Page 27 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Her employer, Farriner, discovered the bejeweled slippers and locked her in the pantry, believing the maid had stolen them from one of the upstanding citizens he did business with. His daughter was sent to fetch the constable, but stumbling around in the dark shop, she set it ablaze.”

“What happened to the maid?”

“She perished in the fire, though Farriner, his son, and his flighty daughter made good their escape.”

With her hands pressed to her mouth, Elara released a distressed cry Tripp felt to his soul. Or maybe it was the remembered grief of his loss.

“Oh, Tripp! I’m so sorry.” Reaching across the side table, she gripped his hand. “Truly.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, brushing aside her kindness.

Once again, the maid’s large, expressive eyes flashed through his mind. She and Elara were so close in appearance that they could be sisters. Was that his attraction for Elara? Had her resemblance to his lover triggered his memory and made him experience a fondness he wouldn’t otherwise feel? It bore further consideration.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

Her face superimposed over the maid’s, and recognition struck him. With a nagging suspicion, he lifted her left hand, brushed back her sleeve, and checked inside her elbow. Not expecting to find his lover’s birthmark, Tripp swore when he saw it. Shaped like a kidney bean, it was two shades darker than her regular skin.

Just like…

Elaina.

The name drifted through his mind along with the memory of what he’d called her.

Flitter-mouse.

He dropped Elara’s arm and leaped to his feet. “I must go.”

“Tripp? What’s wrong?”

How did one broach the subject to a potential lover that she was a replica of another woman he’d once held affection for?

They didn’t. Not if he ever expected to spend time in her bed.

The eery feeling of being watched skated along his skin, and Tripp glanced through her bedroom doorway. Hex appeared superior and satisfied by the unfolding events, the little shit.

“Tripp?” Elara rose and placed her hand on his chest. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Those goddamned boots,” he snarled. “Get rid of them, Elara. The sooner, the better.”

Like the variest coward, he raced for the closest exit. Then, realizing he wasn’t on the first floor, Tripp pivoted away from the deck slider and stalked to the apartment door.

“I mean it.”

CHAPTER TEN

Tripp Nightshade.

That arrogant bastard!

Two days had passed since he stormed out of Elara’s apartment with his stupid dictate to get rid of her precious boots. Everywhere she looked, he was lurking around corners, ducking away if she made eye contact, and running for the closest exit.

Much the way she had reacted to him until recently.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

It would be funny if it weren’t pathetic. The man believed he was the son of a deity. Initially, his claim felt, well,rightsomehow. It justified those otherworldly looks and his undeniable magnetism for anyone from birth to death. It also explained why every time they kissed, the heavens rumbled, the ground shook beneath their feet, and the eternal call of love echoed within their souls, urging them on.

Or maybe those things only happened to her.

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