Page 1 of Spellbound & Speechless (Witches of Starbrook #2)

Mac

Why does my wolf always lead me to places like this? The motel is a total shit hole. It isn’t the worst I’ve been in, but it isn’t the greatest. The only other option in town is a bed and breakfast, which I plan to avoid for as long as possible.

Way too kitschy for my taste.

Smoking is one of the few things that soothes my wolf. A fuck can do the job, too, but most days… I’ll take this. This is better than pulling someone else into the gutter I’m stuck in.

Smoke curls from my lips along with a sigh. I hold the cigarette between my fingers, staring into the gray morning.

“Can I bum one?” A melodic voice comes from nearby.

My wolf perks its ears, and I turn my head.

A tall, blonde stranger grabs my attention in a chokehold.

Her hair flows down her waist in perfect curls, and her eyes are the calm of a lake, steely despite the sparkle of mirth in her smile.

She looks out of place here. Her pink dress, which skims just over her thighs, doesn’t have a single wrinkle.

Her hair looks like it has never seen a flyaway.

Locking eyes with her catapults me into another dimension. The beast in my chest relaxes, but I can’t put my guard down. If my wolf reacts to her like a puppy curling up on someone’s lap, there’s a reason.

I don’t trust it.

“You smoke?” Somehow, I doubt it.

“Never. Is that so obvious?” The corner of her lip ticks up.

I snort. “Yeah. It is.”

“I was thinking of taking it up.”

She doesn’t need to be tainted. This stranger, whoever she is, should stay sweet and soft. I won’t be the one to change that. I take a slow, selfish drag of the cigarette. I’m not sharing.

“Well,” I drawl, “I don’t recommend it.”

“Then why are you doing it? Hm?”

“Because it’s better than the alternative.”

“Perhaps it’s better than my alternative, too.” She wiggles her fingers. “Come on. I thought sharing was some kind of smoker’s creed.”

“You thought wrong.” I take a long drag and drop the butt, crushing it under my heel. “Besides, that’s my last one. Sorry.”

It’s a lie, and she can probably see right through it, but I don’t care. I have bigger things to worry about than whatever her game is.

Her steely eyes narrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Nope.” I look her up and down. “And I’m willing to bet you aren’t, either.”

She’s better dressed than anyone I’ve seen in Starbrook.

“That would be a poor bet.” She clicks her tongue. “You’re willing to lose your money on this bet, but unwilling to tell me where you’re from? ”

I bend down to pick up the cigarette butt. It sits between my thumb and index finger, precarious, and I fight off the feeling that I’m also resting between two things. A decision. A timeline. Anything I tell her about me can push me in a new direction—one I may not want to go in.

“Washington state,” I say.

“The other side of the country?” She lifts a brow. “How did you find yourself in Starbrook?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I told you, you’re wrong.” She tilts her chin higher. “I’m from Starbrook. Grew up here and everything.”

“Really?” I cock my head. “Guess I had this place pegged wrong.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I don’t know what it means, but it seems to get under her skin, which I like. It’s rare to find someone who can entertain me and my wolf.

I glance at the door she appeared from and lift a shoulder. “If you’re from Starbrook, why are you staying… here ?”

After spending a few days in the motel, I can’t imagine someone choosing to sleep in the ugly, drafty place—especially not someone like her. Maybe I’m too presumptuous.

She lets out a long, slow sigh. “Family issues.”

“Ah. Story of my life.”

“Isn’t that the story for everyone? Like, who has a perfect family?”

“Guess you’re right.”

“Well…” She turns on her heel. “If you have nothing else to offer me, I’ll leave.”

She could disappear, and she should. I should let her. Whoever this perfect, pretty blonde is, she needs to be far away from me. Everyone does. I’ve never had trouble keeping to myself, even in a small town like Starbrook .

Why do I feel like meeting her will make it much more complicated?

My wolf awakens the moment she steps away. He lifts his head and growls, whispering something only I can hear.

