Ashamed of being the kind of mate who could imagine sharing his fated partner with another, when instinct demanded the opposite. A good mate should feel a primal urge to tear any rival limb from limb for so much as looking at her that way—not entertain the thought of inviting them to join.
And the thing was, that instinctwasthere.
The bond between Caitlyn and me was still fresh, still raw, and if anyone tried to stand between us and proposition her, I don’t think I could stop myself from unleashing my shadows and tearing them apart.
Anyone—
Except Ambrose.
But when I turned to Caitlyn, my thoughts fumbling for an explanation, she was staring up at the precariously pitched roof of the tent, her mouth forming a small O as she disappeared deep into thought.
The scent rolling from her was thick with honeysuckle-sweet, unfulfilled desire, the sharp edge of disappointment cutting through it. Threaded beneath that, though, was something else entirely—the crackle of an idea sparking to life, a trail of thought she was already chasing.
I should have been relieved that she wasn’t focused on the abysmal performance she’d just endured. That her mental reset had worked despite it. And as desperately as I wanted to stumble through an apology, an explanation,a confession, I didn’t want to be the thing that pulled her away from her thoughts until they had fully formed.
I couldn’t stop the frustrated breath that tore from my lips as I sat up and glared at the floor, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. The air mattress shifted beneath me—Caitlyn changing into the pajamas I’d left by her pillow, no doubt.
When I finally found the courage to look at my mate, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. The small patch of dampness darkening the fabric between her legs was a quiet, unmistakable reminder of my failure.
Her gaze lifted to mine, and heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks. Caitlyn reached out, her fingers gentle beneath my chin as she tilted my face up to meet her eyes.
“We have a lifetime to figure each other’s bodies out,” she said.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Caitlyn, there’s something I need to tell you—something I should have said much earlier.” Her gaze met mine, and suddenly I seemed to forget how words worked. With nothing left in my vocal library except quotes fromHexes at Noon, my mind dragged forth the parting words from the final episode, where it was left on a painful cliff-hanger, which hinted that Kendra and Xaden might finally get together,before abruptly ending. “I know I’ll rue this night forever for not having—”
“Are you quoting the last episode...” Caitlyn’s focus slipped away mid-sentence. Her gaze had gone distant, the spark in her eyes flaring bright as the idea finally bloomed.
“You just thought of a way to finish your potion, didn’t you?” I said.
“I’m sorry, Blaise,” she replied, shaking her head as if trying to pull herself back into the moment.
But the idea had already caught fire, and I’d be damned if my spiral of guilt was going to take precedence over something she’d poured her heart and soul into.
I lifted her chin gently, fitting it into the crook of my finger until her eyes met mine. “We have a lifetime to figure this out,” I said, even as guilt coiled tight in my gut at the thought that she might not want that lifetime once I finally told her everything. “And I, for one, want to spend it with a mate who’s successfully brewed her Wailing Whirls.”
“No,” she started, but I pressed a finger to her lips.
And just like that, I didn’t want to tell her any of it. The selfish part of me wanted to keep the truth tucked away out of fear that once she saw how tangled and broken I really was, she might turn away.
“Go, Caitlyn,” I said quietly, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “Be the perfect witch I already know you are.”
She smiled and leaned in to press a quick, affectionate kiss to my lips before slipping off the bed and darting out of the tent. A moment later came the soft clink of glass on glass as she rummaged through her ingredients, followed by an exasperated sigh.
“Do you need help?” I called after her.
“I was sure I had some already dried.”
“What is it?” I asked. “Maybe I can help find some.”
A moment later, footsteps approached, and Caitlyn poked her head through the opening of the tent. “It’s rue,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “When you said the rue-this-night quote fromHexes at Noonearlier, which is actually my favorite episode ever, I realized it was exactly what the Wailing Whirls were missing.”
“Great,” I whispered back. “But why are we whispering?”
She glanced over her shoulder before answering. “Because I’ve seen rue growing in Creep’s killer greenhouse. I thought I might already have some dried, but apparently not—and I’m not ready to go crawling back to her just yet.”
With that, Caitlyn slipped out of the tent. A moment later, the soft clink of glass on glass drifted through the air as she began sorting through her potions and herbs again.
After a long exhale, I pushed myself to my feet and headed for the entrance of the tent. I had no idea what dried rue was supposed to look like, but a second set of eyes couldn’t hurt.
