Page 45 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Alden

I THINK WE ALL KNOW that Aurora needs a bit of space.

We left her in the parlor with her mother and sister, and now I’m seated on the back porch, Rowan beside me.

Wyland took Fletcher upstairs, and Faolan is pacing the tree line.

It’s so dark, I can’t see him moving through the inky blackness, but I can hear the crinkling of leaves and dry grass beneath his feet.

And I’m surprised he’s still here. But I’m glad too.

I know Aurora wants him here. She wants all of us here. So here is where we’ll stay.

“If it were possible to see your parents again,” Rowan says from next to me, his voice quiet and faraway, “would you want to?”

It’s an easy answer. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He glares out into the darkness, but I don’t think he’s glaring toward Faolan. After my talk with Rowan, he seems to be making an effort with the shifter, if only for Aurora’s sake. It’s something, at least.

“If I could see my sister again,” he says slowly, as if he’s still working through his feelings on the matter, “I think I’d be... scared.”

“Of what?” I ask, reaching up to scratch my beard.

He plucks a small stone from the ground beside his boot. In the darkness, he tosses it into the air, catching it smoothly, then tosses it again. After a long moment, he says, “Of having to face her.”

Something about that doesn’t sound quite right. I’ve learned Rowan knows how to twist his words to soften them, to make it sound like he’s saying one thing when he actually means another. I cut through it quickly these days.

“Of having to face her ,” I clarify, “or having to face your feelings about how she died?”

I don’t know all the details, but Rowan has mentioned his little sister to me, and I know she drowned after falling through the ice when they were children.

Perhaps he’s told Aurora more—I expect he has—but given how he’s staring into the dark, a muscle in his jaw ticking, I get the feeling he’s not finished processing his feelings regarding his sister’s death despite the many years that’ve passed since then.

Rowan doesn’t speak, just keeps staring and fiddling with the stone, the breeze tossing his long red hair across his face.

“I know after my parents died, I felt responsible,” I say.

“There was nothing I could’ve done—they were in an accident while traveling, and I was at home with Lydia—but I think when you lose someone you love, it’s natural to question whether you could’ve done something to change the outcome of the situation. We want to hold ourselves accountable.”

“But that’s the thing,” Rowan says, a hint of fire coloring his voice. He sends the rock flying toward the trees, and it strikes a tree trunk with a gentle thud. “I was the one who took us onto the ice. If only I’d been standing a bit closer to her, maybe I—”

“Stop doing this to yourself,” I say.

He narrows his eyes a bit, but I don’t care. He needs to hear this.

“You probably think it’s the honorable thing to do, carrying around this weight in your heart like it’s what your sister would want, but it’ll only drag you down.

You’ve got a woman in there”—I jerk a thumb over my shoulder toward the cottage—“who loves you, and you’ve got a kid on the way.

Don’t you think it’s time to let the past lie? To forgive yourself?”

Rowan’s jaw ticks again. It looks like he wants to argue with me, to cling to his guilt even though it’s an anchor around his leg trying to drag him down.

And if he wants to get upset, so be it. I know how it feels, but I learned long ago that you have to surrender.

You have to let things go. Sometimes it’s the only way you can move forward.

Instead of telling me to mind my own business, Rowan takes a deep breath, then finally meets my eyes. His lips pull up on one side.

“Do you offer advice to everyone?” he asks.

“Nope.” I jostle his shoulder. “Just the people Aurora likes.”

He lets out a short laugh. “So, I’m one of the lucky few?”

“Exactly. Don’t waste it.”

Rowan’s smile is small, but it’s a start.

There’s movement in the distance, boots stepping through leaves. A moment later, Faolan materializes from the dark, his hair loose and hanging around his shoulders. It’s uncanny, the way his blue eyes are vibrant even in the darkness.

“She needs us,” he says, voice low.

Rowan and I glance at each other.

Our question must be obvious, because Faolan arches one brow and says, “I can feel her through our bond.”

Right. The mate bond. The fresh pink scar on Aurora’s skin. I was startled when I first saw it. The scar tissue looks like it runs deep, and I can only imagine the pain Aurora must have endured during the process. But she seems comfortable enough with it now, so I suppose I should be too.

“Then we go to her,” I say, pushing to my feet.

“I’ll be in shortly,” Rowan says. “Just need a moment.”

“All right.” I glance at Faolan. “Let’s go.”

Inside, we find Aurora standing in the foyer, her family around her. It looks like they’re getting ready to leave.

Evelyn’s face is pinched even more than what I’ve come to realize is normal for her.

Selene’s eyes are puffy from crying, and she clings to Aurora tightly.

Harrison sits at their feet, gazing up at Selene with big wide eyes.

If I’m not mistaken, even he looks a bit solemn.

And the big owl—I’m not sure its name—is waiting on the cloak rack, sharp talons wrapped around one of the pegs.

I decide to keep well away from it. That beak doesn’t look too friendly.

“I love you,” Selene says into Aurora’s hair, her breath ruffling the soft green strands.

“I love you too.”

I don’t think they’re leaving Faunwood yet; it’s not been a week, so they must have at least a day or so left here. Even so, Aurora bids farewell to her sister like she won’t see her in quite some time. And watching, I understand why. If Lydia and I were separated, I’d likely feel the same way.

After our parents died, it was just the two of us.