Don’t… let… go…

My wolf isn’t as talkative as some shifters, and I prefer it that way. When you don’t grow up in a pack, you aren’t always as connected to the inner wolf. This is the chattiest he’s been in months, and I should ignore him now.

It’s impossible. She disappears, and my energy shifts.

My quiet wolf digs into my mind with his claws, taking control before I can stop him.

“Wait!” I don’t mean to say it.

She turns back around, and the wolf in me settles, but the hammering in my chest doesn’t. “Yes?”

I shove my hands into my pockets and look away, made vulnerable by her stare. “What’s your name?”

That’s a safe thing to ask. We’re neighbors, and Starbrook seems like the kind of town that cares about neighbors. Hospitality. All the shit I’ve never cared about.

Fuck.

Her smile is disarmingly sweet. “I’m Aspen Hawthorne.”

ASPEN

I haven’t left my motel room since I came home. Back to Starbrook.

That moment with the man and his curly, golden brown hair was the only time I stepped outside the four walls, and he wouldn’t even share a cigarette with me. How rude.

Contrary to what people say, the Starbrook Motel is a lovely little place. My family and I used to book rooms just to use their pool in the summer—a tiny indoor pool, lackluster to some, but one of the few in town.

Sure, there’s no room service. There isn’t much of anything.

Even the ice machine rarely works. But this is what I need right now, after years of being pampered in New York City and living a life I couldn’t afford.

I’m returning to my roots. It’s grounding .

I want to find my place in Starbrook now that I’m here. Alone.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. It makes me feel better about being unable to make it in the fashion industry.

Maybe I could have found success if I let them put me in a box like everyone else, but I would have lost myself—and my morals.

My suggestion of making plus-size clothing was too much for my terrible boss and the appalling industry.

They wanted me to lose my morals, and it was killing me. I had to go.

When I run out of protein bars, I finally have to leave my cramped motel room. Food. What I need is real food.

Greene’s hasn’t changed since the last time I shopped here. It has what you would expect from a grocery store. Carrots, potatoes, that kind of thing—and the prices are better than I’m used to. The options may be lackluster, but at least I can afford to shop.

For now.

I could really go for a mango. Why don’t they have any in stock? Not even one? Are they out of season? Gods. What do I know about that?

Maybe …

No . We’re not bothering Mr. Greene about mangoes. I push the thought away.

Getting back to my roots. Grounding. Happy! An apple will do just fine. I’m delighted to be here, and I want to be here. There were other alternatives, like finding another job or moving to Los Angeles, but I didn’t. I chose to come home.

Maybe if I say it enough, it will feel true.

I pick up a bottle of oat milk and squint at the name. It’s not my usual brand, but it will have to do. With a sigh, I place it in my cart.

It’s not as if I can cook much in my motel.

I used to love cooking with my mother and sisters, but between college and work, I never had time.

The motel doesn’t have the tools to make a cozy meal.

All I have is a mini fridge and a microwave.

Cereal and oat milk will be good late at night when the town goes quiet.

Grounding. Finding our roots. Learning how to be independent in Starbrook. Happy?—

“Aspen?”

I freeze, running as cold as the oat milk.

No, I’m colder . I’m ice cream, or an ice cube, stuck in place as the familiar redhead approaches.

Her dark auburn hair frames her face, perfectly straight.

The brown sweater she wears would make her appear cozy, if her perfect posture and expressionless features didn’t push her a million miles away.

Rowan .

I haven’t seen my sisters since I lost my job, nearly a year ago. I can’t face them. Before, I was neglecting them for my career, and to lose the very thing that kept me away…

Well, that’s not really why I haven’t been around, is it? It’s my mother. It’s her ghost. They can’t understand that I see her in them. My sisters all live together, they run a business, and they’re happy— actually happy, not the pretend joy I’m shoving down my throat.

At least, they look happy on social media… and that’s okay! It’s good! They should be happy. That’s what I want for them.

I’m happy too, I remind myself, forcing a brilliant smile. “Rowan, darling!”

Her eyes, so similar to mine, narrow. “What the fuck?”

“What?” I laugh nervously. “You aren’t happy to see me?”

