Chapter Fifteen

2.15 a.m.: sunday 31 october

The North Sea

194 miles and 11(+1) hours and 45 minutes until the wedding

Kay watched the black lines appear on her skin, tickling but also tingling as Harry infused the lines with his magic. He paused every time the ferry moved to avoid ruining the image he was putting on her arm, but she focused on when he was going to start drawing again, what it was going to be, instead of thinking about the waves crashing and the big lump of metal they were on tipping over.

His concentration face was back. The tunnel vision as he created and allowed his magic to flow through him. She supposed she was getting a double whammy of it. Both being able to see it and feel it. If it worked like that.

He finished the first image and it made her smile, a spark of calm swirling beneath her skin and touching at the edges of her panic.

Straight away, he moved along to start drawing the next thing. And on and on he went until her arm was covered, and inside she was simmering with different feelings. He wasn't just concentrating on one emotion. It was a bundle of them, coaxing positivity against the fear swamping her. Like a school friend knocking at the door and asking if they could come out to play: serenity, happiness, humour, curiosity, bravery. Little delicious sips which lit her up from inside, some that hit a humming note more clearly than others. As she watched him draw, their village was slowly revealed. The walk up to her old front door.

‘I've run out of arm,' he said as he finished putting the final touches to the rose bushes at her mum's house on the back of her hand. ‘Do you think that's enough?'

She raised her arm to let her eyes run along the images as her head fell back on the pillow. Either the storm was calming or her calming down had made the weather ease back. Or perhaps the storm had never been as violent as she had at first thought it was.

She could have said to Harry that she was feeling a bit more in control of herself. Among other things. Her skin tingled, magic seeping down into her muscles and running through her bloodstream, as well as entering through her eyes and alighting on parts of her brain that conjured memories to match the emotions and the images. She could feel the languor of a summer's day as she walked down to the green in their village, the bumble bees droning lazy and slow at the honeysuckle bushes lining the lanes. She could smell the lavender in the garden outside the vicarage – that heavy scent that brought drowsiness along with it.

‘Do you need to stop?' she asked. ‘You've barely recovered.'

He studied her face. ‘I've got more than enough energy for my gift. You know how little that takes up. If you need me to, I'll do this all night.'

She licked her lips and shifted further onto her back to push up the sleeve on her other arm, all the while thinking she could probably just take her jumper off entirely under the pretext of avoiding smudging. Rather than the truth, which was that she wanted to avoid melting from all this proximity and his hands on her skin.

Instead, though, she watched as he started drawing again, doing it upside down for her, this time creating a tableau of their journey together, with the clock from Prague, the pretty buildings in Dusseldorf.

‘You must think I'm so stupid,' she blurted out.

‘Never,' he replied without even looking up at her. ‘Why would you even say that?'

‘Because I hardly understand anything about magic. How easy it is to use your gift – how we can have a blend of affinities – I'm so clueless.'

‘You know plenty, Kay.' He shook his head, his hair tickling her chin as he moved further up her arm. ‘You just had a bad experience, so you chose a different path. I can understand that.' He paused as the ship rolled again.

‘Nothing good ever comes of letting your fear stop you, though, does it?' she murmured.

‘I respectfully disagree.' He flicked a stylised line across her arm, making a train suddenly appear in motion, a sense of steadiness rolling over her. ‘Sometimes we have to listen to our fears, they help us remove ourselves from dangerous situations.'

‘You're talking about actual harm, though. Not just … feelings, right?'

‘Our feelings can do the biggest amount of damage to our lives, can't they?'

‘Especially when you're a witch who can accidentally brew up a storm,' she said, drily.

He looked up at her for a moment with a half-smile, hearing the humour in her words. ‘Do you still think that's what happened?'

‘Things are calming down now, aren't they? Thank you.'

