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Being an unmatched warlock serving as the head of a coven wasn't easy. The need for a feminine touch to help preserve harmony among his witches only made Warren Ainsley long for his fated consort more than usual...until she finally showed up in the local diner. Only she had no idea magic existed.
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I couldn’t have been more wrong when I told my mom this morning that I wasn’t going to knock up the next woman I met. Then again, I hadn’t expected to find my consort sitting in a booth when I walked into the diner to grab a sandwich and coffee before the lunch crowd came in. First, there had been an overwhelming punch of lust when I saw her. That was enough for me to figure out who she was to me. Then I felt the mark as it appeared on my wrist, and that clinched it. I’d finally found my consort.
She was fucking gorgeous, with jet black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and dainty features. She was sitting down, with the table hiding most of her body, but I had a great view of her perfect tits. When I slid into the booth across from her, I could tell she was tiny compared to me. And super confused.
“Consort mark?” Her lips pressed together in a flat line as she rubbed at her wrist again, hard enough to leave a red spot behind.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around her hand before she could do any more damage to herself. “Like I said, it’s never going to come off.”
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t have any ink. How did this get on my wrist?” She looked down at the empty bowl in front of her. “Was there something in my soup?” Her gaze darted out the window, and she looked up at the sky. “It’s still Wednesday, right? A little after eleven?”
I answered her questions in reverse from how she’d asked them. “It’s eleven fifteen. Still Wednesday. There wasn’t anything in your soup. You weren’t drugged, and you didn’t lose any time.”
Her blue eyes burned bright as she leaned forward and hissed, “You skipped the most important part! How did this tattoo show up on my wrist?”
She jerked her hand out of my hold, but not before I felt the searing heat of her skin as her temperature spiked. Then I heard Lou, who owned diner, cry out in alarm. When I looked over my shoulder towards the pass-through window into the kitchen, he was blowing out a tall flame that had sparked up from the grill. If he wasn’t an air warlock, he would have needed to grab a fire extinguisher to put out the flame.
Trusting him to handle the situation, I shifted my focus back to the woman sitting across from me. My consort—who, based on her confusion about the mark on her wrist, didn’t seem to know anything about how the magic world worked. And yet I was almost certain her anger was the cause of the flame on the grill.
Was my consort a witch with no inkling of her powers? The flame tattoo on my wrist sure as fuck seemed to indicate that she was a fire witch. “What do you know about magic?”
“Magic?” she echoed, her brow wrinkling. “Like David Copperfield?”
Fuck. Not only did my consort not know she was a fire witch; she wasn’t even aware that real magic existed in the world. “No, he didn’t have any actual magic. He was an illusionist.”
“Then I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “Are you really going to try to convince me that some kind of magic put this tattoo on my wrist?”
Having spent my entire life in Ashburn, it was sometimes easy to forget that everyone didn’t know about witches, warlocks, and magic. Unlike in many other parts of the world, magic wasn’t a secret here. It was hard to hide so many witches and warlocks in such a tight-knit community, especially when the children of our coven grew up alongside kids from families without any magic.
The only times we had to hide our powers in Ashburn were when outsiders were in town. The woman sitting across from me might be a newcomer, but she was in no way an outsider. Not when she the consort of the High Priest of the Ainsley coven.
She was fucking gorgeous, with jet black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and dainty features. She was sitting down, with the table hiding most of her body, but I had a great view of her perfect tits. When I slid into the booth across from her, I could tell she was tiny compared to me. And super confused.
“Consort mark?” Her lips pressed together in a flat line as she rubbed at her wrist again, hard enough to leave a red spot behind.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around her hand before she could do any more damage to herself. “Like I said, it’s never going to come off.”
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t have any ink. How did this get on my wrist?” She looked down at the empty bowl in front of her. “Was there something in my soup?” Her gaze darted out the window, and she looked up at the sky. “It’s still Wednesday, right? A little after eleven?”
I answered her questions in reverse from how she’d asked them. “It’s eleven fifteen. Still Wednesday. There wasn’t anything in your soup. You weren’t drugged, and you didn’t lose any time.”
Her blue eyes burned bright as she leaned forward and hissed, “You skipped the most important part! How did this tattoo show up on my wrist?”
She jerked her hand out of my hold, but not before I felt the searing heat of her skin as her temperature spiked. Then I heard Lou, who owned diner, cry out in alarm. When I looked over my shoulder towards the pass-through window into the kitchen, he was blowing out a tall flame that had sparked up from the grill. If he wasn’t an air warlock, he would have needed to grab a fire extinguisher to put out the flame.
Trusting him to handle the situation, I shifted my focus back to the woman sitting across from me. My consort—who, based on her confusion about the mark on her wrist, didn’t seem to know anything about how the magic world worked. And yet I was almost certain her anger was the cause of the flame on the grill.
Was my consort a witch with no inkling of her powers? The flame tattoo on my wrist sure as fuck seemed to indicate that she was a fire witch. “What do you know about magic?”
“Magic?” she echoed, her brow wrinkling. “Like David Copperfield?”
Fuck. Not only did my consort not know she was a fire witch; she wasn’t even aware that real magic existed in the world. “No, he didn’t have any actual magic. He was an illusionist.”
“Then I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “Are you really going to try to convince me that some kind of magic put this tattoo on my wrist?”
Having spent my entire life in Ashburn, it was sometimes easy to forget that everyone didn’t know about witches, warlocks, and magic. Unlike in many other parts of the world, magic wasn’t a secret here. It was hard to hide so many witches and warlocks in such a tight-knit community, especially when the children of our coven grew up alongside kids from families without any magic.
The only times we had to hide our powers in Ashburn were when outsiders were in town. The woman sitting across from me might be a newcomer, but she was in no way an outsider. Not when she the consort of the High Priest of the Ainsley coven.