Page 71 of The Witch's Shifter
“She has a headache,” Selene says. One of her silver brows gets pointy at the end. “Supposedly. But she said she may come by later if she feels better.”
I’m not sure if I feel relieved or disappointed. After my conversation with her, I can’t say I was looking forward to welcoming her back into my home. But in the same vein, I don’t want to feel afraid of her, and I certainly don’t want to let herpoor opinions of me and my lifestyle negatively impact this day, a day I’ve been looking forward to since Auntie last closed her eyes and made her trip to the Otherside.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear it.” I give Selene a little smile. She smiles back and rolls her eyes. “Tell me, Wyland,” I say as I step back and open the door wide for them to come inside, “does Selene ever get ‘headaches’ that prevent her from doing things she’d really rather not do?”
My brother-in-law gives me a conspiratorial smile as he steps into the foyer. “Selene? Using headaches to avoid tiresome activities and social engagements? No,never.”
I smirk, then close the door with a click. “Mm-hmm. Of course not.”
While the men—well, Wyland, Rowan, and Alden—play with Fletcher and exchange easy conversation before the fire in the parlor, Selene and I begin our preparations for the ritual. Faolan is around, but he mostly lurks quietly, leaning in doorways and watching our two groups from a distance, like he’s not quite sure yet where his place is. And that’s okay. I figure it will take him some time to settle in, to find a rhythm here that feels comfortable. If he just wants to linger in corners and listen from a distance, I’m okay with that. All I want is himhere, and that’s exactly where he is.
When I glance over my shoulder at one point and catch his gaze from the foyer, a rush of heat goes through me, and his eyes narrow in response. Inside, I feel his hunger, the heat that burns through our bond. It’s an inferno, but unlike the painful heat that burned through me when Faolan marked my skin, this heat holds no pain. It must show on my face, for Selene flicks her gazetoward the doorway, then gets that little smile that means she just realized something.
I’m not sure I’veeversuccessfully hidden something from my older sister.
“What?” I ask, turning away from Faolan’s heated gaze to continue rolling out dough for the pies we’re preparing. Auntie’s favorite was apple cinnamon, so that’s what we’re making. Part of the ritual includes setting up a sacred space and an altar, and we plan to heap it full with Auntie’s favorite foods—including breads, pies, and other baked goods.
Baking these pies reminds me of standing right here beside her while she rolled out dough with the same rolling pin and I stole apple wedges and giggled without a care in the world. Such simple memories have become so dear to me in Auntie’s absence.
“He’s been staring at you like that all afternoon.” Selene doesn’t look at me, just keeps rolling her dough out in the patch of sunlight coming through the window. “It’s... powerful, to say the least. Like he’s... attached to you.”
“Well,” I say, keeping my voice low, though I know Faolan will hear. “He sort of is.”
I stop rolling the pin along the dough and push my hair back over my shoulder, then pull down the high neck of the long-sleeved black dress I’m wearing. With the fabric tugged aside, my scar—Faolan’s claiming mark—is on full display.
Selene gasps. Suddenly, her fingers are skating across my neck, their cold touch sending goose bumps down my back.
“He marked you,” she whispers. “Which means...” Pulling back, she stares into my eyes. “You’re bonded now. Claimed.”
I nod once, letting the fabric slip back into place, hiding the fresh pink skin.
“Does it feel different?” she asks.
“I can feel his emotions now,” I say. “He told me mated shifters can hear each other’s thoughts, but we can’t, maybe because I’m a witch.” One of my shoulders lifts in a shrug. “Still, it’ll take some getting used to.”
There’s a long pause—long enough I meet her eyes and find a mischievous quirk to her lips.
“So, what was he just feeling? When he was looking at you like that?”
In response, my cheeks flood with heat, and Selene laughs, the sound light and buoyant and like twinkling stars on a clear winter night.
“That’s what I thought,” she says.
As she gets back to rolling out dough, she bumps me with her hip, just like when we were young and used to bake side by side, tasting every cookie and scoop of dough before it even had a chance to make it into the fire.
With her at my side, giggling in this little cottage kitchen, I’m overcome with a feeling of completion, of beinghome.
And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Chapter 37
Aurora
AS EVENING DESCENDS UPON BROOKSIDE, the fires burning bright, Selene and I begin the process of cleansing our space. Gwynn is perched atop the parlor mantel, and Harrison watches from his spot on the back of the couch. The men, including Faolan, hang back, watching from a distance as we burn sage and set clear intentions for the ritual. Even Fletcher is quiet in Wyland’s arms, staring with wide blue eyes reflecting the firelight.
I imagine Wyland has watched Selene perform rituals—she often communes with the moon and her chosen deities—but the others have never seen me perform my magic in such a way. Some witches prefer flashy displays of their power, wielding it in manners so as to inspire awe or fear in others, but I’ve never been one of them. I like my little spells to help the garden grow, or my blessings and communions with the fairies, but something so elaborate as this is different, even for me.
Selene and I move about the parlor in a clockwise direction, to welcome energy into the space rather than sending it away.Our hair is tied back in braids, and we each wear a long black dress. Selene’s dark blue eyes look onyx in the low light, and the expression on her face is so solemn, sofocused. Seeing the intensity with which she’s committing herself to this ritual brings tears of thankfulness to my eyes, and I blink them away when they make my vision misty.
