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Just Breathe
Just Breathe
Just Breathe
Ebook457 pages6 hours

Just Breathe

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Battling supernatural hunters and power-hungry witches, Aisling Green must learn to access her power, and fight for what she loves.

New witch Aisling Green is trying to find out what she is and the world she's entered with no luck. When a dark witch tries to kill her, she's rescued by Connor, a light witch, and he agrees to help her.

They discover she's not just a witch. She's the most powerful creature in existence. An Earthen witch. While they try to develop her unique power, Aisling realizes that she's fallen for Connor. But her heart isn't the only thing in danger. Word begins to spread about what she is, and people want her dead. Her power is the key to her salvation. But can she learn to access it before it's too late?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSarah Doughty
Release dateApr 28, 2015
ISBN9781310871580
Just Breathe
Author

Sarah Doughty

The night calls to me in moonlit whispers and my daydreams answer.Conjuring words from the ether is like breathing — my weapon — my therapy. It allows me to weed through all the pain, in an effort to find myself again.My name is Sarah Doughty and I suffer from complex PTSD, depression, and debilitating anxiety. And if I don’t have a migraine, I have a headache. Every. Single. Day. Though I am terrified of the night, crowds, and much more, this darkness has become my home.If writing is my breath, then my books are my life. While my poetry focuses on singular events meant to evoke feeling or spur memories, fiction is where my heart lies. Though my books are a way for me to escape my mind and experience a magical world, deep down the problems are very real. And in many ways, my characters are vivid and alive, which in turn helps me see the world in a better light.I've shared them online for anyone who wants to read them — for free, to offer someone else hope, or the same, temporary escape as they did for me.

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  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
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    Great stories badly written. Characters are juvenile and flat. The sex is redundant and over done. Did I mention the characters are juvenile?

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Just Breathe - Sarah Doughty

Warnings

Triggers: Please note this book is meant for adult audiences. It contains sexual content, attempted murder, graphic violence, brief accounts and references to child and animal abuse / death.

Spoilers: Congrats! This is the first book of the series. It is recommended to read this book before continuing with the others.

The Earthen Witch Chronicles

by Sarah Doughty

Just Breathe

Focus

Home

Listen

Safe

Stronger Than Blood

Enduring The Flames

Zoe*

Dream Spell**

*a prequel novella

**a standalone novella

For my son, Hayden. May you one day find your true happiness.

Everything you imagine is real.

– Pablo Picasso

Awake, my dear

Be kind to your sleeping heart.

Take it out into the vast fields of light.

And let it breathe.

- Hafiz

Breathe. Let go. And remind yourself that this very moment is the one you know you have for sure.

- Oprah Winfrey

I shut out the pain,

Existing in a daze

Until I found

Something that

Woke me up,

Brought me to life.

All I could do was

Just breathe

And let it in.

- Aisling Green

Chapter 1

The library was a sanctuary. At least it was to me once. Useless reference books were scattered across the table and there were thousands beyond it. With row after row of packed bookcases filling the space around me, I was surrounded by a sea of information. Yet, surrounded by nothing at all.

I slammed the hardcover closed with a thump, startling my companion curled up next to it. A pair of green eyes looked up at me. Sorry, I smiled and scratched the top of the gray cat's head. A rumble, deep in his chest, sputtered to life an instant later and his eyes slid closed in pleasure.

God, but he was loud.

Bugs belonged to my best friend and favorite librarian, Angela Williams. And he went everywhere with her. I knew them for nearly four years. When Angela moved into our dorm at college, the pudgy Russian Blue feline wasted no time and jumped on my lap as soon as she released him. Then his loud, dying motor of a purr filled the silence. I teased her about it ever since.

You okay, Aisling? Angela’s brown head leaned over the side of her desk to look at me through the doorway to her office.

She was Nashville's youngest-ever head librarian. Not to mention, she was also both the first woman and African-American to take the position. She and Bugs moved to town after graduation and, soon after, she landed her dream job. At last, she found a place to settle down and grow some roots.

I understood how lonely she was. At least, I thought I understood before I lost my grandmother. Angela and her cat were the only family I had left.

Yeah, just looking through this crap they call history. I mean, it reads like fiction. I grinned at Bugs and rubbed under his chin. The purr in his chest increased in volume as his eyes closed and he craned his neck to give me better access.

I know what you mean, she said and walked around her desk, dodging a few waist-high stacks of files that were left by the previous librarian. Four months earlier, she could barely walk through her office, it was such a mess. But she'd been going through those piles since she started working. You should just make up your own version of it. That's what these writers do. She leaned into the side of the table. At least that's what it seems, she quickly added.