‘My pleasure.' He let the tip of one of his fingers trace beneath a tree he'd drawn just above her elbow. Goosebumps broke out over her flesh. ‘Did you ever think that maybe – if you do have another affinity for weather – you just helped? Like I said, it's really unlikely that you caused a whole weather system. But a little pocket of calm in a storm? That's doable for some witches. It never occurred to you to believe your magic was helpful rather than damaging?'

She was quiet as his words sank in. It was sort of what he'd been saying earlier about her seeing her gift as a curse. And she'd had good reason to believe that, because she couldn't see a single way it could help anyone … but she'd also assumed her ability to make people aware of their feelings had made things worse with her family. She hadn't stopped to consider how it could be a good thing. Maybe it was why her friendship with Ilina had clicked when they'd met in person at the conference?

And now she'd done the same thing, thinking about the possibility of her having a weather affinity, assuming it would only do something bad.

‘No,' she said slowly, ‘it didn't occur to me that it would bring anything good. My magic never has.'

‘Have you ever really given it a chance to?' He tilted his head. ‘Magic grows with us. I'm always learning more about the nuances of how my gift works. I didn't know this would work as well as it did.' His thumb pressed into the tender juncture of her elbow, stroking gently.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, tension easing. She didn't want to start feeling stressed again and talking about her magic generally did stress her out, so she fastened her eyes back on his artwork, letting his influence wash over her, inside and out.

It felt amazing. So much positivity bubbling through her, like a cool stream. The bedrock of fears and worries hadn't disappeared, but perhaps they were being eroded, the smaller pebbles dislodged and carried away.

And the heat of his body stretched out beside her, the sensation of him holding her, pressing, and guiding her limbs as he worked – that brought a whole other level of good feeling to her that had nothing to do with his magic.

‘Do you think it would work if I couldn't see it?' she asked. ‘Like, if you'd drawn on my back?'

‘Hmm … I think so, if you can picture the image in your mind when you feel me drawing it, combined with it being on your skin … but not as strong maybe.'

‘So … if it could work without me seeing it, does that mean it would work without the ink?'

‘I can use any medium; paint, make-up—'

‘What about something you couldn't see?

He frowned at her for a moment. ‘How could I draw on you with something invisible?'

She took his wrist in her hand, turned it over and planted her lips against it. Then opened her mouth and lapped once against his skin.

His mouth went slack, his eyes heating as his gaze met hers.

‘Would you like me to try doing that? On you?' His voice came out low, like a curl of smoke beneath a door.

She made a tiny shrug with one shoulder. ‘It would save you ink.' She rolled her jumper up her midriff, folding it just over her bra. ‘I used to want to get a sunflower tattoo. Around my belly button.'

He placed the cap on his pen with a decisive click and then threw it blindly over his shoulder, so it dropped down to the floor behind him, drawing a laugh from her even as her breathing began to speed up again.

Scooting a little further down the bed, he hitched her leg up to accommodate his bent knee beneath hers and let out a shaky laugh. ‘Is there anything in particular you'd like me to try and infuse it with?'

She closed her eyes, thinking that at any other time she'd probably be dying of mortification at being so obvious, but she was just going to roll with it. In the space of the last hour, she'd gone from thinking she was going to die and send everyone to the bottom of the ocean, to peaceful, to having a simmering electricity beneath her skin.

Maybe this was going against the decision she'd made earlier, not to do anything else with him until they'd talked and she'd weighed up the sense of acting on their attraction, but the temptation was too much. She was tired of fighting it and it hadn't even been that long since she'd last made a move on him.

‘You can use your imagination,' she said, resisting the desire to shift her hips.

He made a quiet hum and then his fingers curled around her hip, his thumb stroking the patch of sensitive skin just above her waistband. His lips landed next to her belly button, and she inhaled deeply at the heat of them. She could picture the press of them like a petal, his tongue lightly brushing between to draw a line. He shifted up to repeat the action, at an angle, another petal blossoming in her mind, and she felt the magic simmering – not as clear as before, but with that same way it heated and sank into her skin.

