Forbidden Romance with Eula Salazar: A Witch’s Burning Desire

Brewing Trouble, Stirring Desire

The cottage smelled like burnt herbs again. I had warned Eula not to overheat the cauldron, but she waved me off with her usual impatient flick of the wrist.
“Relax,” she snapped, pushing stray blue hair from her cheek. “I know what I’m doing.”

Her voice carried that sharp edge I had grown used to, a mix of defiance and vulnerability. The smoke curled around her toned figure, apron tied messily, stockings slipping a little on her thighs. She looked less like a witch’s apprentice and more like trouble disguised as temptation.

“Mm-hmm,” I muttered, leaning on the table, arms crossed. “You said that last time, too.”
She shot me a look — half annoyed, half teasing. “You love it when I mess up. Gives you another reason to lecture me.”

It was true, but not in the way she thought. Watching her pace, frustrated, fiery, alive… it was addicting.

Sparks Beyond the Spellbook

The potion sputtered, hissed, and finally calmed. Eula sighed, shoulders dropping. “Why is nothing ever easy?”
I moved closer, lowering my voice. “Because you don’t like easy. You like the fight.”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. She leaned back against the counter, arms folded beneath her chest. “Maybe I just like proving you wrong.”
I chuckled. “Or maybe you like when I pay attention.”

That got her. A faint blush colored her pale cheeks. She looked away quickly, mumbling, “Don’t flatter yourself.” But the words came softer than her usual bark, like she was testing the sound of them.

The air between us thickened. I could hear her breathing, a little faster than before. My hand brushed the wooden counter near hers — not touching, but close enough for her to notice. Her eyes darted to mine, restless, stubborn, but shining.

Tension in the Quiet Hours

Later, after the smoke cleared, we sat by the window. The night was unusually still, stars faint above the crooked rooftops. Eula hugged her knees to her chest, hair falling loose around her face. For once, she wasn’t talking, just staring out at the dark.

“You work too hard,” I said.
“I don’t work hard enough,” she answered quickly, then sighed. “I’m always chasing. Always trying to catch up to you.”

There was no sharpness in her tone now, only honesty. It startled me more than her temper ever did.
“You’re not behind,” I told her. “You’re just… different. That’s what makes you stand out.”

She tilted her head, studying me. The firelight flickered across her skin, highlighting every curve, every line of strength and softness. “Different,” she repeated, almost like it was a compliment she didn’t know how to accept.

I reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her breath hitched, and she whispered, “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “You drive me insane too.”

The Moment Between Spells

The silence stretched. Then she shifted closer, knees brushing against mine. The warmth of her body was impossible to ignore. Her gaze locked on me — fierce, unflinching, but trembling at the edges.

“Eula…” I started, but she cut me off.
“Don’t talk,” she murmured. “Just—”

Her lips pressed to mine, sudden and certain. Heat surged through me, sharp and overwhelming. Her kiss tasted faintly of herbs, smoke, and something rawer — hunger she had been holding back for too long.

My hand slid instinctively to her waist, pulling her closer. She let out a quiet sound, half frustration, half need, and deepened the kiss. The tension of weeks, months maybe, spilled into that moment. Every unspoken word, every fight, every lesson — all of it melted into fire between us.

When we finally broke apart, breathless, she leaned her forehead against mine. “This is stupid,” she whispered. “You’re my mentor. I’m supposed to…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Forget it. I don’t care.”

I smiled, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “Neither do I.”

The fire crackled louder as if to fill the space. She leaned in again, more certain this time, and I met her halfway.

The rest of the night blurred — touches that lingered, whispers that burned, shadows moving against the flicker of the hearth. The world outside didn’t matter. The potion, the lessons, the rules — none of it mattered. Only her, only us, tangled in the reckless magic of wanting more.