Page 14 of The Witch's Rite
But if Aurora wants me and I want her, does it matter if she shares her heart with another?
“Do you have space enough in your heart for both of us?” I ask.
Her eyes remain lit with surprise.
And I’m no less surprised. If Belinda had raised the same conversation with me, I would’ve been a maelstrom of anger and hurt. But I’m not the same man that I was back then. Aurora helped heal the wound I cradled in my chest for years and years, and I won’t lose her over something like this.
Instead of answering me, Aurora slips out of her kitchen chair and into my lap. She perches on my knee, her hands coming up to cradle my face. And when she kisses me, it’s slow, soft. And in her kiss, I feel rather than hear the answers to all my questions.
Her hair is like silk against the backs of my fingers as I push it away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. “So long as you want me,” I whisper into her ear, “I’m here.” Then I pull away and arch a brow at her. “Even if it means sharing you with a bloody knight.”
Another tear slips from her summer-green eye, but she’s smiling now, and I can almostseeher gloomy gray aura returning to its vibrant yellow shade. Maybe I’m learning something from my little witch.
I kiss the few remaining tears from her cheeks, and somehow, I still feel whole.
And I’m still wholly in love with her.
Chapter 12
Rowan
I’VE NOT BEEN ABLE TO get Aurora Silvermoon out of my head. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I tasted her naked skin beneath the moonlight, yet it feels as though it’s been days, weeks,yearssince I last saw her.
What have I gotten myself into?
I look down at the sunflowers held in my hand. I purchased them from a traveling merchant in the town square, thinking they looked happy, like Aurora.
And now I’m walking a dirt path, trying to locate her cottage, which one of the locals told me is at the end of Brookside Road. I found the signpost—it was slightly askew and partially hidden by shrubbery, but the bright yellow words painted on it were hard to miss—and now I’m putting one foot in front of the other, questioning myself the whole way.
Aurora was with the carpenter at the festival, yet she made love to me with abandon. I don’t know what to think,won’tknow what to think until I talk to her. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Even if the sight of her cottage at the end of the lane frightens me more than riding into battle for the glory of Wysteria. Who knew one small woman could be so terrifying.
Just like the words painted on the signpost, Aurora’s cottage is a sunny yellow. The windows are open, and I can just barely see the pale drapes billowing inside in the breeze. Already, something about the cottage feels comforting, welcoming, like anyone who stops here will be gifted a dozen cookies and a kitten in a basket.
Not that I’d turn them away. I love kittens. And cookies. But I’m partial to kittens.
Movement on the porch catches my eye. It’s a white cat sitting on the railing, long tail swishing back and forth. It looks at me closely, green eyes vibrant against its snow-white face.
“Hey, kitty.” Worries momentarily forgotten, I approach the cat, hand held out.
But before I can touch it, it leaps off the rail, sails down the porch stairs, and sprints around the side of the cottage. I’m still standing there, feeling a bit dejected, when a soft voice drifts to me on the warm breeze.
“Who’s here? Theknight?”
My chest squeezes tight. I know that voice. It’s Aurora’s voice.
But who’s she talking to?
Gathering up my courage—I’m a knight, for goodness’ sake—I walk toward the side of the cottage, following the path the cat took. And as I step around the corner, a beautiful garden bursts into view.
Followed by a woman with green eyes and hair to match.
“R-Rowan,” Aurora says, lifting a hand to her floppy brown hat as she stands from beside a raised bed. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
I follow the path to the garden gate, my eyes going wide as I step into what looks very much like a jungle in the middle ofFaunwood. The garden boxes are overflowing with all manner of plants—tomato vines not yet weighed down with fruit, onion greens stretching toward the sun, spinach leaves that look plush and soft enough to make a bed upon.
Aurora must’ve cast a spell over this garden, for none other in Faunwood is nearly so abundant as this.
