Page 98 of Bewitched By a Vampire

Night had been in a terrible mood with her for hours and had given his brother the cold shoulder. She wasn’t sure whether the two of them had spoken since Night had returned from the cabin.

She glanced at his hand and gently brushed the backs of her fingers across his. His head swivelled towards her and his scowl melted away, his expression softening as the hard edge left his eyes. He looked down at their hands and then back at the dark park that surrounded them.

“You should have rearranged this meeting,” he grumbled and that was the tenth time he had told her that.

“I tried. They insisted we meet tonight.” She wanted to reach for his hand again, but knew he would move it away this time, evading her touch. “I could have come alone. It would have been safer.”

He scoffed. “Safer? These witches tried to kill you, Lilian. They tried to kill me. If you think I would let you come here alone, without my protection, then you really don’t know how much I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered and risked it, stretching her hand towards his to brush his fingers again. He didn’t move his hand away, and some of the tension knotting her chest unravelled as he shifted his hand instead and took hold of hers. He held it tightly, silently telling her how much he cared about her and wanted to keep her safe. She squeezed his hand. “I have to try, Night.”

He didn’t understand that, and that was fine. As far as he was concerned, her coven was now their enemy, and he wished she could think that way too. But her coven was her family. They were all she had ever known. They had raised her and taken care of her, had been there for her through so many difficult times. It was hard to shake the love she felt for them or how deeply she needed them in her life.

Maybe she could make him understand her need to heal the rift between her and her family.

“Night…” She gazed down at their joined hands, avoiding his gaze as she gathered her strength, finding the courage to open her heart and let him in as he had with her. “My coven has been my family for over one hundred and fifty years. I know what they did—what they tried to do—but I can’t just turn my back on them… because they never turned their back on me.”

“What do you mean?” He paused and pulled her around to face him, and when she still didn’t have the courage to look at him, he cupped her cheek with his free hand and tilted her head up, forcing her to lock gazes with him. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at her, his gaze soft and filled with yearning—a need for her to tell him.

She swallowed her nerves and said, “My mother passed away two decades ago. I never knew my father. My mother didn’t speak about him much, but the other witches who were around at the time I was conceived told me that she never reached out to him to tell him that she was pregnant.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer to her, curiosity brightening his striking ice-blue eyes.

“None of them knew, until… until I accidentally discovered my talent for reading memories in blood.” She tightened her grip on his hand, needing to feel he was there for her and that he wouldn’t pull away. He wasn’t a witch. He wouldn’t view this as a black mark. Not like so many others had. She held his gaze, needing to see it for herself though. “That talent only runs in dark magic bloodlines. My father… he was of the dark. That was why my mother never contacted him. Our coven is of the light. Dark magic is forbidden. She must have feared he would come for me and want to be a family, and that she would be exiled from the one that had raised her and had always been there for her.”

Night’s expression hardened. “They didn’t exile you?”

She shook her head. “No. I feared they would, but Beatrice, our coven leader, summoned me to her office and she was…nice… to me. I went in there braced for something awful, expecting it to happen, that I was going to lose my family just as my mother had feared losing it, but Beatrice told me that I was part of the coven, that I was as important to it and loved by it as any other member, and maybe even more so because of my newfound talent.”

And it had felt good to hear that.

“She gave you a purpose,” he murmured and his gaze lowered, turning pensive.

Lilian nodded. Beatrice had given her purpose and a direction, just as Night had been given one when he had begun working in the field for the Preux Chevaliers.

“You must see why I have to do this, Night. We’re not so different. What would you do if the Preux Chevaliers kicked you out and there was something you could do that might clear your name with them—with your brother—and allow you to return to them?”

He looked as if he was chewing on a wasp now, upset that she had found a way to make him see how important this was to her and how desperate she was. She was well aware of what they had done to her, and to him, and part of her felt she shouldn’t forgive them. The rest of her wanted to try. She knew it was foolish, but she had to try. Even if they didn’t take her back, if she could clear his name and stop them from coming after him, it would be worth it.

Her hand fell to the pocket in her black dress and the glass bottle in it had never felt so heavy. A lot rested on the potion it contained. Elissa had helped her harvest her memories and distil them into liquid form so Beatrice could see them with her own eyes. Pure, unfiltered memories. Beatrice would see everything she had, which made her doubly glad she had left Night’s memories before she had shown up in them.

He sighed. “I would try.”

She tiptoed and kissed him for that, stealing a little comfort and reassurance at the same time. When she pulled back, he still didn’t look impressed, but at least he knew why this was important to her now. Sharing a little about her past with him had felt good, and when they were done with this meeting, she was going to tell him more things about when she had been growing up and all the mischief she had caused. She was sure he would like to hear it.

Plus, she wanted to hear if he had been naughty at all while growing up.

Night led the way through the park to the fountain where she had agreed to meet Beatrice. Her nerves rose with each step she took that brought her closer to that point and she struggled to tamp them down. She could do this. She wouldn’t be alone. Despite her protests, Night had insisted on remaining at her side during the meeting. She had tried to convince him to hide in the shadows of the trees that lined the open patch of green, but he had refused. She could understand that too. He wanted to protect her and he didn’t trust her coven—or witches in general—so he wouldn’t cower and hide from them.

They reached the fountain, an elegant circular one that filled the night with the sound of rushing water, and she drew down a breath. Night glanced at her and squeezed her hand before releasing it. He reached beneath his black suit jacket.

Checking his weapons?

He had gone to speak with Snow before they had left, and had returned with two short swords, and had fashioned a holster for them so he could wear them under his jacket, hidden from mortal eyes.

And witch ones.

He didn’t want Beatrice to know he was armed.

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