Bring Me Your Midnight(58)

twenty-four





Wolfe follows me to the edge of the trees behind the manor. I can see the path in the distance that will lead me home.

“Why did you bring me here tonight?” I ask again, facing him.

He looks at me intently, his eyes never leaving mine. “Because you’re trying to force yourself into a box you don’t fit in. This is the life you were taught to despise,” he says, pointing to the manor behind us, his voice rising. “We aren’t a bunch of evil witches chanting in circles and conspiring with the devil. We’re a family. We laugh and have hopes and fears and dreams, just like you do. We farm and raise our children and try our best to protect this Earth.”

“It isn’t that simple—”

“Yes, it is. This is a life, Mortana. A vibrant, full life.” His words are urgent and loud and angry.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” I yell, at a total loss for what this life could ever mean for me. “There is no place for me here.”

Wolfe grabs my hand and closes the space between us. “There is a life for you here, a life where you can be everything you’re afraid of being.” He looks down at me, his breaths filling the air and colliding with my own. He searches my face, his gaze so intense I can feel it on my skin, feel it in my core.

He permeates everything, every belief and doubt and question I’ve ever had about myself. When I look at him, I see the person I want to be, the potential of a life lived on my own terms.

And it hurts.

It hurts.

Hot tears prick at my eyes, and I swallow them down. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, the words shaking as they come out of my mouth. “There has only ever been one life for me.”

Rain starts falling from the black sky, and I’m soaked in seconds. I pull my hand from Wolfe’s. “I have to go.”

I turn to leave, but Wolfe catches my wrist and pulls me back, and I crash into him just like the first night we met. I’m scared to look up at him but even more scared not to. I lift my gaze, and he puts his hands on either side of my face, his wet fingers weaving into my hair.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.

I put my hands over his and close my eyes, feel the way his breath tickles my skin and his fingers spark a flame that burns all through my body. I imagine pushing my lips against his and practicing his magic and allowing myself to be all the things he thinks I’m capable of being.

Then I pull his hands from my face and take a step back. “I was never yours to lose,” I say.

I take the moonflower from my hair and let it fall to the ground. Then I run. I run as fast as I can until I reach the path that will lead me home. I stop to catch my breath and turn to look at the manor in the distance, its magic lifted just for me. It is dark and looming, haunting and eerie, everything the Witchery is not. And it’s absolutely beautiful.

I turn my back to it and follow the path around the northern edge of the island, finally making my way to my street, but I stop as soon as I see my house.

It’s four o’clock in the morning, but every single light is on. Through the giant windows, I see my father pacing and my mother on the phone behind him. She wraps her arms around my dad, his face wracked with worry.

Guilt seizes me, and I run into the house even though I’m terrified of the storm that’s waiting for me.

“I’m here,” I shout, jumping up the stairs and rushing into the living room.

“My god, Tana, where have you been?” my dad asks, hurrying over to me and pulling me into his arms. “We’ve been so worried.” He tucks my head under his chin even though I’m soaking wet, and I can’t help bursting into tears.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, clutching my dad. “I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing, and I thought it might help to take a walk.”

My mother hangs up the phone, and I catch her eye from against Dad’s chest. Then she sighs, heavy and loud, walks over, and wraps her arms around us, so tight. Too tight.

“What’s going on?” I ask, realizing something other than my absence woke them.

My parents exchange a look.

“It’s Ivy, honey,” my dad says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “She went out tonight to harvest and accidentally unearthed a hive. She was swarmed.”

“That sounds miserable,” I say. I’ve been stung only once; I can’t imagine how terrible she must be feeling. “We should take her some bath oils to help her rest. Can I go see her?”

“It isn’t that simple,” Dad says, and his eyes fill with tears. “Ivy is allergic to bees. She had never been stung before, so she didn’t know. It looks… it looks like she might not make it through the night.”

I step back. “What?”

“Her parents want me to be there. We should all go.” My mother’s voice is heavy, full of sadness and regret. But her face is composed, and her makeup is perfect.

“No.” I take another step back. “No. I just saw her. She’s fine,” I say, unwilling to believe what they’re telling me.

“Oh, honey, how I wish that were true.” Mom reaches out to me, but I won’t do this. I won’t grieve for my best friend, because she’s not going anywhere. She can’t. I can’t do this without her.