Page 44 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Oh, shut up.”

Her grouchiness was funnier than her swearing, and Tripp bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his laughter. He rolled his head to the side and watched her animated visage as she worked through best-case scenarios.

“Do I go as far away from here as possible? Would that save Witchmere?” she asked.

“Wherever we go, disaster will follow.” And the truth was depressing as hell.

“Not we. Me. With the boots.” She shifted to face him, expression bordering on desperation. “I don’t want you to get hurt any more than I want Payton and the rest of our town to suffer.”

Giving into his desire, Tripp stroked her petal-soft cheek. “I don’t know the answer, flitter-mouse. But I suspect running will only make it worse at this juncture. The mountain will blow unless we find a way to combine our powers and those of a few others.”

“These boots amplify my magic. That’s a good thing, right?”

She appeared so hopeful Tripp hated to crush her optimism, but he had no choice. “They do, but it’s amplified in a bad way. Nothing good ever comes from Trickster enchantments.”

“The question is, what will satisfy the spell?” She rose and poured them wine after offering him a drink. Returning, she handed off a glass and curled on the sofa beside him. “Lust, love, friendship?”

Sipping his wine, he considered the problem.

“I’ve offered all three over the years,” he said. “Individually and together.”

“Okay, so it needs something more. What haven’t you ever given of yourself?”

Commitment.

The word burned into his brain as if branded by another. He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. There was no point in speaking up and rehashing the fact about gods and mortals mixing. Elara had heard it before and wasn’t expecting anything from him.

He frowned.

She never had. Not in any lifetime before. Was her issue the lack of assumption? Did the Tricksterwanther to depend on Tripp? And how had her lack of faith in him altered his perception of what she wanted or needed in the past?

“What haven’t you given of yourself in return?” he asked softly.

She appeared startled, as he had when she’d mentioned it. Shaking her head, she said, “How should I know? I don’t remember any previous lifetimes. You’re the one who finds me, according to Hermes.”

Tripp sat straighter and shuffled through his memories.

“You’re right. You moved to Witchmere first, and I gravitated toward this area. The same happened with Elaina, Élise, and the others.”

“Okay, that’s a clue, right?” Once again, her optimism surfaced. “There has to be a reason you find each incarnation of me.”

“Maybe.” But why? And more importantly, how? Was his attachment to her similar to a tracking device? “It makes me sound like a stalker,” he muttered.

Elara grinned.

“I want to kiss you so badly,” he confessed. “I’m going to lose man points by saying it, but I’m afraid if I do, it will cause a natural disaster.”

Cupping his face, she brushed his nose with hers. “I get it. No kissing until we resolve the problem of the boots.”

“Hermes sure knows how to torture a guy.”

She laughed and released him to gather their glasses, but Tripp caught her wrist and drew her back down, settling her on his lap.

“I’m sorry you’re caught up in this mess, Elara. If I could spare you and Witchmere, I would.”

“It seems I’m a sucker for pretty shoes in every lifetime,” she replied with a sigh. “It’s not your fault, Tripp.”

“No, it’s not. I’m blaming Hermes and my mother for their inability to consider another’s feelings or the lives of mortals.”

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