Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,47

with you for repayment.”

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he looks down at me. "Self-preservation is the key to surviving Ravenhold, Eloise. I've found someone who is a match for the arsehole I want taken down. I can't have her die. That’s my motivation. If she wants to fuck me too, that would be an added bonus."

My stomach sinks at his heartless, calculating words, ones that are probably true. "I haven't said I want to."

“Fuck me?”

I balk at his sudden shift in attitude. “Help you against Dorian,” I retort.

He leans closer and his hair brushes my forehead. "Then who else will protect you from situations like last night, Eloise? Ethan? No. He's one guy on his own. I have a network who'll watch your back."

"The girls caught me off guard, that's all. And if my magic strengthens, I'll deal with them if they try again."

"Such bravado from the girl who almost died,” he whispers and I shiver at the truth. Zeke steps back. "Come on. I'll help you with your walk of shame."

"There is no walk of shame," I retort.

"Not this time."

"I'll walk back alone." As I pass him to leave, I pause and touch his arm. "Zeke—"

"Don't ask questions or try to get close to me," he says harshly. "See what happened between us as a business transaction. You now owe me." He backs me towards the doorway and closes the door so I'm forced to step out. “I’ll watch your back against Dorian, until you decide to join me.”

I failed to use a spell last night, but I’m determined to build on the magic still hovering around me and protect myself. I’ll do everything it takes to grow the power and look after myself.

I refuse to ask anything of Zeke again. Or Ethan. I’ll be on constant guard. I’ll prove to others not to screw with me. I’m going to fight my way out of this hell, whatever it takes.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dorian is absent this morning. Guilt? Hopefully this is enough time for Zeke to calm down too. Zeke’s convinced Dorian orchestrated the attack, but the more I think about what happened, I’m not convinced this is Dorian’s style. What’s between me and Dorian is personal. One on one. I’m not a threat to his status here.

Or has the weakness I exposed the other day and his suspicions about me and Ethan tipped him over the edge?

Zeke hangs around me and his deputies escort me around, as if I’ve a security detail. I’ve requested he doesn’t single me out, but am secretly grateful.

Word hasn’t spread about the attack. Did the girls stay quiet or has Zeke somehow dealt with them? The thought chills me. Oriana studies the already faded bruising, but doesn't comment. I’m still unsure about her friendliness or trustworthiness, but the noncommittal acceptance is fine with me. As is the fact she’s one of the stronger personalities around the girls.

When I step into the yard for exercise class, my stomach knots that I’ll see Ethan again. I spot his unmissable figure on the edge of a groups as usual, eyes to the ground the whole time I look at him, and the knot grows. He has no interest in talking to me.

And that hurts.

Roger bellows across the courtyard, commanding us to run, and my legs protest at me before I’ve taken a step. My fitness is improving though, because I manage one lap before I want to sit on the floor and gasp for breath.

As usual, I stare at my feet, watching them drag along while I zone out to happier places. Other footsteps slap past me, some as breathless as me, and others managing to chat. I should ask Marcus for extra ‘chats’ or Francesca for extra meditation. I could swap this torture for time with them and maybe find some clues.

Miraculously, I escape the five extra laps today, which is a good thing since my jacket is soaked as the drizzle becomes heavier, weighing down and slowing me.

Dorian emerges from the building, half an hour late, and snatching attention as usual. He isn’t dressed for exercise class, wearing jeans instead of trackpants and a white T-shirt.

He crosses the courtyard and stands in the centre, to the left of the circle. The rain flows across his face and runs in rivulets down his chest. He jerks his chin at a nearby group. “I hear you want to talk to me, Ezekiel.”

“Get in line, now,” barks Roger. "You're late and not appropriately dressed."

“Zeke? Do