Page 78 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

“Oh, shit,” he, his father, and Hermes chorused.

“I’ve been around for over two millennia, you disrespectful child!” Brelenia stomped forward, intent on putting Elara in her place. Rage caused her amber eyes to glow gold, and her bejeweled fingers curled into fists. “You were selected for my son to make him happy and procreate. And yes, if that makes you a mindless baby-producing vessel, then you will accept your role as the Gods and the Fates see fit.”

“You can all go fuc?—”

Tripp covered Elara’s mouth, wrapped an arm around her waist, and teleported to his apartment. The earth was in distress, grumbling and groaning, sending his art collection crashing to the floor.

“Elara, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but if you don’t calm down, you’ll kill us all. And if you don’t, my mother will.” He shook her to snap her out of the spell weaving around them. The Trickster magic had merged with her heightened emotions and Titan magic, creating a problem on an epic scale. “I love you, and you’ll always have your agency. Any decisions will be made as a couple, and no one else will have a say.”

Her fight for control was valiant, and only the slightest panic showed in her troubled eyes. The building settled, and he looked toward the mountain, glad to see the smoke clearing. But the commotion in the streets below was ramping up, with people pointing and others running for safety. Drawing on his elemental power to influence others, he began the painstaking process of spreading calming energy.

Satisfied he’d done his best, he opened his eyes to find Elara watching him.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

“Remember when you said you do better with me as a mediator?”

She nodded.

“Well, it’s one of my special gifts. I’m able to manipulate energy and soothe heightened emotions.”

Frowning, she gestured to the window. “Mass hypnosis?”

“Something like that,” he said, smiling.

Her brows met in a scowl. “To be clear, you can manipulate people into doing what they don’t want. Is that right?”

Too late. He’d fallen into a trap of his own making.

“Elara, please listen.”

“No! Not if you’re weaving spells into your words!” She clapped her palms over her ears, and her voice was unnaturally loud when she asked, “What happens if you eventually decide you want children? Will you use your influence to change my mind?”

“No!” He pulled her hands away. “I told you, you have agency. Any decisions are mutual, flitter-mouse.”

For a prolonged moment, she stared at him, and Tripp held his breath.

“I don’t know if I should believe you,” she whispered, jerking away. “You’re saying you manipulated me in the past.”

The ground shook, and a crack formed on Main Street. It matched the one in his heart.

“Don’t do this. Please don’t question my intentions.” He reached for her hands, but she danced backward. “Elara, I promise you, I will always value your opinion and consider your feelings.”

“I need time to think,” she croaked.

The road’s fissure widened, and screams echoed from the street below.

“You know I’d give it to you if I could, but we don’t have it.” Recognizing the angst in his voice as desperate pleading, he cleared his throat and tried again. “If or when you commit to becoming my lifelong mate, I will transfer the ability to you.”

Her jaw dropped. “Gods can do that?”

“Yes, and I’ll see it’s done.”

With a distressed look, she nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Tripp Nightshade.

Ever the peacemaker.

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