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I can feel that it’s true. My body is even weaker than it is after a rush.
I’m going to be fine.
I’m going to live.
“Thank you for what you did.”
Wolfe searches my eyes for several seconds, then turns away. “You’re welcome.”
We sit in silence for a long time. The sky turns a deep velvet blue, and I know I have to get home before my parents wake.
“How do you do it?” I ask. I should leave, but for the first time in my life, I want to extend the night.
“Do what?”
“Stay hidden. What kind of a life is that?”
“It’s a full one,” he says. “It isn’t perfect, but it’s ours.”
“But how is it that we don’t know about your coven? How is that possible?”
He shifts next to me, as if he’s trying to decide how much he wants to share. “The home we live in is protected by magic,” he says. I wait for him to elaborate, to explain how magic can shield them like that, but he doesn’t. “We’re pretty self-sufficient. We grow a lot of our own food, and the island provides for us in many ways. When we need to go into town, we use a spell that allows us to be perceived as tourists. Nobody gives us a second glance.”
“Have you seen me before?” I ask, the words whisper-soft.
He turns away from me and looks at the ocean. I don’t think he’ll answer the question, but then he lets out one tense word: “Yes.”
“Have we spoken before?”
“No.”
I nod, dozens of questions entering my mind, but I can’t find the words to ask any of them. The night is quickly slipping away. It’s time to go home, and Wolfe helps me to my feet, his ring reflecting the moonlight. He catches me when I sway a little. I steady myself. “I’ll be fine.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and my fingers brush the moonflower Wolfe gave me, somehow still in place after everything. I take it off and hand it to him, knowing I can’t go home with it no matter how much I might want to.
Wolfe walks me up the shore until we reach the road. “You saved my life,” I say.
“It seemed like a good use of a Monday night.”
“Don’t lessen it.” I wait until his eyes find mine. “Thank you, Wolfe Hawthorne.”
“You’re welcome, Mortana Fairchild.”
We look at each other for a long time, and for reasons I can’t explain, taking even the first step toward home feels impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
“You better go,” he says. The words come out strained.
“Will I see you again?”
He pauses before answering. “Do you want to?”
“Yes.” The word slips through my lips before I have a chanceto think about it, before I can come up with the right answer, which is, of course,no.
“Do you want to see me again?” I whisper.
He’s quiet for so long that I think he didn’t hear me, which is probably for the best. His jaw tenses and relaxes several times, like he’s grinding his teeth. He looks at me as if it pains him to do so.
