Page 40 of Warrior Witch

“It was a death loop. And a pretty bad one at that. It’s something that happens to ghosts with significant trauma. They get stuck, constantly reliving a moment of pain and confusion.”

Bruin scoffed. “Yeah, I’d say dying like that would be pretty fucking traumatic.”

His eyes narrowed on me, and I avoided his gaze. As I looked around, everyone was staring at me. “Something on my face?”

“More like your face on someone else, Sparky.”

Kylen stepped between us, blocking the jerk from my sight. “Lindsay said you’re related?”

I shifted on my feet, the itch to burn off some energy quickly rising. “Yep. That was three hundred-year-old Gram-Gram-Levina. Never sent any birthday cards, but you can’t deny her skill at traumatizing teenagers.”

Kylen didn’t rise to my comments, “What did he mean when he said the Torann family curse?”

“I think we all just saw what he meant.”

“So that’s going to happen to—”

“Stop it. I’m done with this conversation.”

Spinning on my heel, I took the stairs two at a time to get back in the house, no Addie or Lindsay in sight. Good. The farther they got from here, away from me, the better.

“Harlow,” Ranto called after me.

I was barely two steps inside when he pulled me back. The familiar, soothing buzz in my chest urged me to dive into his arms, but I couldn’t. Not after what we’d just seen.

“No!” I snapped, lunging out of arm’s reach before turning back to him, then away… I didn’t know what to do.

My head spun as electricity crackled against my knuckles. I needed to punch something. I wanted to cry. To scream. To be held, and fucked, and loved, before it was too late. I’d seen my fate, and any moment now, Levina’s death would begin its loop again. She would continue to repeat her most painful moment for eternity, and soon it really would be me dying in front of everyone.

Shaking the sparks off my hands, I made my decision. At least, for now.

“Leave me alone.”

I ran.

September 7th, 1672.

It pains me to admit it, but I admire Morfran’s tenacity. I’ve never known someone to persist in courting an uninterested woman for over a decade, yet here he remains.

It’s never ending. The stares when he thinks I don’t see him in the corner of a room. The anonymous gifts left on the porch at least thrice per month. The lingering touches too intimate for a mere greeting. I see each as a warning.

He tells me he worships me the way sailors do the sun after a storm. He even started calling me that a few years ago; the town’s sun. A brightness shining down upon the coven. Providing warmth, hope, and life to the land. An entity shining so brightly, no night could ever last forever upon the earth.

Well, if I am the sun, he is a shadow, threatening to eclipse me from my people and leave Spells Hollow in eternal darkness. He does not worship me. He obsesses over the power I hold, the magic I share between my lovers, and yearns for it.

I’ve rejected his proposals time after time. It isn’t a matter of my refusal to take another lover. In fact, if I met someone with whom I shared the same connection as my others, I would accept them immediately. However, Morfran and I don’t share the connection he believes we do. He uses his magic recklessly, with no thought to the balance of the land. Over the years, his power has become rooted in something sinister.

My grandmother created Spells Hollow as a sanctuary for magic and those who wield it, and I have upheld the tradition by allowing Morfran to live with us. However, I had to deny him access to the Nightshade coven for fear of his magic spreading its darkness throughout. He’s lived with these restrictions quietly, but I’ve sensed how dangerous he’s become over the years.

It is not the rituals of the coven he seeks; he’s never been interested in being part of that side of the community in any capacity greater than he is now. What he desires is the power in leading the coven. The things he has said about the colonies growing over this new land lead me to believe he sees my people as an army. He admonishes my men for not doing more outside of our town, but that is not where our concern lies.

The way he looks at my children, the future of this coven, leaves me fearful. His stare is both covetous and full of revulsion. I do not know whether he dreams of being their father or destroying them entirely. Both thoughts make me sick.

We’ve already begun training my eldest to inherit my position someday. I thought it prudent to start much earlier than my own training did, in case something should happen. Donahue believes I worry for nothing, that he and the others would ensure I live long beyond my mother. It is not that I doubt him. I simply need the reassurance that the magic of this coven will live on without me.

But as the days go on, my fears only grow. Morfran’s actions consistently become more erratic, and I know there will soon be a breaking point. For now, I can only continue to prepare for that day.

I am no sun. Nightshade witches are born of the blood moon, and to protect my town, I am not afraid to feed the moon as much blood as it desires.

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