Another shift, another petal from his mouth directly onto her body. She couldn't tell what he was infusing it with yet. She couldn't have cared less, in fact. All she knew was that he had his lips and tongue on her skin and it felt amazing. Too good for her to keep still. She took a shaky breath and reached up to hold on tight to the corners of the pillow her head rested on.

A ragged noise escaped Harry's throat as her body flexed beneath him, his fingers tightening on her hip. He paused, his breath falling heavily on her skin as the moment stretched out. When he finally moved, he didn't plant another petal-kiss, he laved his tongue up from just above the button of her jeans, straight to her belly button, like a stem bursting from the earth, rising to find the sun. Heat rushed down between her legs, and she arched involuntarily.

‘Oh Goddess, that feels amazing. What …? What, are you …? What influence …?' she stammered, trying to get out a coherent question and failing miserably.

‘Fucked if I know,' he panted, and then he was lifting himself higher, his mouth mapping her whole stomach in random, lingering kisses. His teeth nipped at the small bow in the centre of her bra, peeking beneath her jumper, before he rose up further to find her lips. ‘Is this—?'

She let go of the pillow and sank her fingers into his hair, gripping handfuls as she opened to him for a deep and desperate kiss.

It tasted like inevitability, his tongue caressing hers, his lips firm and frenzied as they slid over hers, drinking her in. The kiss earlier had been a scrabble to keep up with the rush of something she'd yearned for so long finally happening. Grabbing it by the scruff of its neck so it didn't get away from her. This was different. This felt like the sudden clearing of consciousness when a word you'd forgotten, that you knew would describe what you were talking about, came back to you. So obvious and perfect. So intrinsic to who she was, it was like arriving home earlier than expected. Falling into her own bed.

And she knew it wasn't his magic. Not the kind he controlled anyway. This was just them. This thing that had always been there between them and it was relief and anticipation and hunger all rolled into one.

More. She wanted more. All of him.

She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it down his shoulders, marvelling at the curve of his bones under her hands, muscles cording as he held himself over her, shifting his weight to help free his arms. She dragged her nails lightly back up, from wrist to elbow, across his biceps, pressing her fingertips into the dip of his collarbone before smoothing down his back again. Goosebumps rose along his flesh at her touch, fine shivers as she pressed her palms to the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, traced the dents of his spine.

She was the one drawing on him and it was working a different kind of magic. But it reminded her of how she used to feel about it – full of wonder and anticipation, crackling with eagerness, knowing bursts of sheer joy were to be found.

His body was lean and hard, freckles dancing across his skin. She wanted to study every one. Her hand slid to his stomach, up higher and she faltered at his chest, lines of ink surprising her. ‘You have a tattoo.' Right in the centre of his chest, deep blue lines overlapping in a complicated pattern.

‘Yes.' He ran his nose along her jaw, pressed a kiss to the vulnerable underside. ‘I'll tell you about it later.'

She made a hum of agreement and chased his mouth back to hers, bracketing his narrow waist with both hands and pulling him down to press his weight on top of her, making room for him between her thighs. They both rolled their hips as soon as they made contact and twin moans escaped around their kiss.

His chest was against hers, but she was still wearing her jumper, all rolled up and uncomfortable and he grabbed it at the neckline, like it had offended him simply by existing as a barrier between them. She started to lift her arms so he could drag it over her head, but instead, he pulled his mouth away from hers for a moment, gasping out a spell. She opened her eyes again and saw all the threads in the jumper unravel and wind themselves back up into a ball of wool beneath his hand.

She shivered and caught his eyes as he discarded the ball of wool onto the floor.

‘That's a nifty trick,' she managed to say. She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling herself up further from the bed, giving him access to her back. ‘Just don't use it on my bra,' she warned and invited him at the same time, with a smile.

