Page 23 of Witchy Woman

It whispers again. It’s soft, pleading, drawing me in.

“I don’t know how to help you,” I reply, with more eagerness than I expected. As strange as this is—as terrifying as the heat is—I’m a little excited. I want to know more. “I don’t know what you need. I don’t know who you are.”

“What was that?” Grandma asks, not removing her hand from my shoulder.

I shake my head. Too many voices at once. “The fire said it needs help.”

“The...fire?” Hazel asks. I can feel her skepticism from here, it’s practically bleeding off her. “What do you mean?”

And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell her.

“I mean what I said,” I huff. “I’m not speaking another language. The fire said ‘help.’”

“Even in our world, it is unique for our elements to speak to us. Especially using language,” Grandma explains.

Huh. So I’m a weirdo among weirdos. Cool.

“Do you think maybe since Mom died—” Hazel starts.

“She is not dead!” I practically screech at the same time as the fire blazes, snapping at my family with the same ferocity. We react as one. And something about it feels damn good. Validating.

Something believes me. Something doesn’t pity me.

I don’t look at Grandma and Hazel. I don’t want the ‘honey, you’re just traumatized’ response that I know is coming.

I know I’m traumatized, but I also know that something is going on. The fire is against me giving up on Mom—and despite that woman giving up on me every single day before her disappearance, I’m not getting talked out of this.

I turn on my heel and stalk into the house, Belle hot on my trail.

I may be the only one who hears their element, but I’m not going to be the only one who listens. I’m going to find some way to convince those two idiots that something more is going on.

Chapter 10

Bullshit

“Idon’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry, other than when you’re talking to me. Should I be jealous?” Ash’s amused voice startles me out of glaring at nothing the next day.

He never sneaks up on me. I must be more distracted than I thought.

Bellemrows at him from where she’s twisted around my legs, pulling his attention away from any response I may have had for him.

She stands, stretching lazily, and approaches where he crouches down in a squat.

I can’t see what his ass looks like in that position—thank God—but his thighs are thick and muscled and sinful.

“And who is this darling?” he asks, holding his hand out for her to sniff.

Here I was thinking she was an angel, but she’s already snuggling up to the enemy. Traitor.

Am I jealous of a cat now? Fuck this.

“I’ve missed you,” he adds quietly. It’s a soft, honest admission that shoots through my chest like a painful lance.

“Her name is Belle,” I reply, ignoring his confession.

After yesterday’s incident with the fire, I barely have the energy for Ash Cedar. I don’t have the energy to verbally spar with him or to pretend I don’t dream about riding him until I’m screaming every night.

His hand is definitely not wrapped around my neck, either.