Page 72 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Flora stood on top of the grizzly bear’s shoulders and joined hands with Shari and Daphne.

Sawyer perched on my shoulder as I took hold of the women’s hands.

The power we shared wasn’t subtle this time.

It had a definite presence, a low humming warmth that we felt in our chests.

I likened it to the feeling of seeing a friend after a long absence—a mixture of longing relieved, excitement, and connection renewed.

“Just like before,” Flora reminded us. “With feeling.”

“We had a focus before,” Shari said.

Releasing Daphne, I stuffed my hand under my shirt to extract the Celtic shield pendant. This magical iron knot was a symbol of strength, protection, and encouragement, everything we were giving to Gwyn. It was perfect.

To it, I added the five diamonds held back from Arcadis’s ruined ring. Perhaps the power bound within them would help the wight too.

The druidess moved her hand to my shoulder and gave me a nod. My gaze fluttered to Arthur, to the breaths he was barely taking.

“This will be easier than charging a crystal,” I explained quickly.

“Iron, like silver, wants to be filled with magic. But it’s not as malleable as silver; it needs coaxing.

You’ll need all your concentration for this.

But at least there’s no layering this time.

Just a donation. Focus on what Arthur means to you and give it to your magic.

I’ll channel it into the pendant.” It was about the only thing I could do.

There was no chant to perform, and for a moment, the women seemed at a loss at what to do. Then Flora piped up, “I might only be eighteen inches tall, but Arthur never made me feel small.”

From her chest, a gossamer thread of green magic arced through our joined hands and coiled down my arm to the pendant. A bead of light—her donation—pulsed down that thread and disappeared into the iron. It warmed in my palm.

“When I first started the animal shelter, he came and installed all my fence work for free. He’s just kind like that.” Daphne’s sky-blue thread wound around our circle and entwined with Flora’s down my arm, her bead flowing into the pendant. “The goats were terrified of him.”

We all laughed once, sobering quickly.

“He didn’t expect more of me than I could give,” Shari whispered. A red bead disappeared into the shield.

“He loves my witch.” The smallest of amber beads trailed down my arm. I felt Sawyer slump against my head with the effort to donate that minuscule amount when he had nothing left to give.

“He never gave up on me,” I whispered. My body clenched as my thread—now white instead of green—joined the weave flowing into the pendant. The piece of me that followed, that life force, slipped away. Just like Sawyer’s. I didn’t mourn it.

We spoke faster now, talking over each other, a chorus of heartfelt delight.

We relived every kindness, every virtue, every joyful memory of the lumberjack shifter.

When Flora made some quip that the size of his pecs was the bar she measured every potential suitor’s against, we dissolved in laughter.

The magic came faster then. The threads strengthened, the beads became larger, and the Celtic shield vibrated in my palm like the ribcage of a purring cat.

And yet, the pendant held only a thimbleful of magic. It wouldn’t have healed even the smallest of the bear’s wounds, but would it be enough to give Gwyn the edge she needed? There was no time left, and we’d stolen what little we could.

With a nod to my friends, I turned around and pressed the diamonds and the shield against the elm tree. “For you, Gwyn.”

The effect was immediate. Sparks of multicolored light whizzed and fizzed out between the seams of my fingers. They danced along the elm tree’s silver bark like water droplets across a hot frying pan. Sinking into the furrows, they disappeared into the trunk. The diamonds followed quickly after.

With my hand still pressed against the tree, I felt the wight catch the current. Her vaporous body condensed into a white Irish setter, and she raced up the channels of the elm tree with a victorious howl. The wavering of the elm tree’s light relaxed into a steady silver glow.

Caught up as I was in her triumph, I still had a shred of disbelief to ask, “How? It was barely anything.”

“Quality always overcomes quantity,” the wight sang, bounding along. The diamonds of her kin sparkled as she gripped them in her teeth. “And your intent was pure. Now take what you need, Meadow Ní Dara.”

With my hand still pressed against the elm’s trunk, I opened myself up to the power of the tree and absorbed until the Dara Shield whited out my second sight.

In my other hand, the cloch shattered under my clenched fingers. The released bond sprang free like a jubilant horse let off its lead. The crackling blue tether arrowed into the bear’s chest.

Phantom sensations of joy, peace, hope, and love, just shades of their greater selves, trickled down the bond. Bears couldn’t feel like men could. Our bond was dying because so little of the man remained.

Dropping down to the ground, I pressed my back up against the elm tree and pulled the bear’s head into my lap.

Primal magic shot out of every pore, the sparks of my healing magic so numerous and vibrant they showered the night like the golden confetti of a New Year’s Day parade.

Underneath me, thousands of flowers forced their way out of the soil.

Crocuses and coneflowers, snapdragons and whiskered pansies.

The bear’s wounds sealed and flesh was made new and deep breaths no longer gurgled with fluid in his lungs.

