Page 31 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)

Aurora

LAST NIGHT, AFTER MAKING LOVE with Rowan, I fell asleep beside him and was consumed by a dreamless sleep. But when I awoke, everything came crashing back in: the fog, Yule, the Highcliffs, Thorne and his pain potions, Cathal and Orla, the baby.

Now, as Faolan and I walk through the snow-covered woods, my arm looped through his, I can’t seem to banish the worries from my mind.

“You’re upset,” Faolan says without looking down at me. He’s wearing a warm woolen cloak, and his long black hair is pulled into a low knot at the base of his neck, revealing both his sharp jawline and part of the scar Cathal gave him months ago.

I don’t want to lie to him—I couldn’t even if I wanted to, what with our mate bond revealing all of my feelings whether I intend for it to or not. A breath puffs from my lips and condenses in the cold air.

“Yes. ”

“The fog?”

“Partly.” I slow my feet, my boots coming to rest in the snow beneath the bare aspens and towering pines.

The air smells cold, and ice fractals still cling to the shady areas, kept alive by the chill temperature.

We’ve still not hit our lowest temps of the year; it’ll be February or March before we start the hopeful dance toward spring’s warmth.

Until then, I expect more snow and even colder days.

Faolan slows with me, and he turns to look down, his eyes vibrant blue in the pale winter sunlight. “What else?”

“It’s... everything .” We’ve been collecting pine cones and boughs of pine for my Yule decorations, and I grip the wicker basket in a mittened hand, trying to steady the shaking of my fingers as my anxiety rises. “The fog, Yule, Cathal...”

At mention of his brother, Faolan snorts, tearing his gaze from mine and glaring off into the trees. Our bond flares with hot irritation.

“See?” I whisper. “He upsets you. You’ve been on edge since the day he arrived. And with him trapped here, I worry about you.”

Faolan visibly fights to wipe the scowl from his face.

It takes him a moment, but slowly, the irritation abates.

Finally, he’s able to let out a long sigh.

It clouds around him, momentarily obscuring his blue eyes.

“I’m sorry for making this more difficult.

I don’t want to. You have enough going on without me making everything worse. ”

The quiet of the forest spreads out around us, and I realize that I’ve missed having my moments alone with Faolan—and the other guys.

This season was supposed to be slow and peaceful, but it’s turned into a mess, and I feel like I’ve barely had time to connect with Alden, Rowan, and Faolan thanks to how busy the fog is keeping me.

Well, the fog and Thorne, but he’s been a welcome distraction, even on my harder days.

“Have you figured out why Cathal is here?” I whisper.

Faolan gives a sharp shake of his head. “No. I’ve asked, but he’s deceptive.

He doesn’t know how to speak truth.” Faolan extracts his arm from mine and takes a few steps into the trees, then kneels and scoops a big beautiful pine cone out of the snow.

He holds it up to me in question. I nod, and he adds it to my basket.

“Despite his behavior up to this point,” I say, resuming our slow meandering through the woods, “I don’t believe he’s here to simply check up on you, nor is he here to antagonize you.

It’s a long way from the Emberstone Mountains; they tracked you this far for a reason.

But even Orla won’t open up to me. I think she wants Cathal to do it himself. ”

Faolan snorts again while falling into step alongside me, keeping close by like the wolfish protector he is. “We’d be foolish to assume him capable of opening his frozen heart.”

There’s something about Faolan’s tone when he says that, and a twinge of pain comes through our bond. Arching a brow, I look up at him from under my knit cap. “Do you truly believe that?”

He reaches out to lift a low-hanging branch for me, then slips beneath it and continues along beside me.

“I don’t know, Aurora. I don’t want to, but.

..” His broad shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh.

“He’s my twin. I’m supposed to be closer to him than anyone, like he’s another part of me.

But he locked me out years ago, pushed me away and made it impossible for us to get close. ”

“Do you know why?”

He shakes his head, gaze faraway as he stares into the frozen trees.

His silence tells me he’s run out of energy for this conversation, so I cease my questioning and reach for his arm again, finding comfort in the feel of him beside me, the smell of him thick in the cold air.

“Let’s talk about cheerful things now,” I say as I cuddle up next to him.

Faolan rumbles with a gentle laugh. “Like what?”

“How about... gifts.” I flick my gaze up to his playfully, and he arches a brow in response.

“Gifts?”

