Chapter 8: Gone with the Wind
Sam's POV
He must be out of his mind.
Never had a woman taken him over so thoroughly, mind, body, and soul.
And they hadn't even touched.
Sam shook his head to clear it as he marched through the pasture. It was dark, the grass dewy underfoot.
This woman, a first year student at the school where he was the dean, must have bewitched him. His grandfather had always warned him to beware of witches. They could lay all sorts of spells and hexes on a body.
Maybe that was that rotten smell.
But he had to admit he hadn't smelled that scent on Ophelia. No, she had smelled like fresh rain on earth. She smelled clean and healthy and so, so alive. He figured a witch would smell like carrion, like that rotten, dying smell that he had scented today. It made sense.
But Ophelia.
Ophelia had such a firm grip on him already, and he had only known her name for an hour. The thought of her sent his heart thundering in his chest.
She had been so close.