But the bond continued to dim.

The bear was healed, but the man was still lost.

I seized that flickering blue thread— so cold —and reeled it in, bringing my heart to his.

“Arthur,” I called frantically.

A familiar despair greeted me. When I had visited his dreams with the wight, we’d met in a barren construct of the great hall, no details rendered beyond the stones of the walls and the wide pavers of the floor. Now, there was only darkness and a faint blue thread linking me to a hulking shadow.

“Arthur,” I repeated, forcing his name past the sob lodged in my throat.

Two glowing amber slits appeared in the darkness.

“Bear claw, I’m here.” I hurried over to the shadow, one hand clinging to the blue thread and the other outstretched. Fur enveloped my fingers.

No, no, no .

I whispered his name over and over like a caress. A homecoming. I stroked his massive head, his shoulders, everything I could touch. The shadow rumbled.

“Come back to me,” I pleaded. “I’m sorry I’m so late—for all of it. You’ve always been the strongest one. Don’t quit on me now.”

Digging my fingers through his fur, I sought his skin. As if I could peel this all away like a pelt and reveal the man beneath. Following the blue thread, I pushed the thick fur away until my fingertips touched something they didn’t recognize. At first.

Is that… flannel?

When Arthur had been imprisoned in his bear, his identity had manifested as his lumberjack persona complete with groomed hair, clothes, and suspenders.

Hope sparked in my chest as I pushed the fur away from this shadow’s heart and found red plaid beneath.

Digging my fingernails into the fabric, I tore that away until the paw-print tattoo revealed itself.

There’s my bear claw.

Stepping close, I pressed my palm flat against that cherished piece of skin. My lumberjack. Where the cobalt thread disappeared into his body, warmth bloomed. The shadow dipped his head, resting a heavy muzzle against my back. A low rumble vibrated through my whole body.

Steadying my heartbeat, I focused on the bond, on that patch of warm flesh.

There were no more secrets to keep, no more attractions to deny, no more quests.

There was just him and me. Relaxing completely, I poured into his heart every scrap of who I was—all the flaws and all the virtues—and most of all, my intent.

I would not live another second without him knowing exactly what he meant to me.

And I wanted that truth to knit into his soul, reverberate in his bones.

The shadow shuddered, his fur rippling in the wake of my magic.

“I never told you because I didn’t understand the words,” I whispered. “Not really. But I do now, because of you, bear claw. ”

Memories flickered.

My fingers trapped in his as I pointed to a bee on his shirt collar. Arthur’s hand on my knee at the Carnival Cauchemar rodeo. His body shielding mine in the alley as a feral fairy bared needle-like teeth.

Our first kiss on my front porch. Braving my family by showing up to dinner with a massive blackberry cobbler. His fingers combing through my hair as we snuggled in the farmhouse window after my fight with the silver mallaithe.

Our foreheads pressed together as he pledged, “This man will always love you, Meadow Lavender Hawthorne. And even when he is long gone, the bear will love you still.”

Well, this wasn’t an either/or situation. I wanted both , and I wasn’t going to leave without them.

The wind whipped, lashing at his fur and ripping away tufts. The shadow curled around me, protectively, even as he shook with pain. I flung my arms around him, holding him tight as I pressed my heart against his. The ragged, tattered bits of the tether began to knit.

“I love you, Arthur Frederick Greenwood.”

I gave him everything, every opalescent glitter and golden spark of my Dara Shield. The Tree of Life’s canopy, the mighty trunk, the broadsword roots—the witch and the woman I had become. Between us, the cobalt thread strengthened into a cord.

“You are mine, Arthur, and I am yours.”

The darkness of his prison burst apart with an explosion of blue light, the last vestiges of fur and shadow sundering into the sky.

The hollow part of my heart healed. Upon the magic oak tree, a blue pinprick of light shone above the amber cat silhouette.

“Now. Get. UP!”

Arthur Greenwood’s eyes snapped open.

The silver-washed clearing returned as the primal magic and golden sparks dissipated.

The man twisted around in my lap, bracing over me on all fours.

Arthur held his breath as his gaze darted around my face, my hair, my clothes.

It lingered on my skin, which I realized maintained a faint luminescence from channeling all that magic.

His eyes were wild and flecked with greens and golds I’d never seen in them before.

Swallowing thickly, he sawed out a breath or three as he remembered what it was like to be a man again.

A matted, unkempt mess of a man, and the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“Mea—” Arthur coughed, clearing a throat that had not uttered words in too long a time. Mastering himself, he lifted a hand and set trembling fingertips against my cheek.

“It’s me, bear claw.” I leaned into his touch, spreading his fingers so his whole hand cupped my face. “I’ll grow you another rose if you’d l?—”

“Meadow,” he rasped, and fell into my arms.