Page 93 of Wedded Witch
“Stay strong,” Elias urges, reaching out as if to grasp my hand. “Your journey is far from over. You have allies, even in the darkest of times. Don’t let Morfran twist your heart with despair.”
“Will I see you again?” I ask, desperation creeping into my voice.
“Always,” he promises, and as he speaks, I feel a warmth enveloping me, a protective shield against the encroaching shadows. “Remember, Swyn. Believe in yourself.”
With those final words, the mist begins to fade, the landscape dissolving into a swirling abyss. There’s a pull, the urgency of waking pressing against me, but I cling to his warmth, holding onto the hope he’s given me.
And just before I fully wake, I hear his voice once more, softer now, yet filled with an unwavering strength. “Fight, my child. Fight for yourself.”
Elias’s words echo in my mind, a reminder of the power I possess. I may be afraid, but I won’t let Morfran win. I will embrace the storm, and I will fight.
I wake with a start, the remnants of Elias’s words still lingering in my mind, like whispers of a dream I can’t quite shake off. The storm outside has calmed, the soft patter of rain now a gentle reminder of the chaos that has passed.
I glance at the clock—morning light spills through the window, illuminating the room.
I take a moment to gather myself before stepping out of bed, determined to keep the dream to myself. The last thing I want is to burden others with my worries.
I quickly dress, throwing on a faded sweater and jeans, the fabric comforting against my skin.
As I make my way to the kitchen, the aroma of breakfast wafts through the air. Sol is at the stove, flipping pancakes with a skill that makes my mouth water.
The familiar sight of him, focused with a little crease between his brows, brings a smile to my face.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he grins, his eyes twinkling. “Hope you’re hungry. I made enough to feed an army.”
“I think the storm prep made me work up an appetite.”
“Yeah, it was the storm,” he deadpans.
I chuckle, joining the others at the table and the small stray from last night trots over for some fuss. He looks much better now that he’s warm and dry and has had some food.
“Hello little guy,” I coo, giving his chin a scratch. He yips happily at me and then curls up on my feet and promptly goes to sleep.
Kel and Ri are already seated, bickering lightly over the best way to patch up the diner after the storm. I pour myself a cup of coffee, the warmth spreading through me, as I take a sip and then wrap my hands around the mug.
As we eat, we discuss our plans for the day. Sol suggests assessing the damage around the diner and motel first, while Ri mentions heading into Spells Hollow to check on the town.
I frown. “But isn’t the town deserted and in ruins?” The guys exchange glances. “What?”
“I just want to check on some things,” Ri replies evasively, not meeting my gaze.
“I wonder if the nearby towns are okay,” Kel says, changing the topic.
“I’ve heard some places got hit pretty hard,” Sol adds, concern knitting his brows together. “We should see if anyone needs help.”
“I’m in,” I say, my voice stronger than I feel.
As much as I want to retreat into my thoughts, I know I need to focus on the present. I can’t let the weight of my dream drag me down and if Ri wants to be cagey about something right after we had sex, let him. I’ll turn my attention elsewhere.
After breakfast, we finish getting dressed, taking turns to use the bathroom. Kel teases me about showering, but Ri just smirks and shrugs it off. He’s a lot more relaxed this morning. Less uptight. Maybe Mavis was right and he did just need to get laid to be less grouchy.
At some point last night or early this morning, Sol or Kel risked the storm to go and grab a change of clothes and some essentials for me from my room, which was so thoughtful and kind.
I make sure the dog has food and water before we leave, the guys assuring me they’ve already taken him out for a walk. When we step outside the air is cool, fresh with the scent of rain-soaked earth. But as I take in the scene before me, my heart sinks.
Debris litters the ground—broken branches, scattered leaves, and the occasional downed fence. The diner’s sign hangs crookedly, and the motel’s roof bears the scars of the storm.
I grimace but I can’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for the safety of my guys.