Page 19 of The Witch’s Fate (The Lunaterra Chronicles #13)

IDALIS

I t’s been a long time since I slept like this. The last time I can recall sleeping so easily, and so soundly, was when my coven was still alive. When I wasn't alone. When there was love in this home.

It was impossible for me to find peace after they died, and it took months for me to sleep more than a few hours at a time at all, and then it was never as restful as it used to be.

I wasn’t used to being alone, and then, when I became accustomed to it, I grieved that, too.

And then even that grief faded into acceptance.

What else could I do? I couldn’t bring them back. I couldn’t trust a stranger to watch over me. The only safety was in solitude, no matter how much I craved the company of people like my coven.

Eventually, I managed to convince myself that my sleep each night was deep and restful.

Now, as I fall into a vivid dream, I know that it was not. With him here, I am protected. I know this to be true.

I am deeply certain of it, down to my bones. This is a dream , thick as honey in my tea.

In my dream, I’m walking in the fields I have called my home for years. I know each dip in the earth and each tree on the horizon. I’m at peace with my fingertips grazing the tall grass and the warmth of the sun soaking into my skin.

I move a few more paces across the lush grass and realize in a blink that these are not the same fields that surround my cottage. I know every inch of those fields like the back of my own hand, and this place is different.

Although my heart skips a beat, I do not fear it. I am at home here. Comfortable. It is my waking mind that feels the difference so sharply. The dream-version of me feels nothing out of the ordinary.

I stroll through the fields, in no hurry to get anywhere, pausing often to fill my basket with flowers whose names I do not know.

I bend to pick another, then another, and they blow in the breeze, their stems curving gently as the wind moves over them.

They seem happy to see me, somehow—they reach their petals toward my fingers and come easily from the earth, content to be gathered.

Everything I touch is warmed by the sun.

I straighten from plucking a violet flower and shade my eyes with my hands. Everything about this land—the hills, the wind, the trees in the distance—whispers welcome home.

The skyline is not the same. There are unfamiliar mountain peaks and patterns in the trees that do not belong to my forest. The scent I inhale is one I know intimately, yet I have never smelled it before this moment.

Before this dream. It is not the scent of my valley in any of the seasons.

It is totally new to me, but in this dream I know it so well and find it comforting.

I’m meant to be here. It’s missed me so. I was always supposed to be here.

A white cloud moves across the sun, hardly dimming its light.

I become aware of a person next to me. He’s nearby in my waking life. In my cottage. And he is at my side in the dream, though I do not turn my head to see his face.

Out of the corner of my vision, his form shifts, becoming larger and more muscled, on four legs, and then he is a man again. He is a wolf shifter, and his scent is on the wind. I know that scent as well as I know the scent of the earth under my feet.

Ryker. My love.

Then this must be Ryker’s home. This must be where he traveled from, or where he intends to go one day when he is no longer a soldier.

I marvel at the landscape. At the feel of him beside me.

At the sunlight and the mountains and the sky, which is so different from the sky above my cottage…

and so similar. There are the moons that remain visible in the daylight.

They are in slightly different places in the sky from what I would expect, but I can still find them and name them.

Of course, my moon shines down with such happiness.

Such blessings that we are together. Tears prick at the back of my eyes.

It is possible that I am seeing Ryker’s land as it really is. The dreams of witches are oftentimes visions of the future or glimpses of one’s fate. They are not always the imaginings of a mind at rest. This possibility makes my heart race with excitement and anticipation and…delight?

Yes. It is delight I feel. I am delighted in the dream as well as being deeply content. I want to be happy. I want to be loved. So deeply loved. I didn’t realize what was lacking. I didn’t know the loss truly until I felt it now.

“Thank you,” I say, without turning to face Ryker.

“For what?” he asks. His voice is a deep rumble that seems to come from everywhere at once.

“For watching over me.”

He laughs. “How could I not? You are my shelter, my peace, my love… My mate.”

“Where is your home?” I ask, but there is no answer from Ryker.

The wind rustles the grasses and the flowers at my feet. It is a stronger wind—too harsh for the flowers. They bend farther, petals coming loose. An uneasy feeling makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. The light changes, growing darker, though it cannot be midday.