He nipped the smile off her lips, while he found the clasp on her bra, his long fingers unsnapping it with ease, pulling it free. Her stomach quivered as his hand cupped one of her breasts, gently kneading, seeing how she responded … how she couldn't help writhing and pressing up into him, soft, desperate noises falling from her lips.

His mouth found the other breast, tongue tracing a circle around her nipple, while he gently pinched and rolled the other, and she felt it tugging all the way down her body, right between her legs. He sucked hard and then soft, each change somehow making her squirm and yearn for more, ratcheting her higher and higher. He swapped his attentions, finding her damp nipple and twisting just right, mouth providing the intensity on the other that she was aching for. Magic fingers. Magic mouth.

She could feel her own magic flowing through her body, entwining with the energy of her arousal, but she didn't fear it – there was no room for fear alongside this maelstrom of pleasure and need.

‘Please, Harry, please,' she groaned, fingers in his hair again, unsure where she wanted his attention most.

He lifted his head, eyes near black from his dilated pupils.

‘What do you want?' he asked her, his naturally husky voice little more than a growling whisper, sending prickles of lust across her skin.

She groaned again. He'd picked the one question she was too overwhelmed to answer. ‘Everything. You. Please.' She arched beneath him, brushing her sensitive nipples against his bare chest, causing delicious friction.

He took her mouth again, his tongue stroking deep, drinking her in with his beautiful lips, trailing his hands down her ribs and waist, tracing her curves as though she was a sculpture he was moulding from clay. He moved onto his side and popped the button open on her jeans and yanked them down with a few strong, alternating tugs, dragging her knickers and socks with them, so she was totally naked beneath him, clothes bunched up at the bottom of the bunk with his coat. Everything about him was a balance of delicacy and demand that was blowing her mind to bits.

His fingers dipped between her legs, spreading the evidence of her arousal over her in precise circles, making the muscles in her core clench so hard, it was almost painful. He slid down the bed, pressing her thighs wide, bending to inflict exquisite torture on her with his tongue. She twisted the rough blanket beneath her, then grabbed for the bars of the bunk bed as his fingers played at the entrance to her body.

‘Oh Goddess, Harry, I need you, please,' she gasped as waves of ecstasy washed over her, stronger and stronger, but not breaking.

‘Where? Here?' He pushed two fingers inside her, slowly, teasingly, and she cried out, bowing off the bed.

‘Yes. Yes.'

He pressed a kiss against her, spoke the words into her hot flesh. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes.' Apparently, that was the only word in her vocabulary anymore.

He pressed his fingers inside her again, slow out, fast in, and then moved away, making her groan. He grabbed his big coat, opening it up to find the pocket on the silky inner lining which held his wallet, and the condom inside that.

He let everything else drop to the floor, including his own jeans, making short work of sheathing himself, seeming in a hurry, which she was ready to thank every deity for, until he moved back over her, kneeling between her legs to stare up at her. ‘Beautiful. That's all I could think when I was trying to do the sunflower. You're beautiful.'

He bent his head down toward her navel, but she grabbed him, cupping his jaw, and lifting his face to hers. ‘No. No more. I can't wait for you any longer.'

He met her eyes, nodding, and then settled himself in the cradle of her thighs. He notched against her, where she was soft and swollen and oh so ready, and she canted her hips to get to more of him. He swallowed, the crease forming between his eyebrows before he filled her, with one long, gradual thrust, until they couldn't get any closer and were both panting.

And then they were moving together, one of his hands at the base of her spine, supporting her as she tilted up to meet him, and every time he pushed into her, the friction inside and out was bliss. She dug her nails into his shoulders and bit his earlobe, trying to press how amazing she felt back into his skin. He gasped, burying his face in between her neck and shoulder, his own teeth grazing at her skin, and then he shifted angle again, bringing himself in deeper, rubbing over a spot inside her each time he moved and she broke into a million pieces, blown apart with the well of pleasure overflowing and sweeping across her nerve endings, soaring through her muscles. Even her teeth tingled.

