7. Redundancy
CHAPTER SEVEN
Redundancy
Iwalked with him out to his motorcycle, and he flipped open a saddlebag, rooting through it while I examined the machine.
I’d had a lot of time alone these last few years, and, well, I’d gone down a bit of a hole on motorcycles after watching one too many hot biker videos on WitchTok on late, lonely nights.
The men had been mediocre, but the bikes had held my interest.
“Triumph, right? A Bonneville?”
He lit up. “Yeah, older model with the smaller engine, but she gets the job done. Bought her off a Sasquatch in Washington. Had to go across the country for her, but it was worth it.”
He stood, holding what I assumed was his go-bag, a wide smile on his face as he gazed at his steadfast companion. After literally feeling how hurt he had been by my curse-words in the greenhouse, I wanted him to keep smiling like that. It wasn’t his fault I poisoned everything around me.
“All original parts?”
There it was. Even if I couldn’t read his emotions, his antennae flicking excitedly gave him away.
“Mostly. Had to do a few upgrades, plus, you know, some charms for safety.” He motioned to his head. “I have a helmet, but it gets uncomfortable on long rides. Magic can be useful sometimes, right?”
“Less often than you would think.” I ran my hand over the smooth leather seat. “But whoever did this charm did a good job. Your head is safe.”
“Yeah, a witch friend did it for me.”
My heart sank.
“A witch girlfriend?”
He went red hot and embarrassed right away. “Uh, no—no, an old friend of my mom’s, actually. Don’t have a lot of time for girlfriends on the road.”
He rubbed the back of his flushed neck, and it was adorable. Why did that bring me so much relief? Because it meant I wasn’t about to have another curse placed on me by a jealous girlfriend. Obviously.
I turned my attention back to the bike—safer territory.
“Well, I’m glad it keeps you safe. Got everything you need?”
“Yeah, all good.”
I motioned, and he trailed behind me like a puppy back up to the house.
He followed me upstairs without being asked.
He was good at listening, this handsome mothman.
And considering no one had listened to me for the last five years, well…
it was definitely doing something for me.
But I tried not to think about it as I led him into the guest bedroom.
This situation was already screwed up enough without dragging sex into it.
I walked into the en suite bathroom, checking under the cabinet to make sure he had clean towels and soap.
“The house is old, but it’s enchanted, so despite what the bathroom looks like, you will get hot water,” I called over my shoulder before turning around and freezing.
He’d taken off his long-sleeved henley, and what he was wearing underneath could barely be called a shirt. It was an old tee he’d modified to be more like a halter top so his wings could poke out.
And, oh goddess, his wings.
They were currently curled up, previously tucked inside his jacket for who knew how long.
But as I stood there, slack-jawed, they stretched out, unfurling to their full size.
They were absolutely stunning, a kaleidoscopic of soft yellows, oranges, and warm browns.
I watched thick veins inside them pulse as they expanded, transforming into something I had no doubt could carry him through the sky.
Soft fuzz covered swirling patterns and stripes, and when they finally settled—which nearly brought their tips to the floor—they quivered slightly, like your back after a good stretch.
They were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
My gaze traced the lines of them up to his heavily muscled shoulders, then to his tattooed neck, which had turned dark red.
“You like them?” He tilted his head toward me with a shy smile.
Oh goddess, I’d been staring at him undressing. I’d literally just said I would not bring sex into this, and here I was, objectifying him like I was a desperate, horny witch. I mean, I was a desperate, horny witch, but he didn’t need to know that.
Except he definitely knew. The bond ensured that.
What a fucking mess.
“Uh, do you need anything else?” I fixed my gaze on the floor.
He opened the small pouch he’d brought inside, and disgust passed through him. “Can I use your washer? This was supposed to be my last delivery this week, so everything I have is pretty dirty.”
“Oh—yeah, of course. And I have some clothes you can borrow until they finish.” I dared to look up at him, and he nodded.
“Lead the way, boss.”
“What?” Why did that come out as such a squeak? Goddess, I was losing it.
“We have to go together, right?”
“Right—right! Yeah, this way.”
I led him downstairs, and he tossed everything in the washer. Then he waited patiently outside my door as I dug through my drawers for something for him.
Get it together, Lucia.
First, I found some of my baggiest sweatpants and some old, but not disgustingly so, T-shirts.
“You can have these. Cut them up however you need for your wings.” His gorgeous wings, which I was not staring at.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, there should be scissors in the desk in your room.”
He hummed softly, his wings fluttering and his antennae flicking. For another moment, we just stood there awkwardly. What did you say to the hot man you’d just met who knew you were staring at him with lust in your heart but was also the person who had ruined—
No. No, don’t think about that.
“Okay, well, goodnight.”
I tried to flee the room when a dark shadow darted past my feet.
“Mugen, leave him alone.”
I lunged for the slippery little pest, but he dodged easily and wound between Hawk’s legs, purring and rubbing against the edges of his boots.
