19 #3
It leaves me standing there, alone and entirely off-balance. I’m torn between throwing all caution to the wind and going after him, or doing the responsible thing and heading into my tent to get some sleep.
And that’s what I do.
Eventually.
After I stand there and stew in all my feelings a few moments longer.
Stew in my confusion, my longing, the magick hammering against my rib cage.
I can’t make sense of any of it, so after a minute or two I stop trying.
But when I’m all tucked into my cot, Vayla snoring softly on the other side of the tent, the faint sounds of night pressing in close from outside, the thoughts creep back in.
Goddess, it’s been a long time since I had any kind of romantic connection. Or even just a simple hook-up.
Opportunities for that sort of thing are few and far between when you spend as much time in the coven hall as I do. At least unless you’ve got an eye for seducing other witches, and I’ve unfortunately never had that inclination.
Wielders—what male magick-users call themselves—are thin on the ground in upstate New York where the coven hall is located, and going out to pick up some mundane man in a bar somewhere always just seems like more trouble than it’s worth.
Sure, a quick physical release is nice, but trying to navigate making any kind of connection with a man with whom it might be unsafe to share my true nature is… less nice.
So I’ve been lonely, for the most part, in the romantic relationship department.
Really lonely, actually, since at the end of the day I’ve mostly just chosen not to.
Not to bother. Not to try. Not to open myself up like that and risk all the potential complications.
Sure, there have been a few casual connections here and there, a few flirtations that turned physical, but nothing that’s panned out into a long-term partnership.
Most witches I know have the same problem.
My parents are a rare exception. Even in their case, it took mom nearly two years to work up the courage to tell dad that the metaphysical work she did wasn’t just smoke and mirrors and intuition.
Maybe because as an astronomer, dad was already used to contemplating the enormity and vast unknowable sprawl of the universe, he was surprisingly cool about it.
Shocked and knocked a bit on his ass at learning magick really existed in the world, but he came around pretty quickly.
Which is more than most witches can say, at least the ones who’ve tried to forge similar bonds with mundane partners.
Wielders can be even worse, given the long and complicated history between us and them.
Given the choice between an arrogant wielder and a mundane man whose very understanding of the world I might upend by simply being honest about who I am, it’s always felt easier to just… not.
But Finn already knows who and what I am.
He lives in a world where magick is a given, where me being a witch is nothing to bat an eye at. There’s no need to explain or make myself vulnerable hoping he’ll accept that part of me.
Which probably isn’t the best reason to jump into a relationship, all things considered, but it is… something to think about.
Especially considering everything else.
Considering how handsome he is.
Considering how he didn’t hesitate for a single moment to put himself in harm’s way for me.
Considering how his teasing, flirtatious personality should irritate me, but never has. At least so far.
Considering the magick that’s taken up residence in my chest.
Goddess, could I… do this?
It’s probably a terrible idea.
The worst idea.
My life is a mess. I’m on the run from my responsibilities, and dragging someone else into it would be entirely unfair.
Not to mention the whole mates thing.
The most important thing.
As if encouraged by the reminder, the tendrils of magick inside my chest perk up, and I swear from somewhere on the other side of camp, a faint tug answers.
I shut that feeling down immediately.
Clamp down on the magick, make myself ignore the tug, face the stark reality that Finn’s not just some guy and I’m not in any place to pursue anything with him.
More than likely it would all end up a mess, anyway.
He already basically told me he’s all in on this, so where does that leave me?
If I’m not able to give him the same, to commit to this—whatever it is and whatever it might be—then maybe I should leave well enough alone.
I’d never claim to be great with people, but I’m not a monster. I don’t want to toy with Finn’s emotions or make him think I can give more than I actually can.
With all of that in mind, it’s probably best if I keep some distance, keep my head on straight, be professional.
I turn that mantra over and over in my head as I drift off to sleep, but as hard as I try, I can’t forget the rest of it.
Crimson eyes, magnificent wings, a devilishly handsome smile.
A demon who makes me feel… different. Like I’m a better version of the grumpy, surly, perpetual stormcloud of a witch I’ve let myself become these last few years.
A witch who has no business having a fated mate.
A witch who needs to remember what’s waiting for her back in her realm.
A witch who was never meant for any of this.