Page 16 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)

Faolan

AS THE SUNLIGHT FALLS BEYOND the distant horizon, the air grows colder. In my human body, I shiver. I long to leave my human skin behind, to run headlong into the woods until I collapse upon the snow and can scarcely stand for the trembling of my legs.

But thanks to this damn fog, I’m not going anywhere. And as far as I know, neither is Cathal.

Asshole.

I reach down from where I’m seated on a boulder and grab a handful of snow.

After crushing it into a tight ball, I fling it into the trees.

It connects with a trunk with a satisfying crack.

With each snowball, I imagine throwing it right at Cathal’s infuriating smirking face. It makes me feel better. A little.

I’m reaching for another handful of snow when I hear distant footsteps crunching through the trees.

My body tenses, prepared for a fight.

But the smell that drifts to me on the cold air is familiar—and more than welcome .

She approaches quietly, hesitantly.

Before she can say I word, I hang my head and say, “I’m sorry.”

And I am. Truly. I hope she can feel it through our bond.

Aurora steps into my line of sight, clad in her thick cloak, a knit hat pulled over her head. Instead of taking a seat on the boulder beside me, she opts to sit in my lap instead. My arms loop around her waist, and she cuddles closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

For a while, we sit there in the quiet of the winter evening, not speaking, our breath curling into steam that twines sinuously before dispersing into the air.

“Cathal and Orla left,” she says suddenly.

My body tenses up.

“Well, they didn’t leave leave, but I sent them into the village for now. Alden was gracious enough to let them borrow his cabin.”

“Nice of him,” I grumble. Another burst of irritation goes through me, though I’m not sure why.

“Faolan.” Aurora sits up and gives me a stern look, her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink from the cold.

“All that matters right now is figuring out how to get rid of... this.” With one mittened hand, she gestures to the fog lurking in the distance.

It hasn’t come any closer, but neither has it receded. It seems like it’s here to stay.

With a sigh, I drop my head and nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck, seeking her warmth and solace. “I don’t know what to do,” I say.

“About what?”

“Cathal, the stranger, the fog—all of it. ”

“I’ve taken care of Cathal, there’s nothing to be done about Thorne, and I have a plan for the fog. Or, well, the start of a plan.”

She tells me about her aunt’s spellbooks and her hope that one of them may contain information about the strange situation we’ve found ourselves in. She’s trying to sound positive, but I can feel through our bond that she’s still worried.

“I came out here to bring you home,” she continues.

Then she tips her head back, and I follow her gaze.

The sky is clear, and winter starlight is already shining down upon us.

“But maybe we can stay out here for a little while longer.” Her mittened hand lifts to point to a cluster of stars above us. “What’s that one called?”

From here, with the trees all around us, it’s hard to get a good grasp of the stars overhead.

So I slide Aurora from my lap, take her by the hand, and lead her back toward the cottage.

Just out of the tree line, I look up, and as soon as my gaze becomes lost in the stars, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders.

Maybe that was her idea all along.

I feel a warm glow in my chest upon realizing she remembered what I said in the garden all those months ago, about enjoying the sky and the constellations.

“That one’s Canis Major,” I tell her, pointing out the stars that make up the dog-shaped constellation.

“What about that one?” Aurora points to one of the brightest clusters of stars in the sky.

I smile. “Orion.”

Aurora rises onto her toes, her lips pulling into a childlike smile. “And that one? ”

With a laugh, I pull her close, her back to my front, and rest my chin atop her knit hat. “Taurus.”

“And how about those?”

And just like that, my anger melts slowly away, dropping like rain from my shoulders as starlight shines down over us, like nothing else matters in the world.

“Thank you,” I whisper into Aurora’s hair as the night wraps its arms around us.

“For what?” Her voice is a tiny thing, delicate enough to be swept away by the wind.

“For knowing me. For caring.”

Aurora turns around so that she’s facing me. Her arms rise to encircle my neck. A scent of lavender wraps around us. “For loving you?” she asks.

My whole body trembles at her admission. Our connection is flooded with emotions I can scarcely understand, let alone put words to. All I can do is bring my mouth to hers and kiss her until I can’t remember if my feet are still on the ground or lost in the swath of glittering darkness above.

When Aurora pulls back, lips swollen, she’s smiling.

“And thank you, Faolan,” she says, “for loving me in return.”