Page 8 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Aurora
“THANK YOU AGAIN,” ORLA SAYS as I pass her an armful of blankets. “We appreciate you letting us stay the night.”
We’re upstairs, standing in the doorway leading to what will soon be the baby’s nursery.
For now, it’s mostly empty, save for the few items I’ve already collected in preparation: a box of newborn clothing from Mrs. Bluewren, a few wooden toys from Welma at the library, and the socks and mittens I knitted using the beautiful yarn Alden purchased for me.
There’s still no cradle yet, but I know Alden will get around to it, and I’m not going to push him. He’ll make it when he’s ready.
“Of course. We couldn’t send you out into that storm.”
Orla arches a chestnut brow. Her yellow eyes shine. “I’m sure Faolan would’ve loved to throw Cathal right out the door.”
I blink, surprised by her candor. Before I can say anything in Faolan’s defense, Orla sighs .
“I hope the two of them can get along someday...” Her voice is low; she’s probably trying to shield our conversation from Cathal, who’s currently getting a fire going in the hearth in the room. “I don’t like seeing them at odds like this.”
Nor do I, but I can’t help but to feel that Cathal is to blame. He’s the one who exiled Faolan, who left malicious scars all over his body. Instead of saying this, I reach out and place a hand on Orla’s arm.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the room downstairs.”
Orla nods, then eases back into the second bedroom and closes the door with a soft click.
Before heading back downstairs, I step into the main bedroom, the one that I used before pregnancy made the stairs so uncomfortable for me.
Rowan is sprawled in the bed, shirtless, reading a book with one hand while petting Harrison with the other.
When he sees me in the doorway, he smiles. It still makes my heart race.
The guys have started a rotation, switching out who sleeps with me in the room downstairs and who sleeps up here and on the couch.
I feel bad that we still don’t have enough beds for everyone, but the guys don’t seem to mind much.
I’m always impressed by how comfortably they sleep on the plush couch in the parlor.
The only complaints thus far have come from Faolan, but that’s just because he still doesn’t much like sharing me.
“Are you okay?” Rowan asks. He sets his book aside and sits up in bed so that I can prop myself on the mattress beside him.
“I suppose so.” I reach for Harrison, and he begins purring as I scratch him behind the ear. “I just...” My gaze cuts to the open door leading into the hall. “I don’t know if I can forgive Cathal for what he did. Faolan’s scars...”
I remember how badly wounded he was when first I met him, with bite marks so deep I feared I wouldn’t be able to heal him. Even now, my stomach grows hot with anger just thinking about it.
“Not all siblings get along,” Rowan says. Some strands of hair came loose from my braid this evening, and he tucks them behind my ear. “We have to let them work it out. And if they can’t find common ground, that’s okay too.”
His gaze gets faraway then, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his sister, Lucy, and his parents. It’s still hard to believe he hasn’t seen them since he was sent away to become a page at seven years old.
Should I tell him what I’ve planned with his mother? I know I need to, but I’ve been waiting for the right moment. Perhaps I’ll wait a bit longer, until Orla and Cathal have gone and things have returned to normal. I’m not sure we need any more upsets right now.
“You look tired,” I say, noting the heaviness in Rowan’s green eyes. “Get some sleep, my knight.” Leaning forward, I press my lips to his, and he cups the back of my neck tenderly, deepening the kiss.
Beside us, Harrison rumbles unhappily.
Smiling, I pull away.
“All right, you two. Good night. Stay warm.”
“Good night, my queen,” Rowan says as I stand from the bed. He picks his book back up and resumes scratching Harrison under the chin .
Descending the stairs takes me longer than it used to. By the time I make it to the foyer, I’m winded, my back and legs aching. But Alden is there in a moment, putting a warm cup of tea into my hands and ushering me toward the bedroom off the parlor.
“Rest, little witch. It was a busy day.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, then steal one of his kisses before slipping into the bedroom and closing the door.
Now I’ve got my shifter to contend with.
Faolan is shirtless, one arm propped against the wall as he glares out the bedroom window into the swirling snowstorm.
He says nothing as I set my teacup on the nightstand and begin to slowly undress.
With the door closed, the room heats up quickly, and the air is warm against my bare skin as I drop my dress to my feet.
Now wearing a calf-length shift and soft knitted socks, I cross the room on quiet feet and ease my body up behind Faolan’s.
