She thinks of Lottie. Lottie. Lottie.
She screams with so much emotion and power that her friends must catch her arms to keep her from falling into the lake. She gives all of the air in her lungs to this scream until she chokes on it. August lets go when she finds her balance, but she grips on to Lottie like she is the only thing keeping her from floating away. The muscles in her belly start to tingle, and laughter consumes her.
“How do you feel, Marigold?” Lottie asks, her embrace tightening. They lock eyes, and heat builds between them. Breath quickening, she leans in slightly. Their noses touch. If Marigold did not know better, she would lean in farther and let their lips meet just to see what freedom tastes like. Her chest tightens and her heart races. Realization crashes into her—she cares for Lottie in a way that she’s never cared for anyone. She wants to keep Lottie all to herself, stand between her and anything that could ever hurt her. Whatever this feeling is, she can do nothing about it. Not with her curse. Lottie is only a daydream, a wish that can play out night after night when sleep does not come. That will be enough.
That has to be enough.
“Clean,” she whispers.
Lottie laughs softly. “Me too.”
Voices raw, bodies exhausted, they walk back to the cottage. August enters first, holding the door open for the women. As Marigold is stepping inside, a faint scream carries on the wind. It’s rough and angry, sounding more like a battle cry. Leaning back, she listens for it again.
“Did you hear that?” she asks.
“Hear what?” August says.
“I did,” Lottie says. “Another scream from far away.”
Marigold nods as she takes another step back and places a finger over her lips, asking for silence. She hears it again, though this time, it is more than a scream. It is a word.
A name.
“Marigold.”
She and Lottie look at each other.
“Is someone calling for your help?” Lottie asks.
August steps outside and walks past Marigold, cupping his hand around his ear to listen. “What are you two talking about? I don’t hear anything.”
A chill runs down Marigold’s spine. There is something wicked in that forest, and whatever it is, it wantsher. The voice sounds almost familiar, making it all the more menacing.
“Let’s go inside,” she says, taking August’s hand and pulling him to her side. A witch knows to never answer the darkness when it calls.
Chapter Nineteen
Tonight, for the first time, the curse is heavy. It tugs at Marigold’s throat, wells in her eyes, and pinches her soft heart. No one can ever fall in love with her.
No one.
She thinks of Lottie, and how she warmed under the night sky. How they found each other in the pool, no barrier between them except water and want. How badly she wanted to find the courage to kiss her, to be one with her. To be… something impossible together.
August is the first to return, in a fresh sleeping gown and tousled hair. Mead fizzes in three colorful mugs that sit on the raw wood coffee table in front of the plush green couch.
“Well, that was interesting,” he says as he sips his mead and looks at her through his dark lashes.
She clears her throat. “It was fun, wasn’t it? There’s a meadow near our estate that looks positively blue during a full moon. It was always such a gift to get to witness it.”
“I would love to see that someday.” He falls onto the sofa with a thud. “I must confess, Lottie never lets loose like that. I find her actions to be the most interesting occurrences of the evening.” He takes another dramatic sip.
Blushing, she sips her mead to calm her mind. “Why is that?”
“You mean, why doesn’t she ever let loose? Or, why is she only letting loose with you?” He smirks, but before she canprotest, Lottie’s footsteps sound from the hallway. She stands before them and assesses their position, wearing a nightdress that shows off her tattoos.
“What did I miss?” Lottie takes a seat next to Marigold, not August, and grabs her mead. The three of them continue to exchange awkward glances, each trying to have a conversation with someone else using only their eyes. The result is quiet chaos.
Lottie takes a sip. “This is lovely.”