“Ryker,” I call, forcing myself to stay calm.

“Come home,” he says, his voice farther away.

I turn to look for him but only find dark clouds rushing across the sky toward the field where I stand. They’re tall, thick clouds, the undersides the color of a cauldron. The rain falls in silvery trails. It will be a heavy rain. Heavy enough to turn the fields to mud and flood the portals.

“Where did you go?” I call into the wind. My voice echoes but I hear nothing else. It snaps against my face. The front edge of the storm is on top of me. It has come on too fast and tears at my clothes, dragging the fabric across my skin.

The sun disappears completely behind the clouds. There’s a green tinge to the light. My hair comes out of its braid, and strands whip into my eyes. I turn away from that wind and start walking back toward?—

Where? Our home?

There is nothing there but the darkened storm. Thunder rumbles and a loud crack of blinding lightning strikes and wakes me from my dream.

With a racing heart, my body jolts and in the distance there’s a gentle click of my front door closing quietly. My breath is stubborn to come and I find my hand over my heart.

My eyes adjust to the light and then I realize I’m in bed, though I do not remember coming here. I recall asking the cards for guidance, and sitting in my chair by the fire, and then…

Nothing. I must have dozed off. More than dozed, really. I must have fallen deeply asleep, because Ryker must have brought me to my bed, and I do not remember him lifting me. Slowly my heart calms and the cracking of the fire seems to dim the memory of the dream.

The blankets are warm and doing their best to make me sleep longer, but the guilt twisting in my chest will not let me fall back into the dream.

Neither will the thought of Ryker carrying me to bed.

I finally push myself upright, rubbing my eyes with one hand to clear the sleep, and there he is.

My heart does a faint flip, and a calmness settles around me.

Unlike my dream, he’s not hidden in the corner of my eye.

Ryker stands near the kitchen table, poised with his sharp features as handsome as ever.

The stubble on his jaw only adds to his sex appeal.

His gorgeous eyes meet mine, and a shock of heat between us makes me desperate to be free of the blankets.

It’s dark outside, but inside my cottage, candles flicker to life.

“I have to tell you something,” Ryker says as I push my hair back from my face and find a tie on the pillow. I just need it off my neck. I attempt to hide my flush as I pull my hair back and calm my racing heart. His tone is deathly serious, and I don’t like what that does to me.

“I need to tell you something, too. It’s my fault,” I blurt out, my words stumbling out quicker than I’d like. All that time I spent dreaming, and I could have used it to plan how I would tell this truth to Ryker. Instead, I have thrown it out ahead of me, and now I have to hurry to catch up.

Ryker furrows his brow, his eyes narrowing. “What’s your fault?”

“I’m the one who—I did this.” I gesture at my chest. “I cast a wayward spell. I only had the best of intentions, but I think it’s my fault the portal doesn’t work.”

He crosses the cottage toward me, the floor creaking gently under his weight, and I stand up as tall as I can, bracing for his anger. I am the one who trapped him here. I am the one who shut down his portal and stopped him from going home.

“I—I will try to undo it.” I sidestep Ryker, my arm brushing against his as I rush to my worktable, reaching for the candle I burned to cast the spell for the wedding gifts.

There’s nothing left of it. It is down to a stub of wax and a crumbling wick. The tip of my finger barely grazes the wick, and it turns to ash. But even in ash there is intention which means there is magic.

The air in the cottage shifts behind me. I know without looking that Ryker has drawn closer. I can feel his heat, but he does not touch me.

“Ryker,” I bring myself to say. “I’m sor?—”

“I believe,” he says from behind me. “I am fated to you.”

That stops the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. I turn to face Ryker, forgetting the guilt and the relief and the uncertainty. His eyes hold as much guilt as my heart. Because he believes we are fated ?

“I’m not a shifter,” I barely whisper. My voice sounds breathless even to me, but that is all I can think to reply. I am a human witch . Ryker is a wolf shifter. We are opposite beings.

A small, amused smile curves the corner of his lips, just as devilish as charming. “I don’t think my wolf cares.” The lust inside of me roars to life.