Chapter 18. Caitlyn
My brewing, as it turned out, carried on well into the next day.
It wasn’t until I’d nearly slumped face-first into the cauldron that Blaise appeared beside me muttering something about stubborn witches before half carrying me upstairs and depositing me in bed.
I woke early the next morning to an empty bed.
Downstairs, I found Blaise attempting to read one of the books on magical flora in the living room. Attempting being the key word. The arm holding the book was propped on his knee, which bounced so erratically it was a wonder he could make out a single word.
I’d meant to start the conversation he’d begun the night before... the one concerning the someone he’d almost told me about.
But Blaise simply ushered me into the kitchen where he’d already prepared a breakfast fit for a queen, pointed out the sandwich he’d left for lunch in the fridge, and then—flushed scarlet—made up some excuse about needing to check on something outside before vanishing and leaving me to my candy potion.
It was strange brewing in a clean house.
Every time I lifted my head from the cauldron, something new would catch my eye—something clean and shiny that I was almost certain I’d never noticed before, thanks to months of grime blindness.
The copper pans hanging from the rack above the island gleamed softly, and I could have sworn the ancient wood-stove cooker had always been pitch black, not a deep forest green.
The coving around the high ceilings revealed a beautiful, entwined leaf design now that it was free of dust, and the paneled windows glittered like insect eyes, watching over my brewing.
Creep even popped in occasionally to check on me, which was... nice. I guessed.
It was a little eerie, thinking of her as a protector instead of a mischief-maker.
And while it was probably better on the whole to have a sentient house that actually did its job of looking after us instead of hiding rotten rat tails in my food, I had grown accustomed to that side of her.
I could live without the eyebrow shaving, sure.
But her more innocent pranks had become a source of amusement for me.
As her little feet pitter-pattered out of the kitchen once more, finishing another of her almost-silent security laps of the house, I felt my lips tighten. Not even a pan dropped onto the counter to scare the shit out of me.
Urgh. I couldn’t believe I was already missing that side of her.
With a huff, I turned back to my cauldron.
The first batch of Wailing Whirls—currently discarded in their silicone molds behind me—weren’t quite right.
The rue had certainly done its job, but a little too well.
The whirls were meant to induce a banshee-like wail that lasted only a few seconds, but I had a feeling that batch would have the user sobbing for hours.
The batch I was working on now had a touch less rue, and I had a good feeling about it.
I waved my wrist, and the stirring rod swirled itself. Now that I’d gotten the measurements right, there was nothing to do until it was time to pour the mixture into the molds.
Which meant I finally had to address the gnawing weight of Blaise’s parting words as he’d hurried out of the kitchen last night.
Maybe we could have a little chat.
Yeah. There was a hell of a lot to chat about.
Like the damn rubber band he kept snapping around his wrist. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he did it every time his thoughts drifted back to the person he still harbored feelings for.
The fact that it happened so often was worrying.
The fact that it happened while we were intimate for the first time was worrying.
But perhaps most worrying of all was the fact that I wasn’t angry with him.
I should be. I should be ripping the copper pans from their hooks and hurling them across the room in rage. I should be marching straight up to him, demanding that he either forget about the other person or get out of my house.
Instead, all I felt was guilt.
Guilt that I hadn’t summoned him sooner—before he’d fallen in love with someone else. Guilt that I’d hired him so soon after his heart had been broken. Guilt that I’d slept with him because my body had selfishly wanted it, even knowing part of him was still with another.
Guilt that I didn’t know how to help him heal.
And guilt that, despite knowing he was going through something emotionally monumental, I was left with the quiet, aching sense that something was missing between us.
A low, harrowing sob tore me from my thoughts.
My body reacted before my mind caught up.
My mate.
My heart slammed into my throat. Panic surged through my veins, my head swimming as my body moved on instinct alone—seeking him, needing to soothe, to calm... to maim whoever had made that sound tear from him.
I didn’t remember crossing the house. One moment I was in the kitchen, the next my legs were carrying me into the living room so fast it might as well have been teleportation.
