Hexennacht (Wheel of the Year #2)

by C.M. Nascosta

He was her favorite work of art, proof of the miracle of existence, the ultimate magic, right here in her kitchen — filling his coffee cup a dozen times a day. Currently, he had an arm around her waist, hand resting on her hip, another palming her cheek, the third holding his coffee, leaving the fourth hand free to tuck up into the confines of his sweater, making a show of shivering against her.

He saw her exactly as she was, and the act of being seen made her feel more substantial. Less afraid to take up space in the world, and the substantiality made her more certain of her place in it.

She didn’t mind feeling like an outsider, of never fitting in . . . but the absence of belonging was like a hole within her. She may have not fit in, but she had belonged to something, once.

“Well. I’ll warn you now, this is not a happy story. Most fairy tales aren’t. Have you noticed that? They’re meant to teach and to warn. Mothers die and children are eaten. A happy ending is not required, only that you’re warned away from some danger.”

Death could be beautiful, she knew now. It could be peaceful and merciful, but the ugly emotions that preceded it never were. The goodbyes and the grief that followed were weights, tangible and heavy, and she knew that she would carry them forever.

Foul to fair will foul again, all shall blow away. What was taken must return, and night shall steal day.

“Winter falls to spring’s allure, summer morns are prey; what is dead shall live again, and night shall steal day.”

“Tell me again what will happen when you go into heat.”

“I will bite you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her pulse point with ease, answering the unspoken question. “Right here. My venom will be a burning fire within you, and then I will have you, little bug.”

“No matter where you go or how isolated you may feel, no matter if your coven is large and well-funded or if you are forced to practice alone, I bid you to hold your head high, sisters. A witch does not walk to the noose with a lowered head and shame in her heart, for she walks with her sisters beside her. From this day forward, your heart beats in time with all those who came before you, and yours will beat with all those who come after.”

If loving you from afar is all I am able to do, my Ladybug, I will gladly do it.”

What was she, if she was not a witch? What was she, if she was not a spider’s mate?

“So fight for us with me. I know you think I’m the brave one, but I can’t do this without you.

“It is my duty to care for her in any way I can, including those ways in which I cannot. Her comfort and safety and happiness are my only priorities.”

“I’m going to say this as nicely as I can — fix your face. Because you literally look like you’re shitting yourself.”