That was what I would do if I were writing another novel, like I told her. I hated lying to her, but I couldn't drag her into something even I didn't understand.

Angela ran her hand down Bugs's back. His eyes flashed open and he turned, swiping his paw at her. Her eyes widened. Then, as if nothing happened, the cat turned back to me.

I clucked my tongue. This is Aisling time, I chided her, eyeing Bugs with more affection than necessary.

Her lips twitched, Apparently.

The strange feeling in my stomach that I felt most of the day increased, but I ignored it. I rubbed the soft fur under Bugs's chin again and it only made him purr louder. My eyes widened and I burst out laughing, Oh my god, he sounds like a broken lawnmower.

He does not! she cried and scooped up the gray feline as if he was a wounded child. Smiling, despite herself.

Bugs yowled in protest and I nodded, You keep telling yourself that.

The bell at the front desk chimed and echoed through the quiet building. "You have got to be kidding me, Angela sighed. Where the hell is Ester?" She dropped Bugs down on the table and went to the front of the library to help the customer.

The gray fur ball wasted no time, sidled over to me, and curled up on top of the proposed non-fiction book on magic and witchcraft in front of me. He stared at me, waiting for me to start petting him again. Meh, he half-meowed and thumped his tail, demanding more attention. But my mind was already wandering.

Gramma meant more to me than anything. When I was eleven-years-old, my mother died and my step-father ran off. My grandmother took me in and gave me a second chance to be a kid again. For a decade, she was there for me. Until last week. When my world turned upside down.

I really missed her.

When I turned twenty-one a few weeks before that, I started changing. It was gradual but real. The biggest change was that I could see a glow around certain people. For a while, I wrote it off as a trick of the light.

Gramma caught me looking at her, glowing like a purple light bulb while she cooked.

Then she opened my eyes to what was happening to me.

She handed me a book, my mother's grimoire — her spellbook, she said, passed down from generation to generation. A huge, old tome that looked like it belonged in a museum. Like it needed to be kept from light and touch. Protected. But it was fine, shimmering in a pale white light.

That was the magic.

She said anything magical glowed. Humans didn't glow.

She was a witch.

I was a witch.

We came from a long line of witches.

But I didn't know what that really meant.

And then my world collapsed.

Instead of smelling coffee and bacon the next morning, I woke up, remembering what she said, with an endless supply of questions, and a quiet house.

I found her in her bedroom, with a cup of cold peach tea on her bedside table.

It looked like she was asleep.

But she wasn't.

One minute she was fine. The next, she was gone.

And I was alone.

I swallowed the pain that threatened to rip me apart and went numb. And I played my part. Greeted people at the wake. Sat silent at her funeral. I knew what everyone was thinking.

Poor Aisling Green, the grieving granddaughter, had no family left.

As crazy as it sounded, her last act was to tell me what I was. And I couldn't turn away from it. I needed to learn more. My eyes were opened to something amazing.

When I read through the grimoire, it offered nothing but more questions. With nowhere else to go, I turned to the library. Maybe there was something — anything — that could help me understand what was happening. The only thing I learned was that people didn't know about real witches. Nothing lined up with what I experienced, or what was written in the grimoire.

I told you. I can't help you with that, Angela's voice traveled back to me and snapped me out of my reverie. I blinked. The stacks offered good acoustics.

The low timbre of a man's voice passed through the open space next, but it was too low to make out what he was saying.

No. My answer will always be no.

Angela could take care of herself. But I still debated whether or not to help her. I couldn't help it.

It didn't matter.

My stomach eased a little, and a moment later, she reappeared. My best friend plopped down in the seat opposite from me, and crossed her arms, glaring at the floor. I waited, giving her a minute to cool off.

Bugs glared at her and then turned back to me. His fur brushed across my hand in his attempt at petting himself since I wasn't doing it for him. Instead, my attention remained on her.

Angela Williams was striking. Her flawless, milk-chocolate skin seemed to illuminate from within. Dark, brown eyes shimmered with intelligence. Her hair hung in loose curls past the top of her shoulders in a shade lighter than black, cut to frame her face. Her slender, yet curvy frame worked well with her short stature. But she never let her height bother her.

For a twenty-two-year-old librarian, she didn’t look the part. She wore a comfortable solid tee, which was green that day, dark jeans, and simple, black flats.

God, but she was beautiful.

