Page 67 of Untraced Magic
I trailed my fingers over the outline of her hips, curved perfectly into her waist.
“Do you feel that?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied softly. “When you touch me, my skin comesalive.”
“You too?”
Still hazy from her climax, her stare stripped me raw, peeling back every layer. “Yes. It’s incredible.”
She rested her head into the curve of my shoulder as I smiled into the dimly lit room.
Her fingers traced the ridges of my chest, inspecting it like one would a piece of art, and when darkness swallowed daylight, I stared at her as moonlight danced over us.
She was perfect. And she was mine.
Morgan
“Dear,howareyoutoday?” Betty’s gaze drowned with concern, moving over me as if assessing for wounds. Her normally cheerful manner was a more subdued note today, her voice kind yet cautious.
We sat on a bench seat that rested alongside the river, watching as it meandered through town, in no hurry to reach the ocean. I knew Betty’s mention of a morning walk together was her way of trying to gauge how I felt about everything.
“I’m okay, I think…” I turned to meet her worried stare and gathered a breath of courage. “I mean, it’s not every day you find out you’re a witch, the lady whose house you’ve just moved into is your grandmother, and that your birth parents may still be alive.” I let out a light laugh; you couldn’t make this up if you tried.
Betty smoothed down the lavender dress she wore at the knees, shifting in her seat. “Ah yes, that is not to be expected in one’s life, let alone one day. I must say, you seem to be handling it okay?”
She inspected me closely, her scrutiny rushing over my skin. My head lifted to the sky, where a flock of birds flew above the trees in V formation.
I shrugged. “I guess it’s going to take some time to get used to, and to get to know you of course.”
Betty nodded. “Of course, my dear. These things will all take time. I’m just truly sorry about everything, but it was your father’s wishes, and as a mother, I couldn’t not do everything he needed to keep you safe.”
I knew she meant every word, a tension releasing from her frame as she spoke.
I veered my gaze back to hers. “What was my father like? Could you tell me about him?”
Her irises glistened at thoughts of her son, a smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes.
“Your father’s name is Gerald. He was a farmer, and a mighty good one too. He liked to live off the land where possible and had a marvelous eye when hunting.”
I listened with enthusiasm as Betty spoke about my father, about his kind and caring nature, her words sending a fuzzy feeling winding around my heart.
“I love hearing this; tell me more. What happened with my mother?”
Suddenly, her eyes dimmed, saddened.
Betty’s hand landed on my knee. “Morgan, you have to remember, your mother wasn’t well. She had... severe lapses in time where she would just sit and stare at nothing in particular. Then there were other times, when she…” Betty paused, collecting a breath. “Your mother struggled with motherhood, my dear, it’s a big adjustment for anyone.”
I frowned. “What did she do?”
A single tear slid down her cheek.
She drew in a harsh breath. “Your father found her one evening about to take her life. She was about to takebothyour lives, believed if she sacrificed herself and took you with her, that there was anotherworldas she called it, waiting for her.”
I froze, and all that filled my ears was the continuous rhythm of my heart reminding me the story did not stop there. That I was well and truly alive.
I gulped down the wad of air lodged in my throat.
Betty continued. “Your father had her committed.”
