Page 16 of Spellbound & Speechless (Witches of Starbrook #2)

Mac

Aspen’s whining drags me from sleep.

My pulse rushes. My head jerks, and I sit upright, looking at the source of the sound. “Aspen?”

Searching for her feels like an instinct. I cross the room, my shoulders slumping when I find her asleep. She must be fine, but she’s not. Another sound, this time a yelp, slips from past her lips. She twitches and squirms in her sleep, her brows furrowing.

“Aspen?” I brush my fingers against her shoulder.

She sits up so fast we nearly bump heads, her hand flying to her chest as she catches her breath. It’s as if she’s run miles. With her other hand, she pushes her eye mask to the top of her head, letting me see the wild look in her eyes. She reaches for something, and I give her my hand.

With the soft moonlight pouring onto us, touching her feels like the most natural thing to do.

She crushes my fingers. Our eyes lock.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Just a bad dream. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

“I—” She shakes her head. “I know.”

I’m comforting her as much as I am myself. Maybe I should just go back to bed. Instead, I linger, letting her squeeze the life out of my fingers. Who knew she was that strong?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She stares at a corner of the room. “It’s my mom. The same dream I always have.”

I understand those dreams better than she knows. I was still a kid when I had nightmares of my father being torn limb from limb. I didn’t see his death, thank the gods, but my brain filled in the blanks.

The corrupt witch visits my dreams, too. Her face. That ugly, rotten face. Each time I see her, it feels like I’m asleep again.

“What was she saying?” I murmur.

“Nothing.” Aspen lets out a tired, bitter laugh. “Mom never wants to talk to me. She sits there, looking like she has a secret, until I go crazy.”

I know the pain of losing a parent. The dreams, dreams so real you think they’re still with you, but they’re not. You wake up alone every time. This time, she’s not alone. She’s with me.

I squeeze her fingers, not letting her forget my presence. “It’s not her,” I say. “You know that. I’m sure your mom would love to talk to you.”

“I hope so.” She peeks at me from the corner of her eye. “Before she died… before she was killed … I was busy. I forgot to answer her texts for weeks. By the time I remembered?—”

She shuts her eyes tight, and a tear rolls down her cheeks.

“Hey…” I wipe the tear away without thinking. “It’s all right. You didn’t mean to. Those things happen. ”

She sniffles. For several moments, neither of us says anything.

“What happened to your mom? Was it a corrupt witch?”

“No. ” She shakes her head. “We think… it was a demon. She had all the signs of a demon attack. Her life was completely drained. All of her magic, all of her spirit, was gone. A corrupt witch can’t drain someone’s spirit.”

Just their magic.

I frown. “Not quite, no. You don’t want to investigate her death? We can probably find someone to do the job.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Honestly? I may be the only one who ran away from home, but in a way, I think we’re all running. Confirming makes it too real.”

“I see.”

I may see what she means, but I can’t understand it. We grieve in different ways. My father passed when I was a child, and my earliest memories were of anger. I needed to know who took his life. That was how my mother grieved, too.

The witch sisters seem to grieve with avoidance. I’m not sure which is better.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” she whispers weakly.

It’s still dark outside, and the moon is high in the sky, but I don’t care about her waking me up. I care about being here for her. Caring and comforting are not things I know how to do, but in the dim light of the moon, my inhibitions are gone.

I wrap my arms around her, half expecting her to pull away. Instead, she pushes closer. Her face burrows into my shirt. Her heart goes from racing to crawling.

She’s relaxing, or her body signals that it is, and it’s exactly what I want—what I need . For once, I’m doing something right. Something to help my mate. I can’t give her much else, but I can be a moment of peace for her. I can chase away the fucking demons.

“You’re all right,” I say. “You’re here now. Not there. You’re with me.”

I can’t tell if the sound she makes against my chest is a laugh or a sob.

Her shoulders shake, and, to my surprise, when she pulls away to look at me… she’s smiling. “I can’t believe you’re the one to soothe me on this terrible night.”

I manage a half smile. “Neither can I. I hope I’m doing an okay job.”

“You’re doing the best job.” Her eyes soften in a way I’ve never seen.

I let out a shuddering breath.

Her pulse picks up again. Each beat feels like it belongs to me. This time, I don’t think her heart is racing from fear. Aspen’s manicured nails scrape against my jawline, her lips parting as she leans in.

I know what I’m supposed to do—what she wants from me. This is my mate, soft and warm under my touch, and she wants me to kiss her… but I can’t. Not here, not now, not like this. It may be what she wants, but it isn’t what she needs . There must be another way to comfort her.

“Aspen. I’m sorry. We can’t.”

It only takes a few words to break her from the spell.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Her words don’t quite fit the perplexed look on her face.

She doesn’t know. There’s no way she feels our bond like I do—at least, that’s my hope. I can run away if I’m the only one who knows about it. How can I keep running if she wants me here? That bond, the thing that makes me want her, is why I can’t give in. Not even on a night like this .

It’s not like she wants to kiss me. She wants comfort, and I can give her that, even if I can’t give what she’s asking for.

“Do you want me to hold you?” I peer into her eyes.

It’s not enough, and it’s not what she’s asking for, but it’s all I can give. Even doing this much is dangerous. I know being this close to her can turn my life around.

She swallows, and slowly, she nods. “Yes. Please.”

For one night, for her, I can hold my mate in my arms.

We settle into her perfumed bed. It smells exactly like her. Beautiful, enticing, drawing magic wraps around me. I wish things were different. Wish I were different.

I hold her from behind, and she’s all that exists. A soft, pink glow forms around us. I rest my hand over her waist, my fingers brushing against her smooth bedsheets. It feels like the safest way to hold her, but there’s nothing safe about it. My heart goes wild.

