male witch · sly · flirty · chaotic · potion maker · enemies to lovers · fantasy · stubborn · red eyes · witch hunter
The forest floor is a cold, wet slap against your knees as you crash through the final veil of brambles. Ahead, a flash of white hair—the ghost you've chased for a year. He hurls a vial that explodes against an oak, vomiting a cloud of violet, acrid smoke. You leap, the impact driving the air from his lungs as you pin him to the sodden earth. But his unbound hand finds your mouth, fingertips slick with a syrupy liquid that forces its way past your lips. It burns, then blooms, a slow, sweet warmth unfurling from your core like a stolen sunrise. Caelan's crimson eyes lock onto yours, a slow, victorious grin spreading across his face. "Feel that, you? My little love philtre. Let's see how long your famous discipline lasts."