Page 27 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)

Alden

WELMA TOLD ME AURORA AND Thorne were here as I was finishing up the repairs on Liora’s caved-in roof. Can’t say I expected to find them pressed against each other, his hands in her hair, her fingers having already freed the top two buttons on his vest.

At this point, though, I’m not surprised.

But the two of them sure look to be.

Thorne turns his face quickly away from me while Aurora steps back, putting space between them.

I’m not sure why she looks so shy; it’s not like she hasn’t made love to two of us at once.

Well, with me and Rowan, at least. I’m not sure Faolan would ever let another man into the room while enjoying the pleasure that is Aurora’s freckled skin and soft pink lips.

Getting him to agree to rotating through nights with her was hard enough.

He’s still prickly, but I’m starting to think that’s just who he is. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. In fact, it’s kind of funny watching Faolan and Rowan get at each other, and it’s funnier still to watch Aurora scold them into mumbled apologies and half-concealed eye rolls.

“Alden,” Aurora says. She sounds out of breath. Probably from kissing Thorne, if her swollen lips are anything to go off of.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I say. And I can’t help but smile at how Aurora’s cheeks flush a deeper pink. “Welma told me I could find you here. I finished up Liora’s roof and was about to head back. Thought you might want to walk together, but if you’re busy—”

“No, no,” Aurora interrupts, hands smoothing her dress out over her round stomach. “We were just finishing up.” She stoops to retrieve a book from the floor, something with a light purple cover, then glances back at Thorne.

He’s facing me now, working on doing up the buttons of his vest. “It was a... fruitful visit,” he says.

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. I cross my arms, tool belt clanking at my hips. “I’ll bet.”

Aurora’s forehead creases, but Thorne actually spares a laugh for my attempt at a joke.

Rowan told me on the walk into Faunwood today that he agrees with Faolan about Thorne—that he’s hiding something, isn’t telling us something.

But not for the first time, I decide to let Aurora be the determiner of that.

Our steadfast captain, she’s yet to steer us wrong. I’m just along for the ride.

“Well, if you two are ready...” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder, toward the door. “I’d like to get home. I’m starving.”

“What, Liora didn’t feed you?” Aurora asks as she carries the book to the front desk and writes something on the parchment tucked inside the front cover.

“Oh, she did,” I say. “But her blackberry scones don’t hold a candle to yours.”

This time when Aurora turns to me, the furrow is gone from her brow, and she’s smiling. One of her green brows arches in the corner. “Are you just saying that?” she asks, hand propped on one hip.

My stomach rumbles loudly, and I think that’s answer enough.

IT’S STILL EARLY YET BY the time we finish lunch.

Aurora and Thorne retreat to the parlor to continue reading the books they got from the library, and Faolan is on the side porch, probably stewing about something, like usual—which means he’s not doing anything useful and can be an extra pair of hands for me.

“Come on,” I say when I step out onto the porch behind him.

He turns his head just enough to arch a brow at me. “What?”

“Need your help with something.”

He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth, probably to complain.

I cut him off with, “It’s for Aurora.”

And whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue. With a grunt, he pushes to his feet. “All right. What is it? ”

“Follow me.” I clomp down the porch stairs. “I’ll show you.”

With Faolan’s help, I finish preparing the final few pieces I’ll need for the baby’s cradle.

I drew up some plans weeks ago, then scrapped them and started new ones.

Then I did it again. At one point, the entire kitchen table was covered with crumpled paper and broken pencils.

Finally, Rowan told me to stop overthinking it and just build the damn thing. So, that’s what I’m going to do.

Faolan and I carry all the wood into the cottage—first dropping it in the kitchen, then pulling our boots off and carrying everything up to the baby’s room to avoid tracking snow and mud all over the house.

Harrison joins us and sits in a patch of sunlight coming through the window, watching us with interest as we start laying all the pieces out and organizing them the way I like.

Finally, with everything measured and cut and sanded to perfection, it’s time to begin.

Yet I hesitate.

I feel like I’m holding something precious in my hands, have been given a monumental task, one I’m afraid of failing. This will be the baby’s cradle, the place where they’ll sleep, where Aurora will sing to them and wrap them in soft blankets to ward off the chill. It’s imperative I get this right.

Faolan is seated on the floor across from me, one knee pulled into his chest. He tips his head and narrows his eyes, not unlike how Harrison is doing. They’re both staring at me. Waiting.

“Where do we start?” Faolan asks.

Right. First things first. I’ve built homes, for goodness’ sake. I built an entire cabin for myself when I was still a young apprentice.

It’s just a cradle , I tell myself. Just start, and it’ll come together.

“Hand me that piece there.” I point, and Faolan hands it to me. Then I grab another piece, the wood smooth beneath my calloused hands, and drive my first nail, affixing the pieces together.

Faolan doesn’t look impressed. But it’s a start. After all these months, I’ve started .

And it gets a little easier after that.