There were days when Lydia could scarcely get out of bed for the sickness of grief, and there were times I thought our fights would shake the house from its very foundation, but after everything, she’s still my baby sister, the person who probably knows me better than I know myself.

It’d tear me up if she and James were to move away.

I’d miss everything about her, even her cranberry crumble—even though the cranberries make my tongue swell up.

The thought makes me clench my jaw as emotion tries to clog my throat. This is the perfect moment to go upstairs and fetch Aurora’s gift from my bag. I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to her, and I think it might help cheer her up tonight.

While she hugs Wyland and kisses Fletcher on his naked head, I start up the stairs.

Behind me, Faolan shifts, and when I glance back, he’s staring at me, looking like he wants to sprint up the stairs after me to avoid being alone with Aurora’s family.

I give him what I hope is an encouraging nod, then continue on my way.

If he wants to be here for Aurora, this is as good a time as any to start.

Upstairs, I fetch my bag from the closet, and inside, right where I left it, is the skein of dark green yarn. It’s soft against my fingers, and the color is such a rich green that it looks almost black in the dim light flickering from the hearth. I hope Aurora will like it.

Back in the hallway, I hear the front door close. Her family must’ve left. But before I descend the stairs, my eyes catch on the darkness in the second bedroom, the room that will soon be the baby’s nursery.

I had a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that Aurora will be having Rowan’s child and not mine.

At first, I feared she would toss me aside, wanting instead to focus on her new family.

But I was so wrong. We’ve only grown closer over the last five months, and during that time, a spark of excitement started to bloom inside me.

Now, as I watch her belly grow with each passing week, I think more about the baby on the way, and I can’t wait to meet them.

I’ll need to get that cradle built, like Rowan asked of me. I’m not sure why I’ve been putting it off. Maybe because I want it to be absolutely perfect, and the thought of building something so important has me hesitating to even begin. It’s more intimidating than building my entire cabin was.

Back downstairs in the parlor, I find Aurora and Faolan on the couch, her head on his shoulder, his arm looped around her.

The firelight makes the moisture on her cheeks glisten, but she smiles when she sees me.

Harrison is sitting in her lap, near enough for Faolan to touch—not that he is.

I try not to stare. I’ve never seen Harrison and Faolan within arm’s length of each other.

Seems they’re both making an effort tonight. Good on them.

“How are you?” I ask as I step toward the hearth, feeling the warmth emanating from the orange flames.

Aurora shrugs. “I’m okay, I suppose.” Her gaze flicks to the altar she and her sister prepared. It’s still sitting in the middle of the room, the candles atop it having burned low. “I knew she couldn’t stay. I just didn’t think it would hit me this hard, having to say goodbye to her again.”

“Will you be able to see her again next Samhain?” I ask.

Again, she shrugs. “I don’t know. At some point she’ll be too deep into the Otherside for us to reach her.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Faolan asks.

Aurora shifts to look up at him, and the smile that touches her lips is soft. “No. Not at all.”

I hear movement in the kitchen, and then Rowan steps into the foyer, but I don’t think Aurora is aware of him yet. He lingers there in the partial darkness, listening but not speaking.

Aurora continues, “It’s the way things should be.

When a soul leaves this plane, they go into the Otherside, and from there, they return to the source from which we all come.

It takes some souls longer to depart, but it’s where we belong.

So if I try to reach Auntie next year and can’t find her, it’ll mean she’s gone back.

..” Aurora sniffles. “And I’ll be sad, but I’ll be happy too. ”

My gaze flicks from Aurora to Rowan as he steps from the foyer into the parlor. He leans in the doorway, hands in his pockets, head down. His long hair hangs around his face, tousled and windblown.

“Do you think Lucy made it back?” His voice is so low, it’s hard for me to hear.

Aurora extracts herself from Faolan’s embrace, eases Harrison off her lap, and crosses the room on quiet feet. Rowan still doesn’t look up.

“I know she did,” she says to him. Her hands rise, and she cradles Rowan’s face. The moment is so tender, I almost feel I should look away. “And from what I know, it’s a lovely place to be. It’s home . For all of us.”

His jaw flexes, and he nods once. When his eyes finally lift to hers, she presses onto her tiptoes to place a kiss upon his cheek. The touch seems to ease his strain—his shoulders visibly relax.

Aurora turns from him. When she looks at me, her gaze darts to the skein held in my hands. She tips her head curiously. “What’s that?”

I squeeze the soft yarn, then clear my throat and step forward to offer it to her. “I bought it while I was in Wysteria. With all the knitting you’ve been doing, I thought you might need more yarn. It’s soft. Perhaps the baby will like it.”

Even in the firelight, I can see the red flush that colors her cheeks. She reaches for the skein and takes it with delicate hands. “You got this... for the baby?”

“Well, for you,” I say, suddenly feeling nervous with everyone’s eyes on me. Even Harrison is staring. “But maybe it would work for socks or little gloves.”

Do babies wear gloves?

I don’t know the first thing about having a newborn around; this is all so foreign to me. Maybe I sound ridiculous, but it seems to make Aurora happy, if the way she hugs the yarn to her chest and gazes up at me is any indication.

“Thank you, Alden. This is perfect.” She steps forward and presses her small body to mine.

Her hair smells like woodsmoke from all the time she’s been spending around the fires, along with a hint of orange, which I suspect came from Lilith.

I wrap her in my arms and barely hear her as she whispers, “I love you.”

And I think so long as I’m alive, hearing those three words from her will always make everything okay.