My style was similar. And I wore a black V-neck shirt, white-washed jeans, and hiking boots. I stood at average height, with blue eyes, and a pale — or as my grandmother called it — peaches-and-cream complexion. Annoying, curly brunette hair hung loose, almost to the middle of my back. And, though I held an hourglass shape, my athletic build was at odds with it.

Everything okay? I asked.

Yeah, she sighed, sometimes people don't know when to give up.

He must really want a book, I said in mock horror.

She laughed. Something like that.

What happened to Ester?

She sighed again. I'm so tired of that old woman. I swear she takes a damn smoke break every fifteen minutes.

As if on cue, the old woman called from the front in a raspy voice, I'm closing up, Angela.

Okay, she called back, rolling her eyes at me. The lights turned off and she grumbled, Really? but we both knew Ester was already gone.

I agreed with her. The woman was a little crass. Maybe you should have a talk with her, I offered. From what I gather, the former librarian wasn't too motivated either.

She tapped on the table, staring at it for a few moments, and then shrugged. I guess. You ready to get out of here?

Yes.

Nashville was an old, artistic, country town nestled against Indiana's largest state park, surrounded by rolling hills and lush trees. For that time of year, everything lit up in fiery shades of reds, oranges, and yellows. It was breathtaking.

Tiny, glass-fronted stores lined Main Street and were dotted with pretty pots, filled with colorful mums on the brick sidewalks in front of them. Houses that were converted into shops filled the surrounding streets. It was in one of those converted houses, just off Main, where Angela and I ate an early dinner.

After my grandmother died, I didn't touch her kitchen beyond making a bowl of cereal or popping a bag of popcorn. The memories were too strong for me. I couldn't handle such potent memories of her without losing control over my emotions.

Though his food could never compare to the meals that she made in her kitchen, George made the best home-cooked meals in Nashville. Until I could break out of the numbness, he was my source for comfort food.

George's Diner was a mixture of fifties soda shop and down-home country. It was as unique as it was inviting. And it was no wonder why George's was so popular.

After we ate, we walked outside into the dying, late afternoon light.

A chilly breeze picked up, kicking the leaves around in little tornadoes, announcing the arrival of a cold front. The scent of wood smoke filled the air as people lit fires to enjoy the warmth of the season. It was like the town was pulled straight from a fairy tale.

Because of the beauty surrounding us, tourists came from all around, and we gave them a reason to stay. There were dozens of rentals throughout the town. From cute cottages to log cabins, there was something for everyone.

On any given day during the fall season, there could be dozens of people walking the streets, slowing traffic, and making life for residents a little annoying at times. But it was Nashville's livelihood.

For the first day of November, it was no different. People were everywhere.

As we walked toward Angela's car, the nagging feeling in my stomach increased a fraction, and I wondered if I was coming down with something.

Bugs was curled in my seat, waiting for me when I opened the door. Picking him up, I sat down, and let him get comfortable on my lap. After a few circles, he found a spot and began to purr in deep, choppy rumbles.

Remind me again how you get away with taking this furball with you to work? I knew the story, but I couldn't resist teasing her.

Angela sighed, "During the interview, I told the council about him. They said, 'Oh, bring him in. We love pets.'" The falsetto she used didn't sound like they loved anything. Her seatbelt clicked into place and she fished for her keys.

The water supply must be tainted, my lips twitched.

Ha, ha, very funny, she said.

It lowers my opinion of you significantly.

Why is that? Angela turned to me in feigned surprise.

I laughed, pulling my seatbelt around Bugs. I hoped you were secretly rebelling against them. Or something else equally exciting.

She snorted. I wish. You're always dreaming up outrageous theories.

"Well, I am a writer. It's my job to find the interesting in the mundane. It just bleeds into all other areas of my life."

The old car sputtered to life and she rolled her eyes at me.

You know, when this car starts, it has an odd sound. Much like this broken purr factory, I said, pointing at the dozing cat in my lap.

Angela shook her head, Don't listen to her, Bugs, and put the car in drive.

That was when I saw him.

It was the ethereal glow surrounding him in a purple haze that caught my attention.

He stood at the opposite corner, his shoulder leaning against the ornate light pole in a casual stance.

Everything he wore was black, except for a gray and white flannel scarf that was wrapped around his neck. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his pants. Straight, brown hair curtained around his face on one side and the other was tucked behind his ear, threatening to fall in the breeze. And stubble darkened his jaw.

Chocolate, brown eyes were focused on the pedestrians, watching them, as if he were looking for someone. His eyes flickered to mine and my breath caught in my throat.

That sensation in my stomach increased. Like I was yanked toward him. Whatever was going on with my stomach had something to do with him. But I didn't know what it was.

