Page 15 of The Witch's Rite
“Wow,” I whisper, turning in a circle. Everywhere I look, plants and flowers dance in the light breeze, and the low hum of bees lends a pleasant ambience to the space. “This is”—I turn to look at Aurora, and only one word comes to mind—“beautiful.”
Immediately, her freckled cheeks flush a warm shade of pink. I only now take notice of her grass-stained skirt and the smudge of dirt on her nose, but I opt not to tell her. It’s much too charming, and she’ll surely wipe it away.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
My eyes track down to the white cat sitting at her feet. Was the cat the one she was talking to?
“How’d you know it was me?” I ask.
She blinks, then casts her gaze to the cat. “Harrison told me.”
Harrison. I thought so. And that confirms that Aurora is a witch, as I suspected from the first time I saw her green hair. In all my years, the only women I’ve ever known to have colorful hair are witches—and they often have companions as well, which I’m assuming Harrison to be.
At least that’s one question answered. But it’s not the one I came to ask.
I hold up the sunflowers, and Aurora’s eyes widen. “I hoped I could entice you into going for a walk with me.”
“Do you mean to trade the sunflowers for my time?” she asks, lips quirking up.
“Precisely.” I chuckle, averting my eyes from hers for a moment lest she make me burst into flame. “What do you say?”
A breeze catches Aurora’s long braid, and a few tendrils of hair sweep across her cheek. She looks down at the flowers in my outstretched hand, then back at me. Just being in her proximity makes me feel like I’m standing atop a mountain in a lightning storm, like any moment now a bolt of white-hot light will come streaking out of the sky and strike me right through the heart.
But in a good way, of course.
“I say...” She steps forward, and when she takes the sunflowers from my hand and her fingers brush mine, I swear my hair stands on end from her electricity. “It’s a fair trade.”
She lifts the sunflowers to her nose and draws in a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. Then Aurora scurries into the house to place the sunflowers in a vase of water, and I’m left standing outside with Harrison.
“Will you let me pet you?” I ask him, holding out my hand again. But for the second time, he runs off, and this time his rejection definitely feels like I took an arrow right through my chest plate. Funny how cats can do that.
When Aurora returns a moment later, she’s removed her floppy hat and her hair is free of its braid, all wavy and hanging past her elbows. Thankfully, she’s still got the dirt smudge on her nose. It’s just too damn cute.
“Where would you like to walk?” she asks.
“You tell me.” I cast my eyes to the trees towering over her cottage. “I don’t know these woods yet.”
Aurora gets a little smile, her lips pulling up in the corners. “I know just the place.”
We set off into the trees together. As we walk, I try to shorten my strides to match hers, and I’m looking down when I realize she’s barefoot—and now that I think about it, she didn’t have boots on at the Beltane festival either. Seeing her tiny toes pressing into the grass reminds me of the way they curled on the tree stump while I tasted her.
I’m tight in my trousers now and have to clear my throat in an effort to banish the image from my mind.
“Do you always walk barefoot in the woods?” I ask by way of distracting myself.
Her laughter is light and free. “I try to. I go barefoot as early as I can in the spring and stay this way until late in the fall.” Pausing, she closes her eyes, her toes wriggling in the grass. “I feel her better this way.”
I furrow my brow. “Who?”
One of Aurora’s eyes opens, and she smiles. “Mother Earth. Here, try it.”
Before I can stop her, she’s kneeling before me, unlacing my sturdy boots and yanking them off my feet. The next thing I know, I’m standing with my bare feet on the ground. It’s colder than I thought it’d be, and the grass is still a bit damp with dew despite the time of day.
“Close your eyes,” she says.
All I want to do is stare at her, but I oblige, closing my eyes. “Now what?”
“Try to be still. Feel the earth under your feet. If you listen close enough, you might just feel her heartbeat.”
