Page 58 of Wedded Witch

My hands clench at my sides, my nails biting into the skin of my palms. She looks too at ease, too comfortable, as if this is normal for her now. As if these three brutes could take my place, could offer her something more than what I’ve sworn to do.

Possessiveness surges in my blood. She’s mine. She was always supposed to be mine. I’ve followed her through towns, through miles of woodland, through magic, and yet here she is, smiling softly at these strangers.

Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is? Doesn’t she realise what she’s risking by trusting them instead of me?

The thought of them touching her, comforting her, loving her, drives a sharp spike of anger through me. They don’t know her like I do. Sure, she and I might be strangers still, but I know her family, her history, her struggles. I know her on a soul level.

They don’t understand her family’s history, the weight of the Galdur curse that binds us both. If she doesn’t break the curse soon, it won’t just be her life that’s at stake—it’ll be everything.

The world itself could unravel, and yet… she stands here, smiling like none of that matters.

I want to reach out, to drag her back into the safety she doesn’t realise she needs. But I can’t—not yet. I need to see how far this charade will go. I need to know what these men want from her.

Because they don’t understand the burden she carries, the curse that flows in her veins. OnlyIunderstand. Only I know how to protect her from what’s coming.

But I will take her back.

Soon.

SWYN

The airinside the house is still, heavy with dust and memory. I step over the threshold and the sensation washes over me—a pulse of magic, old and deep, like the house is alive, breathing beneath the surface.

I can feel it in the floorboards, the walls, even the faint chill in the air. My family’s magic is embedded here, woven into every corner of this space.

I move slowly through the entranceway, glancing around as I take it all in. The lounge is the first room I step into. It’s grander than I expected, with high ceilings and large windows that let in the dull light of the overcast day.

The furniture is draped in dusty white sheets, but beneath them, I can see the richness of the dark wood and old velvet upholstery. A stone hearth dominates one wall, and I notice the charred remains of a fire long gone cold in the grate.

Someone was here, but how long ago? My fingers brush along the mantle, and a soft warmth hums beneath my touch. Magic lingers here, like an old friend waiting to be woken.

The parlour is next, filled with more covered furniture, but it feels cosier. A large wingback chair sits by the window, a perfect reading spot for afternoons long forgotten.

There’s an old gramophone in the corner, and I can almost imagine the faint strains of music that would have filled the room, paired with quiet conversation and laughter.

I leave the parlour and head into the kitchen. It’s surprisingly large, with a long wooden table in the centre, the surface worn smooth from years of use.

Pots and pans hang from hooks along the walls, and jars of dried herbs line the shelves—each one labelled in my family’s meticulous handwriting. I smile faintly.

It’s like a time capsule, perfectly preserved beneath the dust. As I pass the stove, there’s another ripple of magic, a subtle reminder that the house hasn’t truly been abandoned.

The conservatory catches my eye next, and I step toward it, curious.

The conservatory is a greenhouse-style room off the kitchen, its glass walls clouded with age, but still allowing light to filter through. Inside, the space feels like an apothecary—rows upon rows of plants, most of them withered now but once full of life.

Shelves hold ancient tomes and vials of dried ingredients. The scent of lavender and rosemary lingers faintly in the air. I kneel beside one of the pots, brushing the dried soil with my fingers, and a faint spark of magic flickers at my touch, making me smile.

This house is a sanctuary of sorts. Forgotten, but not lost. And I can feel it welcoming me, almost as if it knows I’ve returned.

The guys have spread out through the house, checking to make sure it's safe. Kel’s heavy footsteps are above me, Ri’s voice as he calls out something to Sol from the back rooms.

But when I’m alone, for the briefest moment, I feel it. The sensation of being watched. A prickle runs down the back of my neck and I whirl around, but there’s nothing—just the house settling around me.

Still, the feeling lingers, like a pair of eyes just out of sight.

I shake it off, turning back to the conservatory. There’s nothing here but memories.

A few moments later, the guys come back downstairs. Kel is the first to appear, wiping his hands on his jeans.