Page 59 of The Witch's Shifter
We cross the square, and everyone’s eyes focus on us as we approach. Most of the looks are cheerful—though Rowan’s smile looks a tad forced. My mother’s purple gaze sweeps quickly up and down Faolan, then settles upon me, making my skin itch.
“Mother, Wyland,” I say as we stop in front of them. “This is Faolan.” I glance up at him, and though the worried crease has now returned to his brow, he doesn’t try to run off. So far, so good. “Faolan, this is my mother, Evelyn, and my brother-in-law, Wyland. And of course, you’ve already met my sister. Oh! And I can’t forget Fletcher, my little nephew.”
Faolan nods once. “Pleasure,” he says, voice gruff and deep. It may just be one word, but that’s good enough for me. I’m so proud of him. Hereallydidn’t want to do this, but—
“Aurora,” comes my mother’s voice, and my spine goes rigid immediately. “I’d like a word with you. Alone.”
Oh no.
Rowan and Alden both look at me, the happy expressions falling from their faces. Beside me, Faolan’s body tenses up, andI feel a subtle wave of heat roll off his skin. Reaching down, I give his fingers a gentle squeeze.
“Of course,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. To the others, I announce, “We’ll be back shortly. Wyland, I want a dance with you next.”
Selene’s silver eyebrows slope down, and her lips pull into a frown. As I pass her, she whispers, “Do you want me to join you?”
I shake my head, then lean down and press a gentle kiss to Fletcher’s baby-soft head. Whatever my mother wants to say, I can handle hearing it alone.
Selene nods. She steps back, but I feel her eyes—everyone’seyes—on me as I follow my mother away from the square.
We stop on the side of the road. From here, I can see Niamh’s apothecary, with candlelight flickering gently in the windows, and the little Faunwood library, though it’s sleepy and dark.
“So...” I try not to sound small, and I force myself to meet my mother’s gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”
Mama casts her eyes around, probably ensuring no one is within hearing distance, and then levels her eyes on me. “You must stop this at once, Aurora. It’s...” She waves a hand, searching for the right word. “Unnatural.”
My stomach gets hot. “What’s unnatural?”
I know of what she speaks, but I’m not going to make it so easy on her. If she wants to question all my life choices, she should at least be comfortable enough to speak them aloud.
She doesn’t skip a beat—not that I expected her to. She’s never been nervous to speak her truth, even if it slices those around her to the bone.
“Being withmultiplemen. First Alden, then Rowan, and now...him.” Her purple eyes flick toward Faolan, and even from here, with the evening darkening around us, I can seehim watching us intently. I’m not sure if knowing he’s watching makes me feel better or worse.
“It’s not unnatural,” I say. “It’s just not... traditional. But I’ve never done what’s expected—you know that.”
My mother lets out a quiet laugh. It sounds tired and humorless, and something about it makes me feel very, very small. It reminds me of living under her roof, feeling like a constant disappointment. I don’t like the familiar feeling creeping inside me. I left Wysteria for a reason. No part of me wants to return to the life I had before—to the life I lived withher.
“It’s just not right.” She shakes her head, lips puckering like she just tasted something bad.
“How would you know what’s right?” I snap, the anger inside me growing to a simmer. “You don’t know any of these men. You don’t even knowme.”
This elicits a harsh glare. “You think I don’t know you? My own daughter?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t. You barely write, I’m quite certain you didn’t even want to make this trip to visit me, and now here you are, questioning all my choices.”
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
Ah, there it is. Mama has a way of throwing knives and then acting like she’s the one trying to shield me from the blades.
“Protect me from what?” I cross my arms over my chest, and my mother’s gaze flicks down to my belly, which is just visible beneath my autumn dress. Inside me, Rowan’s child grows with each passing day, reminding me of the love we made beneath the summer trees, the first time I tasted sweet strawberry wine upon his lips.
“Yourself. You’re behaving like a coquette. Are you truly so desperate for attention? And to allow yourself to becomepregnant.” My mother clucks her tongue, unawares to the painripping through my chest. “It’s irresponsible, to say the least. I raised you better than this.”
“You’re not . . . happy for me?”
Now I remember her face when I asked if she wanted to see the baby’s room, the easy grace with which she rejected my offer, like she couldn’t care less. And to think this woman is my child’s grandmother.
“Happy for you?” She shakes her head, and the distant firelight sends the silver flecks in her eyes shimmering. “No. I’m concerned for you—and that child. What kind of life will this be? It’s messy. An inappropriate living situation to bring a child into. Do you even know who the father is?”