Faolan helped me and Rowan build the extension onto Brookside, and though he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, he was a big help. Even now, he’s attentive as I work, handing me the tools and pieces of wood I need, a curious and focused look in his blue eyes.

The room is warm. A fire crackles in the hearth, keeping the air comfortable even as the sun slips lower in the sky, stealing the sunlight from the window. Harrison heads downstairs, probably to see what Aurora is doing, but Faolan and I keep at it.

I’m putting together the cradle’s legs, which have a gliding mechanism at the top that Aurora will be able to use to hopefully lull the baby to sleep. I know very little about babies, but I am aware they find comfort in being rocked.

I’ve just finished gently hammering another nail into the wood when Faolan says, “Why are you doing this?”

My eyes find his. “What do you mean?”

“The baby isn’t yours. So, why are you helping like this? Preparing for it as if it’s your child? ”

Well, for one, Rowan asked me to, and his doing so was an olive branch between us, a reaching out over what could’ve become a chasm to shake my hand. But more than that, I want to do this. I want to do my part, to help Aurora welcome this new little life into the world, into our family.

“The child might not be mine by blood,” I say softly, running a thumb absentmindedly over the smooth wood, “but it’s going to be part of my family.

And blood related or not, I feel like I already.

..” My throat starts to clog with emotion.

I have to pause and swallow down the tightness before I can continue.

“I feel like I already love them, whoever they are. And I want to be there for them, even if all I’m good for is building cradles and mending holes in the roof. ”

My gaze lifts toward the hallway leading to the main bedroom, where I patched a hole in the ceiling this past spring.

It’s a bit funny now, remembering how cross I was about the whole thing, considering Lydia offered my carpentry services to Aurora for free .

Not that Aurora didn’t try to pay me, but it’s enlightening, sometimes, to look back at how much things have changed and to realize how far you’ve come.

There’s a quiet moment in which the fire crackles and Faolan and I sit across from each other silently.

Then Faolan turns his head to look into the flames and says, “I understand.” One of his fingers drifts along the smooth edge of a piece of wood I’ve yet to assemble.

“Though I’m not blood related to all the other members of my pack—or what was my pack—I loved them like brothers and sisters. They were my family. ”

A darkness comes over his eyes. He settles his chin atop his knee, his long black hair shifting to obscure his expression from view.

Maybe this is why he’s so mad at his brother. Maybe it has less to do with the scars on his body and more to do with the scars that were left on his heart. I know being exiled from all I love would very nearly rend me in two. I’d be lost.

I clear my throat. “For what it’s worth,” I say, tearing my gaze from him and picking up my hammer and another nail, “you’ve got family here as well. That’s what we all are to one another. Even if some days are harder than others.”

Faolan doesn’t turn to look at me, but neither does he laugh at the sentiment.

An hour or so later, I drive the final nail, then set the cradle on its legs and step back to take a look.

“Hmm,” Faolan says as he does the same, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tips his head, regarding the cradle with a narrowed gaze. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” I slug him in the upper arm, and he flinches, eyes flashing with irritation.

Before Faolan can say anything else, footsteps start up the stairs. They’re heavier than Aurora’s, and Thorne hasn’t yet ventured onto the second floor, so I’m not surprised when Rowan appears in the doorway, long hair pulled back in a low ponytail at the base of his neck.

“Aurora said I’d find you two up here,” he says as he steps into the firelit room. Then his gaze lands on the cradle.

Everything goes still .

When he first asked me to build the cradle, I felt honored. And now, with the finished product standing in the room, its sanded wood reflecting the light, I feel a tightness in my chest. I want him—and Aurora—to like it.

Rowan takes another few steps into the room. “Can I . . . ?”

“Of course.” I step aside and gesture to the cradle.

Even in the low light, I can see the slight tremble in Rowan’s hand as he reaches out to place his palm along the cradle’s edge. He runs his fingers along the wood, then gives it a gentle push, sending it rocking gently along the floorboards.

“We’ll put a rug beneath it,” I say. “That way it’ll be quiet.”

Rowan still hasn’t said anything. Faolan and I exchange a look.

Then Rowan turns and pulls me into a hug, crushing me to his chest.

“Alden,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “it’s... it’s fucking perfect.”

The tension leaves my chest with a big sigh. I can’t keep a smile from my face as I return his embrace.

“I still want to finish the wood. Probably opt for a black-tea stain.”

Rowan pulls back and quickly scrubs away the moisture that gathered in his eyes. “Has Aurora seen it yet?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Thought you’d want to be here for that.”

He nods once, then claps me on the shoulder. “Thank you, Alden. Truly.”

As the three of us stand there in the light of the fire, staring at the cradle, I can almost picture a little bundle cuddled in its embrace, rocking as many pairs of eyes gaze upon it with awe and adoration.

Suddenly, I feel my throat wanting to clog with tears again.

I can’t wait for the baby to finally arrive.