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Whatever was tenuously budding between them, it was cursed, just as she was. No matter which way she turned it, she’d never be able to be with him. Either she snuffed out the flame of his life, or her own would fade into eternal darkness.
* * *
Basil watched Isa rush away from him as if fleeing from a soul-sucker demon. The rustle of the brush died down as she got farther away, leaving him alone with the silence of the night and the crackling fire.
Well, hell. That escalated quickly.
What in the world had gotten into her? One minute she was doubled over with laughter, her gray eyes alight with such infectious humor, his heart had filled with joy, and the next she looked so crestfallen and in pain, as if she’d lost everything dear to her.
Was it something he said? He frowned, poked the fire with a stick. What could have set her off like that?
Shaking his head, he leaned back against the cave wall. Just when he thought he’d made progress with her, she shut down and ran off. If only she’d tell him why she felt she had to keep her distance, maybe they could work on it together and figure it out. He’d love to help her with whatever made her hesitate to relax with him.
He loved seeing the glow on her face when she listened to him talk while they hiked during the day, the spark in her eyes when she asked him questions about his life. That was real interest.
When his high school buddies had regularly complained about not understanding girls, Basil was the one to point out subtleties and complexities in the females’ attitude and explain them to his friends. To Basil, these things were clear as day, and he’d always been stumped when guys he hung out with acted like women were an enigmatic, irrational alien species.
Perhaps he understood the nuances of female behavior because he grew up in a community dominated by women—witch families were notoriously matriarchal—and the women in his life had always played a bigger role than men. But in any case, he never had a problem understanding females, their body language, and behavioral cues, just as well as men’s. He knew when a woman was truly interested in him versus just making nice conversation or being friendly, and he picked up on even the subtlest nonverbal hints of a female rejecting him, which he always respected.
Isa, however… She was sending mixed messages. No clear rejection yet, rather she was vacillating between attraction and retreat. As if she was waging some kind of war with herself about whether to give in to whatever was growing between them.
He’d be only too happy to help her tip the scale toward giving in.
Chapter 13
“Merle.”
Hazel’s voice yanked Merle out of the book she’d been buried in for the better part of the night. Pages upon pages of witch genealogy, archived history, and accounts from communities all over the world. This was the third tome she’d gone through today, all of them from the Murrays’ family library. She already flipped through the archival records at home, had then joined Hazel at the mansion to spend the evening scouring whatever books the Murrays had on witch history.
“Hm?” she asked in noncommittal exhaustion, rubbing her closed eyes with both hands.
“I found something,” Hazel said.
It was the odd tone of the Elder witch’s voice that caused Merle to sit up straight, foreboding skittering down her spine like a centipede.
“There is one account here of a witch your age who had to assume the position of head of her family, and then became pregnant.”
Merle swallowed, her stomach cramping. “And?”
Hazel lowered her eyes, a pained look on her face.
“Let me read it.” Merle sounded raw even to her own ears, as raw as her throat felt.
With trembling hands, she took the book from Hazel, focused on the page. The more she read, the more her chest caved in and her breathing flattened out. No.
Rhun’s presence brushed up against her skin as he entered the library, his concern flowing along the mating bond. “What is it?”
“We found—” Hazel began, but Merle cut her off.
“She lost it,” she whispered, the heat of tears prickling in her eyes. “The only other witch who became pregnant while head of her family. She lost the baby because her family members continued to use magic and she had to uphold the balance.” Her lungs seized, her heart shattered. “She stayed childless for the rest of her life.” She stifled her sob with both shaking hands over her mouth, closed her eyes, and wept silently.
Warm darkness enveloped her senses, Rhun’s power stroking over her mind, her heart, soothing the firestorm within her. He pulled her into his arms, held her head against his chest, his hand on her hair.
No words. He had no words for her this time, neither out loud nor in the intimacy of their shared mental connection. She knew why he remained silent. Anything he had to say had already been said, and repeating it now, with her soul in tatters and her emotions bleeding, would only send her tumbling further into despair. For there was nothing to say from his standpoint but to state the only logical step and do what had to be done to save their baby.
And yet the thought of pushing Maeve into the claws of the Demon Lord, of severing their family connection and ceding magical custodianship over her to Arawn was so inconceivable, so utterly sickening. How could she do this to her baby sister? After what she’d been through?
Merle cried until there were no more tears in her, until her chest ached, hollow and arid, the fiber of her soul so brittle it might crumble at any moment. With a last sniffle, she pushed away from Rhun, shook her head at the question in his eyes.
