Page 78 of Potions and Proposals
“When Rosie first moved in with us after leaving the woods, I made the mistake of going into her room during a full moon. Without her pack, it was harder for her to control herself.” There was no anger or pain in her words, only sadness. “I should’ve known better; it wasn’t her fault. She still feels awful about it.”
“How come I never heard of this?” Benedict wondered why the coven hadn’t been informed of a wolf-related incident. He hadn’t even noticed a bandage on her leg. Then he remembered that she always wore longer skirts and dresses. He’d never thought she might be concealing something.
“I begged Mum and Grams not to report it. Her residency in town hadn’t been fully approved yet, and they would’ve cast her out. She shouldn’t be punished because I was careless.” She looked down at her leg. “As you saw, the scars are barely noticeable, thanks to Grams’s balm. Your pretty face will be back to normal in a few days.”
Understanding how far she was willing to go to protect those she cared about made his chest tight. An admirable trait, and one he understood all too well. She might make a good Matherson after all.
“You were kind to take her in. Many in town wouldn’t have.”
“I wasn’t going to let her end up homeless or roaming the woods alone. She was sleeping in the gazebo in the town square when I found her,” Lucinda said.
“Will she ever return to the pack?” he asked, wondering if Rosie had ever considered it. Even though his own family was a mess, he couldn’t imagine leaving them and never returning.
“I don’t think so. Being cast out cuts a wolf deeper than any harsh words or physical scar. It’d be like someone ripping out our element and only leaving us with traces of it.” Lucinda grimaced as she realised what she’d just said.
“It’s not the same,” he said, not wanting her to beat herself up. Part of him was grateful the switch had happened; otherwise they might never have broken down the walls they’d built up over the years. “She’s lucky to have you and your family. Grams is as protective as any alpha.”
“I’d be much more afraid of her. Grams won’t rip your throat out, but she can do worse,” Lucinda agreed with a shiver.
“I thought Hawthornes don’t use dark magic?” he joked.
“You forget that my great-great-grandfather married the last Douglas,” she admitted, reminding him of the only blot in their pristine magical ledger.
“Necromancers. How could I forget?” He tutted.
She chuckled. “My great-great-great-grandmother nearly had an aneurysm about the match, given his lineage, but Aurora didn’t practice herself. She was the last of their name, and this was all before they even came to Foxford. Though we have got the last Douglas grimoire in our private vault– it was brought with us to Foxford. There are more dangerous and forbidden spells in it than I dare to mention, and it was the one grimoire Grams swore never to hand over to the Order.”
Curious to know if she was ever tempted, he asked, “Can you read it?”
“Yes, but I don’t dare to translate it. Nothing good can come from those pages. Grams showed me once, and the drawings alone haunt me.” She shuddered. “And the blood connection is weak, so I’m not sure if my translations would even be accurate.”
“So there is a bit of darkness in you,” Benedict said, inching closer to brush her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t have to worry about corrupting you.”
“I’m not a complete goody-goody.” Lucinda scowled, folding her arms across her chest.
“Ha! Oh, I know. I remember the piranhas.” He was only teasing her. Even if there were traces of darkness in her lineage, she wouldn’t harm a fly.
“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” she said, stabbing his chest with her finger.
He closed the gap between them, pressing her up against the sink. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t try to push him away.
“You’ve no idea.” He rested his hand on her waist, running his thumbs over the inches of bare skin as her sweater rose. “I’ve been on my best behaviour. What happened in the woods is only a taste.”
Watching her swallow, he brushed his lips against hers. She leaned in for more, but he pulled away. The annoyance in her eyes nearly broke his composure.
“What’s spinning around that mind of yours?” He ran his thumb over his lower lip, begging her to confide in him.
“What if this isn’t real?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “It feels real.”
“What about the spell? How can we know for sure? What if it wears off after the binding and we hate each other again?”
“Pumpkin. I’ve never hated you.” It took every inch of his self-control not to kiss her again. Since the woods, he felt like he was starving and she was his favourite meal.
As he leant down, she pressed her lips against his furrowed brow, bringing him back to reality.“We should wait until we do the curse-stripping potion. I need to know what you feel for me is real and not because of some stupid switch.”
“Lucinda,” he breathed, tightening his grip on her hips. She was a fool to believe that any spell or potion could have caused his feelings for her.
