Page 22 of Soul Bound

“You are the spitting image of her.” Esme moves across the room and I find myself taking precautionary steps backward, but I can’t go far since I’m now pressed against the bookshelf. My eyes dart to Ranger, but he doesn’t seem worried that Esme will hurt me. If anything, he seems calm.

“You’re shorter than her, and your eyes are different than hers…” She trails off as she lightly grips my face between her two hands. I could jerk away from them, but I stay still, eyeing the witch warily. “But you could be her twin.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Ranger speaks up, moving forward as well. “It could be purely a coincidence that they look similar,” he offers.

“No.” Esme shakes her head, and I notice her obsidian eyes are glassy with tears. “She’s Amara’s, Iknowit.”

“What?No.” Ranger shakes his head too. “Winslow has parents back wherever the hell she came from, isn’t that right?” He looks at me for confirmation, and I nod my head in agreement. “We talked about it, Esme, Winslow’s parents aren’t witches. They don’t have any powers. Right?”

My heart stills in my chest and I find myself blanching as a thought occurs to me. It’s something I don’t allow myself to think about often because I don’t like dwelling on what my life could have been if things had turned out differently for me. I lightly push Esme’s hands off my face and thankfully she allows me to, but she doesn’t move away. She stays right up in my personal space.

I give a guilty look to Ranger. “I have another secret.” It was true that I told him everything pertinent to him at the time, but it would seem I have to disclose another thing from my past to this perfect stranger.

He frowns and his eyes narrow at me. “What?”

“I was adopted.”

“What?”

“I didn’t think it was important!”

Esme and Ranger share a look before their gazes redirect to me. Each of them scanning me over like they’re seeing me in a new light. “I need your blood,” Esme suddenly says.

“Excuse me?” I jerk in surprise.

“I need to confirm this, don’t worry, it’s not a lot of blood.” She grips my wrist and starts pulling me toward the stairs. I look to Ranger for help, but he just holds up his hands and lets us pass. “Just a small prick of your finger is all I need.”

Esme doesn’t loosen her grip on me as she yanks me up the stairs. I stumble once, the toe of my boot catches on the lip of a step, but Ranger is there to stop me from falling forward. His strong hands grip my hips securely until I’m righted. I mumble a thanks at him over my shoulder, but he doesn’t say anything, his face is a stone mask.

She pushes a door open at the top of the stairs and we are let into a space that is the complete opposite of the shop below. It’s bright and airy up here, the walls are made of exposed brick and large windows line the front wall, letting in lots of morning sunlight. There’s another bookshelf pressed against a wall behind a large wood desk, but this one has less books but more jars of various herbs and things like feathers and twigs. An obnoxiously bright patterned runner covers most of the distressed hardwood floor. There aren’t any skulls on the walls up here, but instead, there are pretty abstract paintings and a couple hanging plants here and there.

She pulls me in the direction of the large worktable in the back of the room. There are several books on the table, left open to the last pages Esme had been reading. There are candles of different colors scattered across the surface, the wax has dripped down and is now adhered to the wood. I almost snort when I see the metal pot sitting in the middle of the table—of course, she would have a fuckingcauldron, she’s a witch after all.

Esme pushes me onto a stool that sits off to the side of the table and gives me a pointed look that screams‘sit down and don’t move’, before she takes off across the room, picking up random jars and items.

I tear my eyes away from her and turn to look at Ranger. My heart skips when I find he’s already staring at me. We hold eye contact for an amount of time I’m uncomfortable with. “What? Stop looking at me like that, I didn’t do anything.” I scoff.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were adopted when we were talking about your parents in the car?” He growls like he’s offended I kept information from him.

“Dude, I’ve known you liketwelvehours. I don’t know when or why you decided I needed to give you my life story, but I don’t. Plus, I don’t like to think about the fact I’m adopted much, it makes me sad.” I admit the last bit under my breath, but since he has super werewolf hearing, I know he heard me because his facial expression softens.

“Why does it make you sad?” He kneels down in front of the stool I’m sitting on, so we are more eye level.

Well shit, might as well be honest since it seems I’m not allowed to keep anything to myself, one way or another, he pulls my darkest secrets from me. “Because I like to think my life would have turned out a hell of a lot better if the Montgomerys never adopted me.”

Thinking about the what-ifs of my life makes my heart hurt for something that could have been. It makes me jealous of all the happy families I’ve seen before, making me feel bitter toward them even.

“Montgomery.” He grins. “Winslow Montgomery, I like it.”

I realize I just slipped and gave him my last name.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, being a Montgomery has worked out really well for me, it was all sunshine and rainbows being raised by them.” My words drip with sarcasm.

“They weren’t the picture-perfect parents?”

I shake my head and snort. “Hardly.”

He grips my wrist and his thumb finds the jagged scar again. “Did they have something to do with this?” he asks slowly like he’s trying not to be angry. I don’t know why the scars affect him so much, there’s nothing he could have done or could do now. What’s done is done and is now unfortunately forever stuck on my skin. I wonder how he’ll react when he finds out there are matching ones on my ankles too…

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