Page 43 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

Chapter

Thirty-One

CORDELIA

I’m a witch.

I have a familiar named Cornelius, who was frozen in time around my first birthday. I only knew him as the cat clock on the wall. Apparently, I’ve spent the same amount of time under some sort of spell that makes me seem invisible to everyone around me.

Everyone except Duke. My mate.

It’s a lot to take in while I’m trapped in his body in a far worse way.

The fortune teller was a selkie in disguise. Wallace has known what’s going on all along. He has powers of his own, which isn’t news to me. Whatever was in that wine he gave me was the beginning of the visions I’ve been having.

Neveah is a witch, too. Which must mean that her granny, Betty Lou, is a part of the coven that I never even knew existed.

My guess is that Nell is another witch. Miss Ada?

Is that why she barged into my house? How many other witches have been under my nose all along?

Which one of them spelled me? How was Granny involved?

Bile burns the back of Duke’s throat, but I can’t even swallow it down .

Did my own grandmother put a curse on me that made my life miserable? Did she know what was happening every time she kissed away my tears and hugged me through my pain, every time she handed me another book to help me cope?

Cordie? Duke kisses his own hand. He hasn’t let go since he started telling me a story that we’re actually living. Can you still hear me?

I still can’t move, though I can feel my surroundings. Warm, damp air soothes Duke’s bare skin. I’m naked, and his body is lying on the softest fur imaginable.

Gingersnap?

I’m here. Just…trying to process everything you’ve said.

I understand. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.

Because you can’t?

He never mentioned finding an escape from the cave that he said we’re in.

Because I would never leave you like this, he answers, and he kisses his own hand again.

I sigh, but only in my mind. Because I’m your mate. You have no choice.

I can’t forget that Duke got the short end of the stick in this arrangement, too.

I never read a story about fated mates who chose each other out of a lineup of gorgeous, magical beings.

Despite the lack of choice, those same stories always played up the undeniable attraction, the amazing sex, the guaranteed happily ever after.

The reality is worse than a frightening lack of agency.

He’s been suffering so deeply for so long.

What if I brought this on him in more ways than making a stupid wish at the well?

I’m so sorry, Duke, I choke out.

Great. I’m crying again, just in my head instead of out loud.

Shh… Don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart. We’ll figure this out. I’ll wake you up if it’s the last thing I do.

It shouldn’t have to be the last thing you do, I argue through my mental sobbing. It’s not your responsibility. You never wanted any of this. It’s all my fault.

He lies down beside me and rests my head on his shoulder, wrapping my limbs around his body. You don’t think me treating you like garbage for half your life was my responsibility?

No! It was the spell that was cast on me. That must be why you have no memories of what you did to me!

He strokes his chest in long, soothing motions that don’t do fuck all to calm me down. What about all the things I do remember, Cordie? Was that all a spell that wasn’t my fault either?

Yes! I literally just said that!

He hums, then nuzzles my face against his neck. I can feel him smile against his skin. Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that all the fantasies I’ve had about fucking you raw, about kissing you senseless, about making you mine—none of those were my fault?

I mentally hiccup because what? What?

He chuckles. You are some powerful witch, all right. You’ve had a spell on me from the very beginning.

His words douse my curiosity to hear about those fantasies in explicit detail. He’s not wrong, and he doesn’t even realize it.

That’s just it, Duke, I whisper. Those fantasies really weren’t your fault. I’m not the only one who’s been cursed. I accidentally put a spell on you, too, that day when you sat beside me for the first time in English class.

He lifts my head. If I could open his dang eyes, I’d probably see him gaping at me in horror.

What are you talking about?

I swore I would take this secret to my grave, but Duke doesn’t deserve to be a pawn on somebody else’s chessboard. He has a family, plenty of women who want him, a business—a whole life to get back to.

Maybe Duke’s hatred was the price I had to pay for my unintentional spell. That’s something else I read in plenty of books.

Magic demands a price. Always.

I did this to you, I confess. I spelled you to be my mate. I wanted you to be mine, and I made that happen somehow.

I hold my breath and wait for him to end me while I can’t defend myself. There’s no defense for my selfish actions anyway.

He shuffles a bit beside me before he resumes the slow, steady path of my palm back and forth across his chest. Explain that to me. How did you do it?

That’s it? That’s all he has to say after I admitted to a far graver sin against him than any he committed against me?

I-I imagined this, this grand thing that probably never happened.

I read so many books, so I wouldn’t feel so l-lonely all the time, I stutter.

I swore I felt a click in my chest when I looked at you for the first time.

There was a peace in my mind that I never had before that day.

I thought to myself, ‘This is him. The boy that’s meant to be just for me. Forever.’

And you think that was a spell you cast? From your thoughts?

I would nod, but I can’t. That has to be what happened. I didn’t mean to trap you with me. I had no idea I was a witch. I swear to you, I didn’t mean to ruin your life.

You didn’t ruin my life, Cordelia, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the scruff at his jaw. It couldn’t have been you. I think that whatever spell you’ve been put under has ruined both our lives.

How do you know it wasn’t me? Not that I disagree about both of our lives being ruined, but I’m not going to pass all the blame when some of it belongs to me.

Just because that was the first time you noticed me doesn’t mean it was the first time I noticed you, he says, as he wraps my hand around his neck and settles it against his pulse.

I always saw you walking around town with a stack of books that was nearly too big for your skinny arms. I used to daydream about what your wild hair would feel like if I tangled my fingers in it.

My breath catches. What are you saying?

I’m saying , he whispers as he leans more of my body onto his, that long before I was ever a thought in your head, I’ve dreamt of doing this.

Warm, damp breath. Soft, pillowy lips. Feather-light pressure, then firmer.

The first thing I see when I open his eyes is blurry, because my head is right against his.

Duke Castellaw is kissing me.