Aspen isn’t worried about us being safe, is she?

It’s as if she wants to wind me up. She scoots until her ass presses against me, silk shorts against my sweatpants, and I breathe slowly.

This is for her comfort, not my pleasure.

It’s not even for her pleasure—no matter how much I would love for it to be.

There will always be a part of me that wants her dangling on the edge of pleasure, and to watch her there, squirming as she gazes into my eyes. Fuck. I can’t have it. I won’t.

“Let’s get some sleep,” I say, practically begging.

Her blonde hair tickles my nose, smelling of citrus and something warm, like honey, rich and sweet. My throat closes up.

“All right. I’m sleeping.” She lapses into silence for too long. “Thank you. ”

Her last words are so faint I hardly hear them, and even though I’m still fighting my urges, we’re merging. We’re becoming one. I know it’s not the wolf anymore. It’s all of me, and it’s changing me. My fear of losing her grips at my chest and threatens to ruin me. I need to let go.

Aspen is still fast asleep when I sneak out of the room, desperate to escape what happened the night before. It was nothing— nothing happened. Being close to her is something I might not be able to recover from.

Her perfume sticks to me even after I shower. My body still tingles everywhere she touched it. Every press of her body and brush of her fingers… they’ll haunt me for the rest of my shitty fucking life.

I step into the cool, gray morning. The house is quiet—rare, considering how many people live here. I need a moment and some fresh air. Being in nature always calms me. It calms the whining wolf who wants to go back to bed with our mate.

She’s not our mate. Not really. Our bond won’t solidify unless we choose it. It needs to be both of us choosing each other, and I can’t choose this.

I won’t choose her . It’s for her good that I don’t.

There’s only one person who can ground me. She’s always grounded me.

I slip my earbuds in and amble through the backyard. The ringing phone fills my ears as I wait for the person on the receiving end to pick up.

What time is it on the West Coast, anyway? A few hours earlier, I think, but I know she’ll be up .

“Good to finally hear from you,” my mother says.

Some people go to their parents for emotional support, but not me. That’s not what I’m here for.

It’s not that my mother is cruel or that I have to pretend to be something I’m not. Our relationship is more complicated than that. She can’t bring me any comfort, but that’s because she’s never known a moment of peace.

Not since my father died.

Why should she be happy? She watched her husband die and spent the rest of her life making sure I stayed alive. Now, I’m risking my neck, and she knows it. When I was younger, she tried to keep me away from it all. It didn’t work. It was too late. Revenge lived in my chest before I became an adult.

“Hey,” I say. “Sorry for taking so long?—”

“You should be sorry,” she snaps. “I’ve been waiting for your call. It’s been days.”

“Why didn’t you text?”

She scoffs. “You know I don’t like doing that…”

A small smile dances on my lips. As prickly as my ma is, I love her and know she loves me. If push came to shove, she would use all her power to protect me. She has done it before.

“Well… I’m here now,” I say. “And it’s worth the wait. Ma… I found her.”

She pauses. “You didn’t.”

“I did. She’s in a small town in Maine. She seems to be alone, but I’m keeping an eye out for a corrupt coven.”

It’s rare for the corrupt witches to run in groups, but it happens.

“I hope you’re being safe.”

“As safe as I can be. There’s another coven—normal witches— helping me out.”

“Good… good…” She sighs softly, and even though I can’t hear it over the phone, I’m sure her heart is racing. “Are you certain that you can trust them? No signs of corruption?”

“No signs. They would never. They seem very involved in the witch community.”

Corrupt witches aren’t as involved. Other witches can’t trust them, considering their habit of stealing magic.

“You better keep me updated now,” she says. “More than before. I mean it. Don’t go this long without calling.”

“I won’t. I’ll call again this week.”

“I can fly down if you need backup.”

“No, Ma. You stay right there. You’re too old to be chasing corrupt witches.”

“I am not old ?—”

“I’m joking. Relax.”

She huffs. “Are you taking care of yourself over there? Sleeping? Eating?”

“Better than I have in years. I have a kitchen witch on my side.”

“That’s… nice.” The line goes silent. “There’s something else. What aren’t you telling me?”

How the hell does she know? I look around, half expecting her to pop out of the woods. “Come on, Ma. What are you talking about?”

There’s no way my mother can know what’s going on. We’re having a perfectly normal conversation. Pleasant, even.

“There’s something more,” she says. “You sound different.”

Oh, she definitely knows. “I wouldn’t keep anything important from you.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll always know. ”

Those are the exact words she used when I was a child caught in a lie. Shit.

“Fine.” I bite the inside of my cheek and consider my options. Keep lying to my mother, or upset her. Either way, I’m fucked. “If I sound different, it’s because… I met a mate. One of the witches.”

There’s silence on the other line, and she eventually says, “You know what you have to do.”

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“Nothing good can come of this. It’s not worth it.”

She’s repeating what I’ve been telling myself for days. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Ma. I know.”

“Witches are fragile.”

Fragile ? I scoff. “Not her. I’ve already seen her live through these attacks. She’s not as soft as she seems.”

“Softer than you. Softer than your father.” Silence, and then she speaks again. “Protect your heart. That’s all I want from you. Stay alive.”

My jaw clenches. “I’m trying.”

“You may not be able to keep her alive. Don’t forget that.”

This is what I needed to hear—it’s the reason I called my mom—but I don’t want to listen to it anymore. The last thing I want is reminders of how much danger my mate is in.

I sniff. “I could never forget it. You know me. I know better. I won’t get attached.”

To her or anyone else.