Page 57 of The Witch's Shifter
DESPITE TOM’S GENEROUS OFFER, WE only picked one pumpkin each, plus a tiny gourd for Fletcher, who’s now asleep in his swaddle against Selene’s chest, drifting in milk-induced dreams. The men challenged one another to a biggest-pumpkin competition, and Wyland was the victor, having picked a pumpkin almost twice the size of his head, so I suppose he gets bragging rights for the rest of the week they’ll be here visiting us. Plus I’ll get to makelotsof baked pumpkin goodies: pie, breads, cookies—we’ll be drowning in pumpkin until Yule. Which reminds me of how quickly the days are passing.
I don’t want to think about the week ending. Selene has already been here for two days, and my stomach feels sick at the idea of her climbing back into a carriage and heading home to Wysteria. I’ll miss her so much once she leaves.
We’re seated on a bench near one of many fires burning through the village, the flames casting beautiful warm light flickering over the cobblestones as the sun starts to descend toward the horizon. Rowan took my mother to get spiced cider—he seems to have taken an odd liking to her, and she to him—and Alden and Wyland are off at the ale table. That leaves me, Selene, and Fletcher sitting quietly as the flames dance.
The market square is being slowly cleared of carts to make room for dancing, and the fiddler is already tuning up. I keep glancing in that direction, waiting for the rest of the troupe to assemble.
“You’ve always loved to dance,” Selene says, calling my gaze back to her as she smiles.
Her long silver hair hangs loose and wavy around her shoulders, and her dark blue eyes look mystical in this light. A vial of water dangles from a silver chain about her neck—moon water, I know. Without it, Selene feels tired during the day, like a nocturnal creature forced to rise with the sun. She’s worn moon water around her neck since we were girls, and it brings me comfort to see it now, like perhaps the distance really hasn’t made us strangers to each other, as I feared it would; no matter the miles between us, we are still sisters, and nothing will ever change that.
“I have,” I say, perhaps a bit wistfully. Rowan is keeping my mother busy, which is such a blessing I don’t want to interrupt, and Alden is so enjoying his time with Wyland and the other men that I wouldn’t feel right pulling him away. It feels like all he does is work—for me, for the villagers, for his sister—and I want him to take this time to laugh and relax, not to feel like he has any burden on his shoulders, capable though they may be. Perhaps Lydia is around here somewhere and can be convinced to join me for a twirl about the square.
“Then perhaps,” says a rough voice from over my shoulder, “you’d be willing to share a dance with me.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Next to me, Selene widens her eyes, and her lips pop open.
I turn slowly and look up into a pair of glacial-blue eyes framed by silky black hair. My breath almost gets caught in my throat.
Is this real?
“F-Faolan. You’re here . . .”
He’s wearing the clothes I set out for him, which means he’s been back to the cottage. The tunic is soft and airy, but the trousers hug his legs in such a way as to make my cheeks warm despite the chill in the autumn air.
“Yes,” he says softly. “I’m here.” His gaze flicks over my shoulder to my sister, pulling me from my reverie.
“Faolan, this is my elder sister, Selene.” I turn and gesture to her, only to find her still staring at him in a wholly obvious way. “Selene,” I say, perhaps a tad forcefully, “this is Faolan.”
She finally snaps her mouth closed and shifts her stare to me. I told her all about Faolan while we sipped tea in her room at the Golden Lantern, including that I’m hismate. She hadn’t ever heard of a witch-shifter bond either, but as she looks between us now, her lips turn up into a smile, and I think she’s liking the idea more and more.
“It’s good to meet you,” Faolan says, though it comes out strained, like the cordiality feels odd in his mouth. He certainly doesn’t have Rowan’s honey tongue, but it’s charming all the same.
“Likewise,” Selene says. “I’m glad to meet you face-to-face. Aurora has told me much about you.”
At this, Faolan shifts his boots upon the cobbles and looks down at me, seeming unsure.
“All lovely things,” Selene clarifies. Her voice makes Fletcher wriggle and yawn, and she rubs him softly on the back.
The musicians begin to play, effectively saving me from this awkward encounter. I stand swiftly and give Faolan a smile. “I’d love to dance with you.”
He holds out a palm, and when I put my hand in his, I note the small scrapes along his skin. From running through the woods, perhaps?
His skin is warm even in the cool air, reminding me of his higher-than-normal body temperature, like a fire smolders inside him at all times. It makes me shift closer to him as he guides me toward the square, where other couples are already gathering for the first dance.
As we walk, some of the villagers stop and stare. They’ve probably gotten used to seeing me around with Alden and Rowan, but with yet another man in the picture, and me five months pregnant...
I know how it must look to them, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when Faolan is looking down at me with his vibrant blue eyes, black hair hanging like a veil around his sharp cheekbones, his hand keeping mine warm and safe.
I’m just so glad he’s back and that he’s here, with me.
At the edge of the square, Faolan hesitates, breaking my stare to look warily toward the couples preparing to dance.
“Is there dancing in the pack?” I ask softly.
Speaking of his home makes him soften, even for just a moment, and his lips turn up on one side. “Yes, but they’re not”—he gestures with his free hand—“like this.”
“Not like what?”
