Spring Rain (The Witchling #4)(6)

“I don’t know.”

One of her hands instinctively checked the pocket with the soul stone. It was still present, as cold and energy sapping as ever. Was it capable of calling out to someone like Dawn? Someone possessed by a powerful, Dark soul?

Or had Morgan not been careful enough?

“Have you thought about going back?” Noah asked quietly.

“Every day.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I can’t, Noah. It’s too dangerous.”

By the look of desolation that crossed his features, he was feeling the loneliness she did. He, too, had walked away from his friends and family, though his reasons were very different. He was guilty for all his sister had done to hurt people. Morgan suspected watching over her was one way he was trying to make up for all the wrong he’d ignored.

“Go home,” she said. “Ask Biji out. Live your life.”

“Biji …” he trailed off and shook his head. “She’s too good for me. I didn’t question what Dawn did, and it nearly got you all killed. I owe you to help. Somehow.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Noah,” she told him. “If you want to do me a favor, go live the life I can’t.”

“We can both go back,” he pressed. “Beck will protect you from Dawn.”

“No, he can’t,” she replied firmly. “Me being near him puts him in danger more than anyone.”

“How can the Master of Light – and Decker – not help you?” he demanded with some frustration.

Because of this. She squeezed the stone in her hand without answering him. “Go, Noah. I don’t need help, and I don’t need you destroying your life for me.”

He met her gaze, his stormy. “I have to make amends.”

“Fine. But leave me alone.”

She said nothing more. As if realizing she was serious, Noah left.

Morgan locked the door behind him, feeling sorry for the conflicted teen. She leaned her forehead against the cool door.

Beck will protect you.

“No one can do that,” she murmured. She didn’t know what it’d take to keep the stone out of Dawn’s hands forever or even if it was possible, but it meant she was on the run, potentially for the rest of her life.

Morgan gazed regretfully at the furniture in the apartment. A life of poverty and abuse had made her feel excessively proud when she purchased the secondhand pieces. She’d never had anything that was really hers, and the apartment was a first in many areas. She could take only what she could carry, which meant the pretty sweaters she’d bought for winter had to stay along with the couch and dining table.

She didn’t try to restrain her fire magick. Her distress stoked it to life, and her skin glowed with tiny flames that warmed the air around her. Morgan went to the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of a lopsided dresser, where she kept the cash and an emergency pack for an occasion such as this, when she’d been found. She double checked everything and set it out at the bottom of her bed. Tucking her favorite jeans and two sweaters into the backpack, she made her dinner and prepared to sleep in her bed for one of her last nights there. She’d take a couple of days to plan then bolt over the weekend.

The tears didn’t come this night. She’d been crying less lately, though she felt worse today than usual. Seeing Noah, a physical reminder of her time in the boarding school, of Beck and the others, left her raw and her magick spinning off into sizzling sparks.

What hurt most: wondering if there was a way to be with Beck again, but she couldn’t risk returning to Priest Lake to figure it out.





Chapter Three





Dawn tossed and turned in bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Eight months pregnant, she was a little less miserable lying down, but it wasn’t much of a difference. Frustrated, she sat up and flipped on the light on her nightstand.

“I can’t stand this!” she muttered and got up to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time this night.

When she returned, she went to the window overlooking The Strip. The lights of Las Vegas were bright and cheerful, and people still walked the sidewalks. Her luxurious suite had been paid for by her latest victim, a wealthy businessman Bartholomew helped her track and exploit before killing. His credit card paid for her room for another three months, and she lived well at the casino. The amount of people moving in and out of the casino also helped hide her Dark witchlings and the humans she’d conscripted into finding one single fire witchling.

Three months after being forced into hiding, she’d found the person she loathed more than she did Beck: his counterbalance, Morgan. Or at least, the city where Morgan was hiding out and the café where she worked.

We’ll have it soon, Bartholomew assured her.

“I know.” She no longer cared who heard her speak to the Dark soul sharing her body. “I want this baby out.” She rubbed her stomach, her lower back aching whenever she stood. She was pale and sickly looking, which made her even angrier with the child growing inside her. She had hoped to land a modeling gig before she started showing, but had no luck. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about how it was Beck’s baby, how he had done this to her – stripped away her life when he knocked her up then walked away. Not a day passed that she didn’t consider how amazing it was going to feel when she finally got her revenge.