He held still for her as she fell, pressing firm right where she needed him as she ground out the pleasure, her inner muscles clenching him tight until she went limp. When she threaded her fingers into his hair, damp from sweat, he began to move again, slowly, then building. She pulled his head up to hers so she could kiss him. Deep kisses that matched his rhythm and the pleasure began to rise in her again. She whimpered in surprise as the aftershocks of her orgasm tipped her over into a second. He groaned into her mouth as she clenched around him again, and then his pace was stuttering, his breathing ragged, as he thrust harder, faster, until he shuddered, and she felt him bucking and pulsing within her.

Kay wrapped her arms and legs around him as he collapsed down, their sweat-slicked skin touching everywhere, chests heaving as they both pulled in much-needed air.

He pressed kisses to her shoulder, her jaw, up along her cheekbone and hairline, languid and so tender, her heart ached. She stroked her fingers through his hair, down his neck and back. Then she started laughing.

He winced and leaned back.

‘Sorry,' she said, trying to stop but giggling anyway.

‘What?' he asked as he moved away, holding the condom in place, and looking down at her with a quizzical smile.

‘I take it that pen wasn't permanent ink.' She lifted an arm to show his illustrations were completely smeared and unrecognisable. And then she pointed to his body, the long smudges of black along his chest and back and hips. He even had some on his cheekbone and she rubbed her thumb against it, making absolutely no difference to it.

He turned his head and kissed her palm before jumping down to dispose of the condom, using a brief pulse of magic to ease his descent – how did he have the strength? She was nothing but a puddle of sated nerve endings.

When he joined her again, she wiggled back to make room for him and he tugged the blanket up to their chins, heads close on the pillow, creating a little cocoon of their own on the rolling ferry. Pressure mounted in her chest, something light but powerful pushing against her diaphragm.

Don't think about anything now , she begged her brain. Just enjoy this moment.

She put her hand on his chest, framing his tattoo between her index finger and thumb. She knew he'd always recognised his centre of magic as being there, and he'd told her that was where he felt his itchy magic compass. Perhaps it was to do with that. ‘Are these runes? When did you get it?'

‘Have you been waiting the whole time to ask about that?' He pushed her hair back from her face, delicately untangling the strands stuck to her skin.

‘Totally. All I could think about.' She smiled at him and coasted her hand lower, finally resting on his hip. ‘I lost interest in the experiment we were conducting on your magic as soon as I saw it.'

‘I think the experiment had long since ended at that point.' He raised an eyebrow at her and the hint of playful scolding made a tiny shiver of delight work its way down her back.

‘All right, I'll be completely honest with you,' she stage-whispered. ‘I was never interested in the experiment.'

He cupped the back of her neck and leaned in. ‘Me neither,' he murmured against her lips, and pressed a long, soft kiss to them.

When they pulled away from each other, the pressure was squeezing up between her ribs, but she was still ignoring it. Or letting it be, more accurately, rather than trying to chase it away with worries about what was actually happening here between them.

‘Is it to do with your gift?'

He laughed, pressing his hand over the top of hers, so she felt his heart beating beneath her palm. ‘You're really persistent about this.'

‘Just curious. I guess I—' She broke off, a blush touching her cheeks. Ridiculous considering the fact they were lying next to each other naked. But she'd almost admitted how often in the past she'd imagined getting his shirt off him, and never once had he been tattooed in her mind. It's not like he couldn't guess how much she'd always wanted him, but she didn't need to advertise the fact.

He saved her from her embarrassment, either not noticing or pretending not to notice. ‘It's not for my gift.' He took a steady, slow breath, but even so, she felt his heart rate kicking up a little beneath her hand. ‘It's part of the protective magic for Ashworth Hall and Biddicote.'

‘Really? Why? What's it for?'