I was halfway across the room before I noticed Creep and froze. My gaze bounced between her and Blaise as understanding dawned on me.
Blaise was slumped in the armchair, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes red-rimmed, fingers pinching his lips as he fought back another wail. Opposite him, Creep sat on the table, quivering with silent laughter.
At her feet sat a small bowl, containing batch one of the Wailing Whirls.
And I couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past my lips.
Mostly from the relief that nothing terrible had happened to my mate. But part of it, too, was the quiet reassurance that Creep hadn’t lost her mischievous streak after all. And from how heartbreakingly cute Blaise looked, clearly baffled by why he’d suddenly turned into a banshee.
His eyes, an impossible bright gold against the red, tear-stained whites, snapped to mine. A small furrow had settled between his brows as he tried his best to stay composed, even while his lips strained against his pinched fingers.
When he finally lost that battle, his mouth pulled free and a deep, low sob filled the room.
“I don’t know what’s come over me, Caitlyn.” He sniffled as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’m not a crier. I didn’t even cry when we thought Kendra had died at the end of season three of—” He sniffed again. “—Hexes at Noon.”
“That would be batch number one of my Wailing Whirls,” I said, trying to remain composed.
Blaise’s eyes softened in relief, his huffing sob now a strange mix of artificial sorrow and genuine pride. “I should have guessed,” he croaked, “that accepting candy from Creep was a bad idea. But at least we know the rue—” He broke off with another sob, his voice catching. “—works.”
“A little too well,” I said. “The worst of it should wear off in another few minutes, but you might be crying intermittently for another hour or so.”
I glanced over at Creep, who was still shaking with glee.
Blaise shot her a half-serious glare. Creep, utterly unrepentant, hopped to her feet, mischief somehow glazing her frozen face before she pitter-pattered out of the room to plot her next prank.
He tugged at the hem of his T-shirt and brought it up to wipe his cheeks, exposing his torso and causing a lump to form in my throat. He cast me a knowing stare, his lips quirking into a grin as he clearly scented the spike in my desire, before a fresh wave of tears spilled down his cheeks.
He wiped his face again before standing, abandoning the armchair for the couch beside me. With effortless grace, he slipped an arm around my shoulders and guided me down to sit with him, settling me perfectly into the damp crook of his neck.
His hand threaded into the hair at my temple as if tethering me there, fingers massaging my scalp in slow, soothing circles until my whole body melted into him.
“I think I deserve a cuddle after that,” he murmured, a sniffle catching on his words. “I’m feeling unusually vulnerable.”
I snuggled into him, a fresh wave of tears dampening my hair. My mind raced, trying to form the questions I hadn’t let myself linger on.
Blaise shifted beneath me, his hand cupping my face as if to keep me there—as if he didn’t want to risk meeting my eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “Can I tell you about my past?”
I nodded.
His chest rose and fell slowly beneath me, his fingers resuming their gentle circles as if grounding himself for what he was about to say.
“I hated the Shadow Realm. It was dull and lackluster, and I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to leave it for good. The mortal realm was so colorful. So full of life.” His breath hitched softly. “A place where I could build something while I waited for you.”
My heart tightened. While I’d been trying to build a life for him, he’d been doing the same for me.
Blaise let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling beneath me.
“So, when you didn’t summon me that first Samhain, I was actually a little relieved,” he admitted.
“Not that I wouldn’t have loved to meet you back then.
I just... didn’t feel like I knew who I was yet.
I wanted to meet you fully formed and functional. .. if that makes sense.”
I wanted to tell him that his reasons mirrored my own. That I’d wanted more substance to myself, more stability, before I shared my life with someone else. But I stayed quiet, not wanting to break his rhythm, and nodded instead.
“I figured the only way to do that was to go into the mortal realm and make a life for myself,” he continued.
“I had a few supernatural friends from earlier visits who helped me get set up with an apartment and the basics. Devlin even had a wolf-shifter friend who spent what must have been the most painful day of his life teaching me about the internet, laptops, cell phones and how job searches worked.” A soft chuckle threaded through his words at the memory.