I swallow hard and let the realization crawl beneath my skin: I want to practice dark magic again. I didn’t know it until I was back on this beach, standing in the same place as before, reminded so vividly of the magic that coursed through my veins. But Wolfe was right, and it terrifies me.
I made a mistake by coming here.
I shove the memory keeper into my pocket and walk back up the beach. I hurry to the road that will lead me to the safety of my large house and dark bedroom, my mother’s watchful eyes and Landon’s sea glass.
The road that will lead me firmly back to the path I’m destined to walk.
I exhale when my feet leave the unstable rocky beach and touch the secure, steady pavement.
But then I hear his voice.
“Mortana?”
I tell my legs to run, to pick up speed and carry me back home, but they don’t listen. I slowly turn to see Wolfe walking up the beach, following my escape route.
“You called for me.” He tilts his head to the side but gives nothing away. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say, cringing at how ridiculous I sound. My eyes drift to the sidewalk.
He takes a step closer to me. “You didn’t?”
“I mean, I did, but then I changed my mind.” I need to stop talking. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”
My legs finally respond, and I hurry down the road but stop when his hand touches mine.
“It isn’t bad, you know.”
I inhale and make the catastrophic mistake of meeting his eyes.
“What isn’t?” I ask, already fearing his answer.
“Your pull toward high magic. I wanted you to find me again.”
I tense and make my next mistake when I ask him why.
“You have an incredible gift. How could you give that up?”
I take a step back. “Because I don’t want anything to do with your magic.”
“Then why are you here?” he asks, echoing my words from the last time we saw each other.
I take a deep breath and reach into my pocket. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me.”
I hand him the memory keeper and look at the clouds passing in front of the moon. I avoid his face as if he’s the sun, as if looking directly at him will cause irreparable damage.
I hear him take the cap off and inhale its earthy scent. He releases a single spray into the space between us.
Memories of our night practicing dark magic fill my mind and overwhelm my senses, the way they must be doing for Wolfe. The way they will anytime he sprays the cologne.
“It’s a memory keeper,” I say. “Something to remember me by.” I want to make myself smaller somehow, and I wrap my arms tightly around my chest and dip my head. Maybe the gift is too much.
Maybe all of this is too much.
“Thank you,” he says. I feel the energy shift in the air as he slowly reaches toward me and tips my chin up with his fingers. “But I won’t need any help remembering you.”
The words are intimate. Special. But he says them as if they’re the vilest words he’s ever spoken.
“Why are you angry?”
“Because your way of life goes against everything I stand for,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair. “Your alliances make us smaller. Your compromises make us weak.” He looks out over the water, shaking his head. “I hate you. And I want you anyway.”
His words spark a flame in my core that spreads through the rest of me, devastating everything in its path. I can’t see past it.
I don’t want to see past it.
“I can’t see you again.” I’m shocked when the words leave my mouth, when I finally make myself say what I should have said at the very start. I’m shocked by how desperate I am to turn the words into a lie, to turn them into something that results in more nights with him.
Wolfe looks at me for a single breath. “Well, then, let’s make tonight count.”
He takes my hand and pulls me back to the beach, to the unstable ground where anything can happen. And even as my heart races and my mind tell me to leave, I let him.
He doesn’t let go until we are far down the shoreline, ocean to my right and towering evergreens to my left. We are protected here. Safe. Invisible as the rest of the Witchery sleeps.
Wolfe pulls a single moonflower from his pocket and wraps it around my wrist by the stem. “For tradition’s sake,” he says.
“Where are you finding these?” I ask, looking down at the flower.
“We have them at my house, though the one I saw with you was the first I’ve seen beyond our gates. It’s been said that the very first witch was born on this island in a field of moonflowers, hundreds of them, and that instead of reaching for her mother, the first thing she touched was a blossom. You don’t practice magic only during the day because it’s more palatable to the mainland; you practice magic during the day because magic is most powerful by the light of the moon. Practicing during the day automatically weakens it.”