‘It's …' He licked his lips, easing slightly back, and she could feel her glasses shifting as a frown pulled at her eyebrows. ‘Whoever inherits Ashworth Hall also inherits the responsibility of anchoring the magic. Acting as a conduit of sorts. You know that, mostly, magic only resides in objects or places if it's been built with it by a witch with an alchemy affinity, or layered there from years and years of usage, or has the resonance from a rune. And that accounts for a lot of the framework, but the spells that get activated by a particularly big incident, they still need a focal point of live magic to draw from. The tattoo directs that.'

Kay lifted her hand, dislodging his, so she could examine the runes while she puzzled through what he was telling her. ‘Like a call-back function,' she said.

She recognised a couple of the runes: the yew tree, for protection; the cross which was linked to gifts but also generosity and helping others. There were more there, though, joined and overlapping each other in a special way, surrounded by a runic pattern she'd never seen before. All, right there, over his centre of magic. She couldn't say why exactly, but she wasn't sure she liked the idea.

‘On a phone?'

‘A little bit, I guess, but I was thinking more of something that's used in coding.'

‘Oh, then I have no idea.' He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes. ‘There's a lot we have no idea about … just that it's always worked in the past.'

He was looking tired again, and it was the middle of the night, so she pressed her lips together on a lot of questions and comments she wanted to make. Like questioning the sense of allowing your body to be tattooed with powerful magic just because it had ‘always worked' before. According to his family, no doubt. The same family who would influence his behaviour when he was a child to ensure he was upholding their legacy.

And why was this a secret from the rest of the community? Had no one wondered how it worked before, or was it as simple as them benefiting from it, and no one complaining, so no one bothered to ask? She certainly hadn't thought about it. But then she'd never really been aware of the extent to which Biddicote was protected until she went off to live outside of it.

‘If you were to have tattooed those drawings on me, would the influence have worked permanently?' she wondered out loud. ‘Is that how this works?'

‘No. There's more to it than that. Spelled ink, some of the runes are unique and we have no definitive record of them and precisely what they mean. There's a ritual, with intention too. It's a whole big thing. I'm sure there are magical tattooists, but the tenets would apply – you can't stay in a state of one mood or emotion permanently, it's not physiologically good for us, is it?'

‘But the witching tenets don't apply to the Ashworths and this tattoo?'

He was quiet for a moment. ‘The Witches' Council don't know about it.'

‘Why not?'

‘They're not very keen on the set-up in Biddicote as it is, apparently.'

‘What objection could they have to it?'

‘None they can admit openly. Biddicote's community is rare and, because of its respect for my family, the Council feel threatened by the sway we could hold if we chose to use it. They're waiting for an excuse to take control from us, to get their hands on the magical artifacts, some of the grimoires we have, but they can't just bulldoze their way in because the Ashworths own it. Or at least that's the way my father has put it. He doesn't trust them.' He pinched the bridge of his nose, lines appearing in his forehead. ‘I sometimes wonder if we'd be better off opening some access up to them, because if we shared information, maybe it would benefit all of us … but I have to respect my father's wishes on it.'

‘Until you're the head of the family, I suppose.'

Now his hand covered his whole face. ‘I don't want to even think about that.' He was pulling away from her mentally, the stress making his body tense in the way she'd noticed crept up on him regularly. Before, she'd assumed it was just about getting back to Biddicote, because what else could be wrong in Harry Ashworth's perfect life? It was amazing the lies you told yourself about someone when you were angry with them. Sure, there were a lot of benefits to being an influencer, and an Ashworth. But, also, a lot more complications than she'd ever guessed.

‘It's too late to think about anything,' she groaned, trying to lighten the mood. ‘I'm going to look like roadkill in the wedding photographs.'

‘Not possible,' he said, dropping his hand and curling her in tighter to him, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. ‘But it could be worse. We could have ended up as roadkill.'

‘True.' She turned her head, brushing her lips over the curve of his shoulder. It could have been a lot worse than ending up here, in his arms.