The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

Where was she?

He stayed low, surveying the landscape for some hint of where she’d gone. If she thought she could run from him, she was horribly wrong. He’d twist the binding curse around and track her to the ends of the earth if she made him.

The sound of splashing water burst his angry thoughts like a bubble.

Was she…?

He carefully crept across the small stream, stepping over rocks so he wouldn’t alert her that he had returned. Bran didn’t understand why he was being so careful. It made little sense when he had no reason to sneak. If she had worried about him seeing her, then she would never have bathed without knowing where he was.

Blackthorn bushes hid him from her view. He reached through the sharp points and parted them ever so slightly.

He thanked the gods he was kneeling, or he might have fallen over. She rose out of the water like a nymph, all slick skin and trickling water. Her dark hair swirled over her pale flesh in a waterfall of dark color and movement. She was turned away from him, giving him the perfect view of an hourglass figure and tiny dimples in the small of her back.

Gods, she was beautiful. For all that she might have buck teeth, warts, and a third eye, her body was enough to make a man crazed.

She slicked her hands over her head, smoothing her hair until it resembled a well-oiled seal skin. Her head tilted to the side, and he wondered what she was thinking of. Him? Their predicament?

Bran would prefer it if she was thinking of him, for she had plagued his thoughts from the moment he met her. He couldn’t get the little witch out of his head, and it was driving him mad.

She shifted, and every muscle in his body tensed. A little more to the left, and he would see a lot more than just her back.

He could make the right decision here. He could look away, let the brambles fall back in place, stop being the man lurking in the bushes while a woman bathed. And yet, he couldn’t.

The curve of her hip crested the water. She stepped a few feet forward, just enough that the ends of her hair covered the swell of her bottom. She really was lily white all over, so pale she almost looked like a being carved out of marble rather than flesh and blood.

He felt a light touch on his foot. Glancing down, he saw the cat sitting on his foot with a paw resting on the other shoe.

Alarmed, Bran breathed, “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know you’ve been staring for quite some time.”

“It means nothing.”

“Right. In the meantime, I’ll observe that you look like a man who’s either walking to the gallows or has just realized he’s in over his head with a beautiful woman. Which one are you?”

Bran swallowed. He would admit to nothing, especially not to a cat sidhe masquerading as a familiar. “I’m staring at the witch who bound me to a mortal life. Gallows, obviously.”

The cat flexed his paw and dug sharp nails into the supple leather of his boot. “Keep telling yourself that. Someday you might believe it. But do try to close your mouth. You’ll catch flies that way, and they don't taste as good as they look.”

Bran furrowed his brows. He glared at Lorcan as the cat wiggled through the brush and made his way down to the streambed. The witch glanced toward her familiar, frowning with glittering, mirth-filled eyes.

Now, he was stuck. If he walked out of the bushes, then the witch would know he had been staring at her. If he didn’t, then the cat would likely point him out. Damned cat sidhe. They always leaned toward the Unseelie side of the Fae and liked to cause trouble a little too much.

Thinking quick, he shifted back into a raven had hopped all the way back to the stream. It was easier to stay hidden in a small form, but it hurt his pride. When was the last time he had to hop away from a woman? It was demeaning.

Up and over the stones he jumped, spreading his wings and flapping over the rushing water. He quietly clacked his beak the entire time. If he could have grumbled, he would have. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous that he was lowering himself so far. All for a little witch who wouldn’t get out of his head.

He reached the other side of the stream and changed back to himself in a burst of feathers. Running a hand over the nubs, he spun toward the stream.

A small part of him wanted to catch her coming out of the water. He wasn’t proud of it, but a man had to take his chances when they appeared.

She was up to her neck in the water, arms protectively crossed over her chest as if he were a horrible creature that just crawled out of the muck. Obviously, she knew he was there before he’d turned. Which meant she’d been watching him as he made his way across the stream.

He refused to entertain the thought she might have seen him hopping across the stones like a fool. “Have you completed the portal yet?”

“Does it look like I’ve completed the portal?”

“Considering I don’t know what the spell entails, I couldn’t answer that question knowledgeably.”

Her long hesitation suggested she was holding her tongue. Since he was used to her scathing retorts, he lifted a brow. “Nothing to say?” he asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Hey!” Lorcan shouted from the other side of the stream.

The witch shifted from foot to foot. “I’m standing in ice water, faerie. And you’re preventing me from leaving the stream, so I’m freezing my legs off. Turn around.”

“I have no intention of doing that.”

“Turn around or I will curse you again. This time with something a little worse than a binding curse.”

Bran wanted to laugh, but he