Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)

by Lana Harper

“Then we’re going to have to figure out how to break this bond.” He met my eyes then, unwavering, a painful, lancing spike of blue. “Because you won’t be the kind of person I want to be tied to in any way.”

The very least I could do was protect him.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, because this was another tipping point. I could shoulder the full responsibility, keep my family out of it entirely. But I didn’t owe them that kind of sacrifice; they’d done nothing to earn that sort of loyalty. That also wasn’t who I wanted to be, not anymore.

And when I dropped to my knees on the cold floorboards, sobbing like my heart would break with the immensity of everything I’d never feel again, Morty was there to catch me, to pull me against him and hold me tight. To feel and share the firestorm inside me until it subsided, and left mostly peace behind.

“Yes. It would make conscious uncoupling kind of tricky, at the very least. And you and I . . . you know how different we are. Who knows if we’re going to want the same kind of life?”

He huffed a laugh, brought my gloved knuckles to his lips for a grazing kiss. “I mean, does anyone ever know that for sure, when it comes to another person? What I do know is, I’m willing to take that risk if you are. So, what do you think?”

“I think that yes,” I whispered fiercely, leaning in to press my forehead against his. “I think that out of all of this, you were the best gift by far. And I think we see where it takes us.”

I was really beginning to cultivate a new respect for her, along with a genuine liking.

They looked like the most perfect mismatch in the history of time—highlighted by the subtle, elegant way Rowan bowed his head to Emmy, while Isidora dipped much lower than necessary, her black dress pooling around her, into what was clearly the sassiest of curtsies. How the two of them functioned as a couple was a mystery for the ages.

Emmy was sending an unmistakable message here, and it was that a breach of trust had been perpetrated of such a shattering magnitude that she wouldn’t even stand for a trial.

The role of Elder will transfer forthwith to Scion Gareth Aurelius Blackmoore, for a trial period of a year, at which time I reserve the right to reconsider. Elder Blackmoore, may you bear the burden and privilege of leadership with more grace than those who’ve come before you.”

She was giving him a proper chance to grow, to make good on all that potential he’d been wasting for so many years.

Not only that, Emmy had chosen to divulge nothing about what had really happened, granting me privacy. This way I could control the narrative, tell my story only if I wanted to, to whomever I deemed fit to hear it. It was both gracious and kind of her, the ultimate courtesy—and more than anything, it made me believe she didn’t bear any real grudge against me.