“It’s a little like seeing a ghost.”

This is precisely why I haven’t left my motel room.

The town is minuscule; every time I step outside, I risk being spotted by one of my four sisters.

Out of all the sisters, Rowan is the one I want to see least. We’re closest in age, but unlike Maple and Juniper, our relationship is not always harmonious.

We’re nothing alike, and we never were. While I’m fascinated by fashion, glamour, and love magic… she’s always been more studious and intellectual, practicing forms of astral magic that are nearly extinct. Our differences made us clash, but they also made us best friends. Perhaps best frenemies.

She stopped texting when I stopped answering, right around the time of our mother’s death. Where does that leave us now?

My worries about seeing her have little to do with our rocky relationship and everything to do with who she is. Rowan can always tell when someone is lying to her. She has a way of seeing into the heart of matters, and I would rather her not see into mine.

Not right now. Not when I no longer know what my heart looks like .

“Not a ghost.” I pinch my cheek. “Flesh and bone. You see?”

She looks me up and down with her beady, scrutinizing stare. It’s one I know well. “I see.”

My fingers curl around the cart, sliding into the finger grooves on the worn plastic. “You probably want to know what I’m doing here?—”

“No,” she says, as sharp and blunt as ever. “You being here is great. We miss you.”

Rowan missing me is shocking, and her vocalizing it is as well. She’s the quietest among us and often the least emotional. I nearly recoil at the words.

“I—” What am I supposed to say?

“I want to know why you came back without telling us. You must realize how messed up that is.”

My throat is dry and scratchy. “I… do.”

“Then why?”

There’s nothing I can do to get out of this. No flash of a smile, no illusion of Aphrodite. Nothing. Rowan asks for the truth, and I must give it to her.

“I wasn’t ready to see you yet,” I say. “Any of you. I’m sorry.”

Her expression softens by a fraction. “Why not? We would be happy to see you.”

“I know.” I let out a choked laugh. Why are we having this conversation in a grocery store? “That’s the problem. I let you down?—”

“Stop.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s silly. You didn’t.”

“I should have. You should all be angry with me. I’ve been ignoring you, and I’m not ignorant of it.”

“Aspen. Come on. You’ve been grieving, just like the rest of us. ”

When has Rowan ever been the sort to cut someone slack—even me? Everything is changing.

“But you’re grieving together . It’s different.”

It’s my fault for pushing them away, but I can’t erase the bitterness in my voice. I’ve been alone in a tall, cold tower of my making. Why would they accept me back into our warm family home?

“Do you think that’s been easier for me?” She shakes her head. “Gods. We’re getting off topic. How long have you been here?”

Rowan won’t like the answer, but I can’t lie to her.

“Just a few days,” I murmur.

Her features remain blank. Unreadable, as always. “And where are you staying? The motel?”

I nod. Not a single word comes from my tight throat.

“When are you coming home, Aspen?”

That’s the question I’ve been asking myself since our mother passed. I came home for the funeral, and again for significant holidays, but I couldn’t stand being around any longer than a few days.

“I don’t know…” I stare at the bottle of oat milk in my cart, as if it contains the answers I’ve been searching for.

There’s no avoiding home now that Rowan has seen me. I can’t ask her to keep me a secret from our sisters, and the longer I stay away, the more upset they’ll be. Contrary to what they may think, I still care about them.

I love them, even if I’ve been loving them from afar, and I don’t want them to hate me.

Rowan steps closer and, when her hand lands on my shoulder, I nearly jump. The rest of the family are huggers, especially Maple, but Rowan is not. She has never been.

She squeezes my shoulder. This is her version of a hug, and it’s rare. The knot in my chest detangles as I exhale .

“I think you should come now,” she says. “Everyone misses you. You don’t need to stay away.”

If I go into that old home for a moment, there’s no saying what will happen. Maybe I’ll want to stay, or perhaps I’ll want to run. Maybe I’ll be so overwhelmed by our late mother’s memory that I combust into a pile of ash.

There’s no way to know until I go.