As my arms come around his firm stomach, he grumbles.
“Don’t be upset with me,” I say, then begin pressing kisses along his bare spine.
“I’m not upset with you ,” he says. When he sighs, I feel his muscles relax, if only slightly. “I’m upset because I don’t know why he’s here or what he wants.”
My arms are still looped around Faolan’s waist. I rest my cheek upon his back. Against my skin, he’s incredibly warm, my own personal crackling fire. I cuddle a bit closer. “Could it truly be that he wanted to see you?”
Faolan’s laugh is sharp, humorless. “Cathal cares little for me—he’s made that crystal clear. ”
I hum in thought. Perhaps Faolan is right—I don’t know the intricacies of the relationship he has with his twin—but part of me, the blindly optimistic part, wants Cathal’s appearance here to mean he’s come to heal the rift between them.
The wind intensifies, battering the cottage with such intensity that the wood groans. Out the window, I watch the snow come down in a torrent of white, obscuring my view into the trees beyond.
“Quite the storm,” I say. “It was beautiful earlier. Did you smell it coming in?”
Faolan shakes his head. “No. Nothing. It’s... strange.”
Strange indeed. And furious . We get storms every year, but I can’t remember something of this power in years past, or at least nothing recently.
But the fires are burning, and almost everyone I care for is safe and sound under Brookside’s roof. Being snowed in wouldn’t be so bad. It would just mean more time with the men I love...
My fingers drift along Faolan’s firm stomach, then down, playing with the waistband of his soft cotton trousers. The moment my hand slips beneath the fabric to wrap around his hardening shaft, our bond flares with heat.
A growl rumbles between us. The fingers he has planted against the wall curl as I slowly stroke his length.
“Are you,” he bites out, “trying to distract me?”
My lips curve up. “Is it working?”
Instead of answering, he turns from the window, wraps his hands around my waist, and spins me about so I’m facing the bed. I let out a tiny breath of surprise as he bends me over. Then the warm air in the bedroom kisses my thighs as Faolan lifts my shift, bunching it at my waist.
His trousers fall to the bedroom floor with a whisper. His hands find my waist again. I can feel the tips of his claws pressing into my skin.
There’s pressure between my legs. Then Faolan pushes inside me, and I let out a gasp as I stretch around him.
He starts slow, warming me up to him. But I can still feel the anger simmering in our bond, and it makes him rough.
Deliciously rough.
One of his hands releases my waist to tangle in my hair, and I just barely restrain myself from letting out a moan. With the house packed full tonight, I figure it best to keep our lovemaking quiet.
Or as quiet as we can.
He growls again as he drives himself into me. My mouth opens in a silent plea for more. I push my desire—my hunger for him—through our bond.
And Faolan responds.
His thrusting intensifies as his free hand reaches around to touch my clit. When he finds it, he squeezes, making my body jerk. But his fingers are still tangled in my hair, and he holds me down, trapping me, keeping me captive as he continues to ravage me.
I love when he treats me like I’m his prey. He might let me boss him around outside of the bedroom, but once the door closes, he’s the alpha. He’s my alpha.
Fingers clutching the blanket, hair all around me, I close my eyes, let Faolan’s anger and passion burn through me, taking me to new heights. His fingers circle my clit while his other hand pulls harder on my hair.
My body feels like it’s at his mercy, like it has fully and happily submitted to him.
And if his panted breaths and rabid thrusts are any indication, he enjoys this just as much as I do.
Faolan reaches his climax quickly. He presses my body firmly into the mattress, and his heat explodes inside me. He snarls as he releases himself into me, not holding back.
I’m going to miss this when I’m not pregnant anymore.
When his pleasure has been fully satisfied, he pulls his length out of me, only to use his fingers instead. Claws now retracted, his pushes his fingers deep inside me, matching his pace to the circles he’s now rubbing against my clit.
My pleasure intensifies, my legs starting to shake. The scar on my neck—Faolan’s claiming mark—tingles with delectable heat.
And I’m still face down in the blankets when I reach my peak.
Fingers clutching and grasping at the bedding, I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.
His fingers continue working me, carrying me through my climax until my body gives out and I collapse fully onto the mattress, breathing hard, hair stuck to my damp skin.
Faolan licks his fingers clean, then gives me his sharp smile as I glance up at him over my shoulder.
“Yes,” he says at long last. “You successfully distracted me.”