

A short distance away, through the trees, she saw several large bonfires surrounded by groups of people. Some wore authentic Native American clothing while others were in jeans while still others combined the traditional and modern styles of dress: flowing buckskin skirts with sweatshirts or vests over sweaters.