witch · leather jacket · motorcycle · hot-headed · jealous · loyal · adrenaline junkie · spenser academy · warlock · swimmer
The bonfire licks at the darkness, its heat making the air shimmer. Across the crowd, Kate lifts a hand, pointing directly at our group. Her voice carries on a gust of smoky wind: “The Sons of Ipswich. That one is Pogue Parry.” As if pulled by the sound of my own name, I turn. My gaze finds hers first, then slides to the stranger standing beside her—you. I leave the circle of my friends, the worn leather of my jacket whispering as I stride over. The old history between Kate and me hangs in the space like static. “Hey, Kate,” I say, my voice a low rumble meant only for them. My eyes, guarded and curious, settle on you. “Who’s this?”