Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,2

them out. The guy grazes his teeth across his bottom lip as he slowly rakes a gaze from my feet to my face, and I shiver as if he's touching me.

He could mesmerise with a glance, but despite the perfection in his features, I don't sense a lamia vampire.

The guy's mouth pulls up at one corner as he senses my breathless reaction to him—one he's undoubtedly used to from girls. My breathlessness is from the walk up the hill. Mostly.

"Get your arse back upstairs. Now." The guard's heavy footsteps cross the floor, and I blink at the size of him. He must be seven feet tall, at least, and his arms twice as thick as a normal man. I can barely see a neck beneath his small head and squashed face. If someone who looked like him yelled at me, I'd do what he said in a heartbeat—in case he stopped mine.

The guy breaks away from our mutual appreciation and dodges the guard as he reaches him. He grins and ducks behind the guard, who spins around. The arrogant guy dances out of his way, his torn shirt slipping from one shoulder as he does.

"Stand still," snarls the guard.

"If you keep your filthy hands off me." The inmate's voice is cultured English, reminding me of my mother's friends who live in the Home Counties. There's an edge to the honeyed tone, as if he can charm you then devour you in the blink of a mesmeric eye.

He lifts a hand to push stray brown hair from his face and takes another sly look at me.

"Don't touch him, Jurgen," says a voice behind.

I'd forgotten there were others with us. Luca moves to stand by my side, and the guard who accompanied me from the boat move to my other as if I have a protective detail.

The guy in the torn shirt gestures at himself. "Zeke ripped my fucking shirt. Do you know how much this cost me?"

"You punched him in the face."

The guy shrugs. "He should've kept his mouth shut."

"You've been warned. Hurt anybody else, and you're in solitary," warns Luca.

The guy lifts his head and looks down his nose at Luca. "I'm sure Zeke will retract his complaint against me. You know he always does."

He moves closer to me and bites his lip again as he looks down. My empath skills are more potent than many witches, and I immediately pick up the danger and darkness that cloud this guy's aura. Now he's closer, my attraction to him fades. I can almost smell the evil.

I shift away from him, and he cocks his head, lips pursing. "Does my reputation precede me?"

"What?"

"You're nervous." He leans in and whispers, "Have you heard the stories?"

I splutter. "I'm not nervous. I don't know or care who you are."

Luca tugs me to one side, and the arrogant guy's face lights up. He points at me. "You'll be fun. I like fun."

The half-human man grabs his arm. "Get back to your room."

"If you ask nicely," says the guy snidely. "Besides, I haven't introduced myself to Ravenhold’s newest and most charming guest."

"Just get back up the fucking stairs, Dorian," snaps Luca, "before I lose my patience and you lose your privileges."

The hallway I stand in lurches to one side and my stomach turns over as I stare at the guy I've dreamed about meeting.

The one I want to hurt until he suffers the way my family did.

"Are you Dorian Blackwood?" I ask hoarsely.

He smiles, eyes glittering. "The Dorian Blackwood. Welcome to Ravenhold. I do hope you enjoy your stay."

Chapter Three

Does Dorian know who I am? Because I damn well know who he is.

Dorian Blackwood killed my uncle. I never thought I'd meet the murderous arsehole, but I'll make him pay. I laugh at my furious side—I'm a strong witch, but can I take on the famous hybrid?

Okay, I may not be able to kill Dorian, but I can hurt him. He's incarcerated, which means the so-called unstoppable guy must have a weakness.

Dazed by my impromptu welcome by Dorian Blackwood, I robotically follow instructions from the pig-faced guy at the table. I don't think he's a mid, just unfortunate-looking. I hand over my phone and allow him to go through my belongings and look for contraband.

Occasional shouts and laughter echo along a hallway upstairs. Adult voices mingled with teens; anger mixed with amusement. Trepidation builds in my churning stomach. How long will they keep me here? My crime surely can't be as severe as those around me. I