Chapter 1
BLOSSOM
Weddings are a time for joy, celebration, and resisting the urge to throw an elbow into the gut of the man standing too close to me.
Ignore him. If he knows how much he’s unsettling me, that’ll only make him happier.
To distract myself from the looming presence at my back, I stay focused on my sister and her beautiful mate-to-be as they exchange vows.
Heather is a lacy masterpiece in a formfitting dress that flows into an elegant train and pools around her feet.
The ivory fabric is a similar tone to her creamy skin.
Light-brown hair—the same shade as mine—falls halfway down her back, the gentle waves stirring in the early fall breeze.
Forget wood witch. She looks like a nature goddess with the flowers weaved into her strands.
Helps that we’re all standing under two towering oaks for this handfasting.
“Jenny,” my sister says with a watery hitch to her voice, “I was never sure fated mates existed. But then I met you.”
Standing behind Heather, I can’t see my sister’s expression. But if it’s anything like Jenny’s, her face wears wonder and love and a touch of tears.
Everyone is getting misty-eyed. Jenny’s parents sit next to my father in the front row, and the three pass tissues to each other. The small gathering of family and close friends fills a handful of benches in this forest beside Lake Galen, and I hear sighs and sniffles from the group.
My heart swells along with them—and then my errant brain wonders if he’s crying.
Don’t look. If you look, he’ll know you’re thinking about him. Best to never acknowledge his existence.
“Have you rings to exchange?” Selena, leader of the ceremony and head of the Folk Haven witch coven, asks the two women.
Heather slips her manicured hand into a pocket—because of course she would insist her wedding dress be equally breathtaking and practical—and pulls out a rose-gold band.
The metal looks warm as it settles against Jenny’s bronze skin.
In return, the human presents my witchy sister with a silver band that cradles an emerald, the shade of the stone darker than the sage green Heather requested my dress be.
I smooth my hands over the velvety fabric of my skirt before fiddling with my own ring.
The delicate piece of jewelry I wear isn’t from a mating or human marriage, but instead was a gift from my father the day I left for college. The circlet is simple, without any stones, but beautiful with its intertwining tree and root design.
To remember where home is, his note said.
I had known my family wasn’t overjoyed about me going to school hours away. But back then, I needed space. Papa and Heather had gotten into the habit of babying me and never seemed to grow out of it. I wanted to prove to myself I could survive on my own.
And I did.
Now, I’ve come back to Folk Haven. Sort of.
A year ago, I accepted a position as a faculty member at Ramla University, which sits a half hour south of my hometown.
But I decided not to live in Folk Haven.
Instead, I rent an apartment in Athens, Georgia.
A slightly longer commute, but it’s the space I need to maintain my independence.
To show that despite being the coddled younger daughter, I’m not a child anymore.
No matter what some people might think.
Don’t look at him.
I do my best to focus on the ceremony. The happiest moment of my sister’s life. The joining of her with the amazing woman she loves. Our family growing by one as I gain a sister-in-law who is perfect for Heather.
Just as the coven leader drapes a light-green ribbon—the color matching my outfit and the floral arrangements—around the couple’s wrists, I feel a brush against my back.
A slight tug.
And that’s when I recall this beautiful dress Heather picked out for me, an outfit I loved the moment I slipped it on, is held up by two bows. One around my neck and one around my lower back.
And the latter is currently being tugged on.
He wouldn’t.
Logically, I know the man behind me loves my sister like his own.
They’ve been best friends since she found him sulking in Papa’s apple orchard a week after moving to our magical town.
She asked him to stand up here as the only other member of her bridal party.
He wouldn’t do anything to ruin her special day.
But another part of my brain panics.
If that bow comes undone, I’ll look ridiculous. He won’t be able to resist himself.
Trying not to draw attention to myself, I hold Heather’s bouquet with one hand and reach behind me with the other, seeking out the bow on my lower back. My touch brushes warm, rough fingers.
I grab them in a death grip and dig my manicured nails into the sensitive skin of his palm, wishing I’d gotten stiletto acrylics so I could do some real damage. Still, there’s the softest grunt behind me, and he lets go of my dress.
But I don’t trust him, so I keep his roaming fingers in mine as Selena calls for the blessing of The Dark One—the witch goddess we all pray to.
