Page 48 of Waltzing With Witches

My chest tightens remembering that day.

“Harpy venom is something like an infection. It’s always fatal at some point, although it kills some monsters faster than others.” I glance at Morgan, but she’s frozen to the spot, her mouth dropped open.

I rush on, anxious to get the full story out. “I managed to convince her that I was a friend, and she stayed in my home for months in secret. We became friends, and I learned what a smart, kind monster she actually is. Eventually, she felt comfortable enough to leave my house and begin to join the society in the training haven. She became well-liked, even loved, and eventually she applied to work for the Hearth.”

“Holy shit,” Morgan whispers. “You’re talking about Moira, aren’t you?”

I nod.

“But wait,” she sputters. “You’re still alive, and you were engaged to her for a bit. How did that come about?!”

“Harpies don’t typically live in havens,” I remind her gently. “Most are predatory and carnivorous to other monsters. Evenia wasn’t inclined to allow Moira into the training program she applied for, so she and I cooked up a plan to get married in name only. Being my betrothed opened doors for her that gave her a chance to shine. She’s something of a darling at HQ these days.”

Morgan’s brows scrunch together. “But what about you? What did you get out of this entire arrangement?”

I sigh. “Well, the idea was that working for the Hearth would give Moira access to resources I didn’t have, even as a Keeper. She has always hunted for a cure for the infection she gave me that first day. But there isn’t one. I’ve looked for it myself ever since.”

Morgan sputters. “So that’s it. You’re infected with…some harpy poison. And that’s why you never called me?”

I nod. “I didn’t call you because I knew I’d be a man obsessed if you were within my reach. Moira has provided me with a potion to dull my bond and emotions for years. But when your parents died, and I broke down and called you, she encouraged me to lean into our bond. She believes it’s fate that I called you anyhow.”

I resist the urge to stroke a strand of red hair away from her forehead. “So here we are. I’ve driven you away in every way I could, and those are the reasons.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demands, anger overtaking the shock she must have initially felt.

I shake my head. “I made up some excuse for the wound. Nobody knows what Moira did to me. If they did, they’d kick her out of the system. I can’t risk it, and I don’t blame her for it. She has fought tirelessly every day since to find a cure.”

Morgan takes a few steps away and then starts pacing like a caged lion. “So she gets all this great benefit from your choices, and you, what? You get to watch her while dealing with the consequences of her actions?”

I run both hands through my hair. “I suppose you could look at it like that, Morgan, but I try not to. She is the only person I really call a friend. We’ve tried hundreds of cures over the decades that have passed.”

Morgan huffs and puts both hands on her waist, still pacing back and forth in front of me. “I’m a doctor and a black witch. It didn’t occur to you that I could maybe help?”

“This isn’t a human infection,” I remind her gently. “And Moira and I went to a well-known harpy black witch from her tribe once a few decades ago. She confirmed there is no cure for this.”

“So, that’s it, then?” Morgan snaps. “You’ve accepted that there’s nothing to be done?”

“I made peace with it a long time ago,” I say gently. “And now, I focus on doing as much good for my haven as I can.”

She throws both hands up in the air. “I can’t accept that! It’s not in my nature to accept it, and I don’t want you to ask me to!”

“Morgan, come here,” I command, crooking my fingers at her.

Her nostrils flare, but she obeys, stepping close enough for me to touch. I grab both of her hands and slide them up the front of my shirt to rest against my upper stomach. Her fingers curl and rub against my abs, sending warmth spreading lazily through me. This is selfish, so selfish to put her hands on me after what I told her.

And I can’t help it.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Close your eyes and tell me what your magic says.” I rub the back of her hands with my fingers.

Her eyes search mine for a moment. When she closes them, I admire the chocolate lashes that fan against her cheeks. Her nose is long and elegant, pale freckles peppering the bridge and the tip. High cheekbones accentuate a pink bow mouth, her lower lip far plumper than the upper.

She’s so hauntingly beautiful, I can barely stand it. I’ll never get to have more than what we have right now, but her hands on my body are utter, pure bliss.

I can’t feel her magic in any tangible way, but I sense it probing and searching along my skin. She doesn’t have control of it necessarily, but then again, black magic isn’t controlled like the other types. It simply is, and black witches learn to direct it through regular use.

She hisses in a breath, yanking her hands out of my shirt as she steps back. Her chest heaves, eyes wild. “That’s…I don’t know how to even explain that.”

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