Page 47 of The Royal Street Witch
“I never thought she would force that on you. I really thought she would be cooler about it.”
“What would happen if I just didn’t do it?”
“Girl, I don’t want to know the answer to that question. They don’t play. They’ve inseminated witches before. And you’re a Wildes. You can’t change who you are. You know you will love your baby. Just have one.”
“Oh my God, not you, too.” I sink to the couch, feeling utterly helpless. Chantal sinks with me, wrapping her arms around me.
“Not me, too. I just love you. I don’t want them to force you into anything. They’re getting desperate. And you haven’t been with a guy in months. There are no prospects?”
Bastian’s glimmering face floats to my mind. My mouth goes dry, the desire to tell Chantal my secret growing. Instead, I lick my lips and shake my head. “No,” I lie because there’s one I can’t seem to get enough of.
Love isn’t necessary for a witch to have a baby. It’s actually frowned upon. We can reveal who we are to men we love and trust, but if the relationship fails, and it usually does, we have to black out any memories of witchcraft. Doing so is a great disservice to a man you once loved, leaving holes in their life, and that’s why we are urged to never tell them and to use our magic around them only in dire situations. This means you can never truly give yourself to someone. If only vampires and witches didn’t loathe each other, they would be perfect mates. Both with secrets to share, both knowing we must keep them.
So, it’s encouraged to find a strong, handsome man, one with intelligence, one who has empathy yet a vein of mischief. To bed him down and then end it. Raise your child, do your duty, and then you can live your life once your legacy is fulfilled. It’s a suffocating prophecy.
“What’s going on with you?” Her eyebrows shoot toward the heavens, her intuition on point.
“Nothing,” I lie again, a rush of blood pounding in my head. "This is just overwhelming me so much.” It’s a half lie, yet I still feel guilty. Completely overwhelmed, yes. But she only knows part of it.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Chantal kisses my cheek, and I’m relieved she’s dropping it at that. I meet her brown eyes and push back that lump in my throat, the prick in my eyes that begs to break free. I won’t cy. I never cry.
Lake Pontchartrain Causeway is the longest bridge in America, and Bastian has never seen it by the light of day. I step on the gas as we get on the causeway, city behind us, water and clouds before us. He grabs my hand over the console of his car, and I can’t help but smile, his soft fingers in mine, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand.
“Do you love being my chauffeur?” His eyes are sparkling, a crisp white T-shirt making them seem lighter. Jeans, because he’s relaxed and not keeping up the mysterious charade that’s encouraged at night by the Nightwalker family.
“I love this car,” I confess and squeeze his hand because today I’m driving his 1957 Cadillac, letting him enjoy the view. It’s fun when we go out amongst people, but I especially love when it’s just me and him. Holding hands and singing Queen together while I drive.
This is becoming more frequent, and I don’t want it to stop. Bastian loves to fuck me, but he also loves just being with me—and that’s what has caused a pulling on my heart and cement in my stomach. That we want to be together more and more every day.
“Even in the day you can’t see any land in front or behind us. Just water everywhere.” He props his other hand on the door, biting his thumb.
“Yeah, it used to scare the shit out of me when I was a kid.”
He drops his hand from the door and places his attention on me. “The first time I saw you scared was the day you rushed me to Lafitte’s.”
“Yeah, because you dying on Bourbon Street would have meant my death as well.”
“Oh, that was all you were worried about?” He crooks an eyebrow and I choose to ignore him.
“What scares you?” I ask.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “When you tell me that this is over. That’s when I’ll be petrified.”
My head turns to meet his eyes, his rawness cutting into me.
“Vampires aren’t supposed to be this endearing.” I look back to the road but raise his hand to my lips and kiss it gently. “I like it,” I whisper, and he laughs.
“What we do, we do in darkness. It doesn’t mean our hearts have to be dark.”
Maybe he’s right, but I’ve always hid behind a dark heart.
“Thank God your mom taught you how to dance. Gave me an opportunity to get close to you.”
I exhale a deep breath, remembering the dance, him holding me close. Our hearts beating together. The feelings that arose during those few minutes, us both feeling the same, but only he was bold enough to act on it. The memory is a sweet one, but my mother’s disapproving glare enters my mind and I grip the steering wheel harder.
“There’s a pain in your eyes when she comes up.”
I suck on my teeth and consider my response carefully.
