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

also didn’t want to tempt her. The witch knew how to open a portal to the Otherworld. What else did she know?

He turned and listened intently. Water trickled from her body, striking the pool with electric pings that made him envision precisely what she looked like. She was a mythical creature all on her own. Long, dark hair dripping pearls into the swirling eddies of the stream.

Then he heard her cursing and grinned. She had to be freezing, he knew how cold that water was. And dressing in little more than a thin white shift, she wouldn't warm up any time soon.

Served her right for swimming when she should have been working on the portal. He could proposition to her that his body was twice as warm as her clothes...but those were dangerous thoughts.

“What else do you need?” he asked. “There must be a reason you’ve been lazing in the stream, other than natural laziness.”

“Witch spells cannot be cast with a wave of our hand like a faerie, Unseelie. Work and preparation are required. And an attention to detail that far surpasses what you might be used to.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can turn around now.”

He spun on his heel, words burning at the end of his tongue. He wanted to tear into her for the suggestion he wasn’t capable of preparing for his own magic. But she stood at the edge of the stream looking…adorable.

She wore his clothing, baggy and far too big. The black tunic and tan pants didn’t suit her complexion in the slightest, and she looked like the ragged witch she pretended to be. But her hair was braided, the long tail leaving soggy marks on his shirt. Her strong stance and twitching fingers clearly said she was pleased with herself.

The witch rolled up her sleeves and gave him a shrug. “Something to say, Unseelie?”

Bran shook his head. “Not a thing, witch.”

She seemed surprised, her arms immediately crossing, her weight shifting from side to side. That surprise was a win, proof he had finally bested her.

At least that’s what he told himself, but knew it was a lie.

He cleared his throat and marched toward her with his hands clasped behind his back. “About this portal.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How soon can you complete it?”

“I need to build it first, and I need Lorcan to bring back a sacrifice.”

Bran nodded. He’d heard of black magic that required blood. A few witches in his day exclusively used such ingredients in their spells, and even a few faeries utilized the old ways.

He circled her slowly. “From my understanding then, we’re only waiting on Lorcan to bring something back. A bird, perhaps?”

“A bird would suffice.”

“Why is that, precisely?”

She huffed out a breath. “First of all, I don’t appreciate the tone. I know what I’m doing. Second of all, a bird tends to have the correct amount of blood for a spell, and I have no interest in wasting life for no reason.”

“Would a raven be an appropriate size?”

“Are you offering?” She looked him up and down, head tilting. “I’m not sure your shifted form would really be big enough.”

The jab stung, but he was learning how to read her. She wasn’t trying to be rude; she was trying to distract him.

Bran knew how women distracted men by curling their fingers and shifting back and forth. Their attention wandered up and down his body. They licked their lips or ran fingers through their hair, all a ploy so he didn’t see their true thoughts.

She did none of that. Instead, this little witch stopped all her movements and widened her stance with insults prepared to spew from her lips.

There was a spark between them, and he planned on using that to his advantage. He looked her up and down.

“Why are you circling me like a vulture?” she grumbled. “Can you not sit still, or is this another flaw I haven’t seen yet?”

“When was the last time you had a lover?”

“A what?” she spluttered, coughed, then crossed her arms firmly over her chest. “I don’t see how that assists us getting into the Otherworld.”

“I’m trying to figure you out.” He plucked at his shirt on her shoulder. He lingered, stroking the fine muscles of her neck before sliding his hand down her arm.

She shrugged him off. “Stop it.”

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Anyone I don’t know touching me and circling me like I’m a rare piece of meat would make me uncomfortable.” She jerked away from his hand again. “Unseelie, I’m warning you.”

“Are your cheeks red, I wonder? Are you blushing, little witch?” He wanted to see the vibrant color spread across whatever face she had. The longer he knew her and the more tantalizing she became, the more he didn’t care what her face looked like. A face was just a face, but a woman who challenged him on a daily basis was a rare beauty not to be overlooked.

“One last warning, Unseelie.”

“Is that a hint of interest I hear? Why, witch, if you were interested, all you had to do was—”

Her hand struck the center of his chest right over the starburst of her curse. Electricity rocketed from her fingertips and sent him flying through the air. Bran landed hard, the wind rushing from his lungs and black spots dancing across his vision.

Damn, the girl was powerful.

She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head to the side. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

He tried to speak but could only wheeze.

“That’s what I thought. You sit right there, Unseelie, and let this woman do all the hard work. Say yes.”

“Yes ma’am,” he croaked, still heaving air into his lungs.

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

She sashayed away from him, although she had to stop a few times to hitch up his pants. He almost offered the belt in his pack but knew she’d send him right back onto the ground.

This little witch captivated him far more than any faerie ever had. It wasn’t her lack of face, or even her “glowing”