Winter Fire (The Witchling #3)(53)

“You’re not weak,” she said. “You’re perfect.”

“Perfectly flawed,” he joked.

“No, Beck. Perfect. I wish I could show you what I see,” she said. “I wish I was like you.”

The flush that spread across his face was one of self-consciousness, the first such blush she’d seen.

Morgan bent to retrieve the stick. Beck waited, confident and quiet.

She straightened, heart pounding harder than it ever had. Meeting his gaze again, she wet her lips, recalling too well how her fire had nearly consumed her when they kissed in the car. She wasn’t certain if she was ready to feel that again or if she was able to trust him not to rush her. What if she disappointed him, or he decided he wanted to be with one of his blondes by the end of the week?

He had never brought anyone to meet this family, she reminded herself.

“You gonna throw it?” Beck asked cautiously as the quiet dragged on.

Morgan hesitated then shook her head.

“You sure?”

“Are you?” she countered. Her insides were shaking, and fear made her feel cold. But she wanted this – him – more than anything she could remember.

“Definitely. But if you’re scared …”

“I’m not scared!” she retorted.

“Trust me.” A smile crossed his face, and he held her gaze long enough for her to blush.

“I’m sure,” she answered more calmly. “What do I do with this?” She lifted the stick.

“Whatever you want. Just don’t throw it.”

Morgan held it in her hand then summoned her fire. It turned the stick to ash in seconds.

“Good choice,” Ben said. “For Beck. For you, Morgan, you could’ve done better.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” Beck said, grinning. “By the way, that was an official wedding ceremony.”

“What?” Morgan gasped.

“Back before churches, that’s all it took,” Ben agreed. “Stop scaring the girl, Beck.”

Beck laughed and offered his hand. Speechless, Morgan took it. She was starting to panic again, and for good reason. There was serious and there was serious. Beck was serious about her, and he knew nothing of her secrets.

His magick worked through her body, easing her nerves, though not enough for her mind to stop whirling. Beck walked with her across the meadow, greeting others as he went.

Morgan’s eyes fell to the largest bonfire, whose flames nearly reached the level of the tops of pine trees surrounding the meadow. Fire soothed her, and she was starting to panic.

She tugged at Beck’s hand.

He followed her gaze. “Fire calling you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You want to go with me?”

He looked back at her.

“I’ll either burn you alive, or you’ll be fine,” she said, unable to help the streak of mischief at his hesitation.

“If you don’t burn me alive, I get a kiss.”

“You’d risk death for a kiss?”

“From you? Hell yes,” he replied. “Besides, I trust you.”

Morgan didn’t know what to say. She pulled him towards the fire and summoned her magick. She expected Beck to resist, but he didn’t. When she stepped into the flames, he followed her into the blaze.

Fire moved through her, hot but not uncomfortable. The magick parted a path for her to the center of the fire, where she stopped and let it envelop her. Morgan leaned her head back and closed her eyes, comforted by the magick and energy flowing through her. She breathed in the scent of burning wood deeply. Beck’s earth magick had grown, the only sign of his unease. The earth’s warmth swam through her, mixing with the fire magick.

“This is amazing,” Beck said.

Morgan turned to face him, certain to keep a hold of his hand. The fire would consume him otherwise. She glanced around. The flames were rich and textured, their hues changing as quickly as their dance.

“It’s almost like they’re alive.”

“They are alive,” she replied. “Each flame has its own spirit, like your trees.”

“Like the earth. Every rock, plant, animal. They’re all connected,” he murmured.

“I saw that you asked the tree if it wanted to be a Christmas tree in the earth’s memory,” she said, awed. “Beck, that was incredible.”

“Which part? That I talked to a tree or that it wanted to be strung up with lights?”

“That you cared enough about its spirit to ask,” she replied. Seeing the memory had made her look at Beck with a great deal more appreciation. She admired the depth of compassion it took to talk to a tree spirit. She’d never met anyone who respected his world the way he did. “I wish the fire had memories.”

“It’s emotion, right?”

She nodded.

He tilted her chin up. Morgan’s breath caught. She was really doing this. She was taking a chance on someone.

“Someone owes me a kiss,” he reminded her, lowering his face to hers.

“You want to wait until we’re out of the fire?”

He answered by kissing her. Light, gentle, slow, as he had been the other night. His lips were warm and soft, his experience clear in how he worked her mouth. Morgan responded timidly. Her whole body was ready to run or maybe to throw herself into his arms. She didn’t know which would win.