“Well, that’s new,” I murmured.
“What is?” Hawk knelt to scratch behind Mugen’s ears.
“Mugen doesn’t normally like men.”
Hawk looked down at my familiar with amusement, a disarming smile on his face. “Should I be insulted, creature? Concerned for my masculinity, perhaps?” He chuckled, rubbing under Mugen’s chin.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and heat rose to my cheeks. Even without the curse, apparently, I was capable of saying the most fucking embarrassing shit all on my own.
I snatched up Mugen, who clawed me indignantly, and fled to my room. As my door closed, I heard a soft, “Goodnight, Lucia.”
I leaned back against it, and for the first time since a mothman had come through my greenhouse wall, I was alone.
Except I wasn’t. Not really. He was there, on the other side of the wall, a warm, steady presence at the edge of my awareness that would not go away no matter how I tried.
The house was louder than it had been in years with just the soft sounds of him moving around the guest room, sitting on the bed to untie his boots.
I slid down the door and buried my face in Mugen’s fur as he squirmed, his wings flapping.
I glanced around the room. My ancient four-poster bed, the vanity my mother had given me, and the peeling silver-green wallpaper stamped with small crescent moons that I had loved as a child. The entire room was a museum to a life I no longer had.
I did like when he called me boss. It reminded me of my old self, back when I ran the entire research division of Atropa Pharmaceuticals.
Back when I’d been someone, not the shadow I was now.
Back when I was developing cutting-edge cures to help the supernatural community.
Back when a few words from me had moved millions of dollars, not sent the townsfolk of Pumpkin Hollow scrambling for their purses.
Even now, I clung to it, that identity that had been built on lies.
We’d rolled out a new medicine for shifters the year I turned twenty-seven, and I was the one who’d signed off on the formula.
My team had developed it in response to the growing number of autoimmune cases along the East Coast—or so I’d thought—until I’d checked the original research and found the recipe, verbatim, in a field notebook my great-uncle had brought back from Oaxaca in 1943.
They’d developed it for the same purpose and shared it freely to help their community.
We had patented it.
I told myself it was an oversight. Nearly a century-old sloppiness that would be embarrassing but fixable once I revealed it.
Then I pulled the women’s tonic that had made the family its fortune in the eighties and traced it to an Ayurvedic ritual that was nearly two thousand years old, which we had also patented.
Then we had defended that patent in court against three separate Indian pharmaceutical companies that had been making it correctly and cheaply for years.
We had won.
I kept digging. Every flagship product we had, not one of them was ours. Not one of them had named the women—because they had almost all been women—who had spent lifetimes refining those recipes and had given them, in good faith, to the pale strangers with notebooks who had promised only to study.
I spent eight months building my case, then walked into my brother’s office and set it on his desk.
He’d laughed at me. “You’ve always been so emotional, Lucia.
Why don’t you go home and calm down for a bit?
” He’d stood up, circling the mahogany desk of the CEO, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Just like when we were kids, huh? You’ve never had what it takes.
This is business. Our family’s business.
Think about that before you bother me with this again. ”
I had gone home. I had thought about it.
Then I sent the file to the New Salem Daily Times.
I had known there would be consequences, but I’d thought lawsuits, fighting it out in the press. I never thought that…
Now all I had was this decaying manor and a rusting greenhouse.
My greenhouse, where I’d spent every moment of the last few years nurturing the Moon Queen flower from a seed to now…
nothing. I had planned every step. I’d raised hundreds of seedlings.
I’d researched and tested and tried every backup, but only one had made it until tonight, and that hadn’t been enough.
No, don’t think like that. Keep moving.
I’d make a new plan. I’d figure this out. That’s what I always did.
Everything was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was…
I squeezed Mugen until he yelped, but he didn’t try to escape as tears streamed down my cheeks.
Everything was not fine.
My ritual was ruined. It had been an accident, but the result was the same. The Moon Queen was dead, and I had cursed a kindhearted stranger in the process.
And this bond was a curse, because now he was stuck here with me. The witch cursed by the one who was supposed to love her most because she had tried to do what was right.
I’d fought—and I had lost.
I was supposed to be celebrating tonight. I was supposed to be free. Now I was more trapped than ever.
I let Mugen go and wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth slightly. Tears turned into sobs, and I never let myself sob, but what else was I supposed to do? My only hope currently lay crushed on my greenhouse floor.
I was cursed, and I was going to stay cursed.
Cursed and alone. Forever.
The sadness came up fast. After everything that had happened, I didn’t have the energy to fight it. Years of practice being fine, of shoving it down, moving to the next step, keeping myself moving forward, failed catastrophically.
The room around me blurred, and my ribs ached with each pained breath.
Through the wall, very faintly, I felt him lie down. I felt the slight ache of a bruised shoulder as he settled into the mattress.
I felt him wonder if I was all right.
But the sadness was so heavy, I couldn’t even feel shame about him knowing.
I just cried and cried until there was nothing left.
Only darkness.