“Well, yes. It is Yuletime. So, what did you get me?”

Faolan’s skeptical expression shifts to one of surprise, and a tingle of nervousness comes through our bond.

Truly, I don’t expect anything from the guys—they do quite enough for me already—but seeing the look on Faolan’s face, accompanied by a reddening of his cheeks, makes me laugh loudly and freely, and I think that may be a gift in and of itself.

Back at the cottage, we find Rowan and Thorne outside playing with the hens, laughing at the way Lucy leaps into the air in an effort to snag the dried grubs from Rowan’s hands.

I feel Thorne’s pale-eyed gaze on me as we pass by, and though I know I probably shouldn’t, I glance over my shoulder and catch his stare.

Our eyes meet, sending a wave of butterflies through my stomach, but I turn quickly away, banishing the nervous excitement before it can leak through my bond with Faolan.

After our walk, he seems to be in a good mood, but I don’t think that’d be the case if he discovered I’ve been kissing the strange traveler in shadowed libraries and wondering what his mouth might feel like on my naked skin.

Inside, we leave our cloaks and wet boots in the foyer, then move into the kitchen, where I pour us each a cup of tea and start plucking through the bounty we brought back from the forest.

“What are you going to make with all this?” Faolan asks from over my shoulder as I lean across the table and snatch up a beautiful spruce bough with silver-blue needles.

“A wreath for the front door,” I say, already picturing how I want it to come together. “And perhaps something to place atop the mantel in the parlor.”

Faolan continues to watch me curiously, and a short time later, Alden joins us from the parlor, carrying a book under one arm and an empty teacup in the other. He pours himself another cup, then joins me at the table and opens his book to resume reading.

For a short while, the three of us linger there in companionable quiet.

I organize the pine boughs and pine cones and wonder what else might look nice in a winter bouquet.

Rose hips, even dried ones, would give the bouquets and wreath a pop of color.

Perhaps I’ll go back into the woods tomorrow and see what I can find .

I’m admiring the soft needles on a bough when a jolt sends me sitting up straight. Faolan pushes off the counter where he was leaning, and the soft look that had come over his blue eyes turns hard.

“What is it?” I ask.

But I think I already know.

Faolan sets his teacup down without a word, then stalks into the foyer. I hear him pull on his boots, then the door opening and closing.

Alden looks up from his book. “What was that about?”

Worry turns in my gut. “I think Cathal’s here.”

Alden’s brow furrows. He closes his book as I stand from the table.

By the time I make it into the foyer and am reaching for my cloak, my bond with Faolan is already pulsing with anger.

Goddess , I think, why couldn’t he just stay away?

Alden is right behind me as I throw open the door. Cold air strikes my face, stealing my breath away.

Sure enough, Cathal and Orla have emerged from Brookside Road, and they’re standing in the small clearing between the forest and the cottage, wearing clothes we’ve lent them for the time they’re here.

Faolan faces them, standing with his arms crossed, a sentinel refusing them passage.

He has his boots on, but he didn’t pause to grab his cloak, and his arms flex beneath his tunic.

“What are you doing here?” Faolan asks. His voice is gruff, already lined with impatience.

“We need to get home,” Orla says, stepping forward and putting herself between the two brothers. “We’ve been away for longer than we planned; the pack needs us. ”

I try to step off the porch and join them, but Alden catches me around my waist, holding me back. I struggle against him, but his arm is firm as an oak trunk. Then I flick my eyes over my shoulder to meet his. “Alden, what are you—”

“It’s not safe.” He pulls his gaze from mine to assess the situation again. “Orla is one of them; they can’t hurt her the way they can hurt you.”

“Faolan would never hurt me,” I snap, still trying to push Alden’s hand away.

“He wouldn’t ever mean to. But in his anger, he may not have complete control of himself. And it’d destroy him if you got caught in the middle, so please, just stay back.”

Immediately, the frustration goes from my shoulders, and I stop trying to peel Alden’s hand away.

Because he’s right. I’ve seen Faolan’s anger, have felt it burning through my veins, and at times, it’s like a wildfire, hot and furious and untamed.

I wish to do my part in protecting him, to stand between him and Cathal, but I would be foolish to think I could do anything to stop either of them.

Now I ease backward, pressing myself into Alden’s firm chest, using him as an anchor as my bond with Faolan sings with his frustration.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” he growls at Orla.