Luckily, Jenny comes from an open-minded family. She and her human parents accepted the knowledge that witches were real with excited curiosity rather than fear and disdain.
“Under her dark eyes,” the coven leader intones, “I declare you two mated.”
Heather whoops before lunging forward to wrap her non-ribbon-tied arm around Jenny’s neck to drag the blushing woman in for a heated kiss.
In the joy of the moment, I briefly forget the nuisance at my back and cheer with the rest of the crowd.
Heather and Jenny break apart and hold their bound hands up for all to see as the clapping and celebrating continue.
On the other side of the forest clearing waits a cluster of tables full of food, a live band, and a dance floor. Time for the fun to begin.
Heather’s cheeks might rupture from how wide she’s grinning when her eyes meet mine.
I love you, I mouth, once again overwhelmed with happiness that she’s found her life partner.
She blows me a kiss. Then, her gaze flits up and over my shoulder, and she sends another kiss through the air to the man at my back.
The one whose wandering hand I’m still clutching.
I drop it fast and whirl on him, allowing my fury forward now that the quiet part of the ceremony is over.
Much to my annoyance, I have to lift my chin to meet a set of slate-gray eyes. A stare that always seems hungry.
The eyes belong to Manuel Ramirez. Werewolf, Heather’s best friend, and my nemesis.
“I’m about to rip your twig and berries off and feed them to you,” I snarl, low enough so only he hears.
Manny tilts his head, smiling slow, the leisurely action pairing entirely too well with his crisp white shirt, dark dress pants, and ivy-patterned suspenders.
His brown hair is neatly combed back from his tan face, showing off a strong jaw and dangerous cheekbones.
He is all Southern gentleman in appearance and all Southern devil at heart.
And even after years of his subtle tormenting, my body still tingles, just standing near him. If only annoyance could eradicate attraction.
“You had a bee. On your back. Landed on that pretty little bow. I was protecting you, Blossom.”
The way he says my name, practically purring the word, should not be allowed. He says Blossom like the flowery moniker is an endearment rather than what’s printed on my birth certificate.
Product of having a wood witch father. Root Fernmore loves plants as names.
Couldn’t have given me something slightly more mainstream though, could he?
“I didn’t feel a bee,” I snap. “What I felt was a handsy werewolf trying to untie my dress in the middle of my sister’s mating.” With a jerk, I wave toward the crowd that’s rising from their seats to meander over to the party area.
Manny’s brow dips. “I’m not about to strip you in front of an audience.
” A smirk pulls at his mouth. “I prefer some privacy for that.” Then, he leans down, mouth next to my ear, warm breath teasing the short brown curls I’ve neatly arranged.
“Maybe you should try to be less tempting to dangerous things. How’s a bee meant to ignore a flower that smells so good? ”
Heat flushes through my body.
What is this? What is happening?
It’s almost like Manny is flirting with me. But that is impossible because we hate each other.
We have for years.
This must be some new kind of mind game. I refuse to fall for it.
I turn until my mouth is inches from his. “Maybe I want to tempt dangerous things.” I watch his nostrils flare. “It’s the best way to lay a trap.”
Then, I twist my hand in a practiced gesture, tugging on my magic—the strands of power that constantly thrum just under my skin—and I wait a second in relish.
Only to watch as Manny whips his hand up in time to catch the shiny red apple hurtling through the air toward his dense head. He straightens and palms the fruit projectile I commanded a tree to chuck at him with a little mystical urging.
The wolf grins. “My reflexes have improved since high school, Bud.” He emphasizes the annoying nickname he granted me years ago with a large, taunting bite of the crimson flesh.
I long for our younger days where he never saw the apples coming and I got to watch them nail him, the impact resulting in an explosion of juicy mush.
“Have they?”
I ram my fist into his gut, then whirl on my heel, sauntering away with the lovely sound of him wheezing blending perfectly with the opening strains of the wedding band.
I should’ve known Manny would expect the apple attack. It was my go-to revenge when we were teenagers anytime he would taunt me. I’ll have to think of new methods to knock that smirk off his face. Because I can count on one thing: I’ll never escape Manny Ramirez.
Not as long as he and Heather are best friends.
And the only thing the wolf loves as much as my sister is making me furious.