Page 71 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

“I take it you prefer coffee?” I asked.

“I’ve never really had good tea.”

“Then I’ll make you some,” I said. “And we’ll see which one you prefer.”

“Will it keep me awake?” he asked.

“There are teas that can give you energy boosts, but mine are supposed to calm you.”

“That’s a pass,” he said.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I think you like it.”

I did, unfortunately, but I’d never admit it.

“Why do you like plants so much?” He rolled over, propping his head in hand, his hair still wet and curling at the ends. “Or this bog?”

I folded my hands on my stomach. “You’re asking a lot of questions today.”

“Well, I almost died, so I think you owe me a few answers.”

I snorted. “You did not almost die. You were perfectly safe the whole time.”

“It didn’t feel that way when my head was under water and I saw my life flash before my eyes.” He raised a brow. “So?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer this question without outright lying. I could make something up, but like the previous time I revealed parts of my history to Nevan, I didn’t want to. I wanted to give him as much of the truth as I could.

I wasn’t going to ruminate on the reasons why.

“If that’s too personal of a question . . .” Nevan started before I cut him off.

“I think I was born with this fascination with the weird, the different, the ugly.” I swallowed. “I was born with green skin, for godwitches’ sake.”

Nevan sucked in a sharp breath, and I knew I’d surprised him by mentioning my skin color. He’d never asked about it, but he must have wondered. It was what everyone wanted to know when they met me.

“My mother was horrified by me. I think they hated me from the beginning. They never knew why my skin was green, if it was some kind of defect or something they did while pregnant with me.”

That part was a lie. It was my magic. My deformed magic that made my deformed skin. Not golden, copper, ebony like all the other godwitches and demi-godwitches.

“I love your skin.” Nevan trailed a finger over my collarbone, and I shuddered. “Not that you need my approval or acceptance. You don’t.”

“I know what you mean.” I sighed. “I love it too. But acceptance isn’t the normal reaction to me.” I looked at the flowers surrounding us, all of them with eyeballs swiveling this way and that.

I reached out and stroked a petal, the eyes blinking. “I think that’s where my love of all this started. I was born an outcast. They’re outcasts too. Like me. But just because they’re different doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of existing.”

“Is that why you chose this bog?” Nevan asked. “As your home?”

This I could be completely truthful about. “I chose this bog because it’s secluded. I figured no one would bother me here, and I could live out my days in peace.”

I turned to look at Nevan and found he was already staring at me, gaze so impossibly soft it melted me. An emotion I couldn’t understand flashed in his eyes, and then it was gone.

He was silent for a moment, then said, “I want to show you something tomorrow. Do you think you could come on a house call with me?”

“A house call? To see a patient?”

“Mm-hmm.”