Hair on the back of my neck rose and goosebumps broke out across my skin.

Then, everything went into slow motion.

As the car began to pull onto the road, it moved at a snail's pace while the pedestrians were suspended. Bugs's purring machine slowed to an erratic heartbeat.

And the soft breeze against the man's coat and hair seemed to hover around him. Weightless.

He held my gaze, and I couldn't breathe.

God, but he was the most gorgeous creature I ever saw.

Confusion flashed across his face for a moment. Then, a faint, knowing smile crept across his lips.

I licked mine in response.

His eyes flickered down, watching the movement. The purple glow surrounding him bled into pink.

Holy shit.

My heart hammered in my chest at dangerous speeds, despite what was happening around me. Butterflies turned homicidal in my stomach, and I couldn't help myself. Tentatively, the corners of my mouth rose in a small smile.

Something about him made me feel alive again.

That knowing grin widened and his head bent forward as if to introduce himself. Those brown eyes never faltered and remained locked with mine.

Angela turned her head and made a noise, pulling my attention away, and I felt a whoosh as time returned to normal.

The wind continued with its original gusto, blowing the leaves around on the street once again, yet no one else seemed to notice anything happened. I wasn't sure Angela noticed. How could she?

I looked back to the man in the street. The breeze pushed his hair across his face, and in that instant, I wanted to feel his skin. Taste his lips. Feel the silkiness of his hair. The stubble on his cheeks.

What the hell?

It was illogical. I didn't even know him. But I couldn't tear my eyes away.

The engine revved and Angela punched the horn. I didn't understand what she was doing. But my eyes remained locked on the mysterious man in the street until she turned down State Road 135, leaving him behind us.

I could still feel his gaze on me.

It felt like I'd been burned, all the way down to my soul.

Chapter 2

The following morning, I walked the town hoping I could figure out something. Anything. There was a world I never knew existed until eight days before, when my grandmother died. And I knew almost nothing. My feet took me around the center of town three times and I was no closer to finding answers than when I awoke that morning.

With my mind whirling about the mysterious man in the street, Angela's reaction was even more confusing. In the years since we met, she never felt angry enough to force her way through a bunch of pedestrians in the street.

When she dropped me off at home, I asked her, What was that about?

Her lips thinned and the vein running down the middle of her forehead was in full view, she mumbled something about a bad idea and that I needed to stay away from him.

There were about a dozen questions I wanted to throw at her and at least another dozen more follow-up questions, but I didn't push the issue. She was too angry to say anything else. I didn’t know why.

Since then, I wasn't capable of removing him from my thoughts. His image burned into my mind. He was as electric as he was captivating. I knew almost nothing about what it meant to be a witch or the world I was in, but I knew enough to know that whatever he was, he was not human.

Waving to one of the shop owners from outside her window, I snuggled further inside my wool pea coat and nuzzled my scarf for effect. The temperature continued to drop and I could feel moisture in the air. But with my new abilities, I wasn't cold. I didn't feel cold anymore. Or hot.

Though I wasn't impervious to burns or frostbite and my sense of touch was unchanged, the two extremes no longer penetrated my skin.

For me, before those changes began, the cold started small. It began in my toes. The chill would spread like a frost. Slowly traveling, spreading from the inside out, as if the marrow in my bones would freeze first and then radiate outward.

The warmth hit my bloodstream, carrying it throughout like a fever, flushing the skin. Warming it. Often, sweat accompanied it as my body tried to cool itself down.

It was one of a long list of questions I couldn't answer. Of all the strange occurrences, why I couldn't feel hot and sweat or cold and shiver wasn't even at the top of my list.

Though it wasn't cold enough for me to worry about frostbite, I continued to wear my purple coat and cream-knitted scarf. Somehow I didn't think walking around a small town in twenty-degree weather with nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt would go over well. The last thing I needed was a big stamp on my shirt that said, FREAK. In all caps.

So I walked, hoping for some grand epiphany, knowing it would never come. And, yeah, to be honest, I hoped to see that man again.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I never saw the woman holding a cup of coffee, and I walked right into her.

Coffee spilled down the front of her leather jacket. She cried, What the fuck! With her shoulders still raised from the impact, she looked down and glared at her front.

My hands shot out. Oh, my god, I am so sorry, I said in slow succession. I was so caught up in my own little world, I didn't even see you. Here, let's go into the diner across the street and get you cleaned up.

She looked up at me and recognition flashed across her features. That was odd. I'd never seen her before. The glow around her went from green to a thick, inky black that sparked with spikey edges. They ebbed and flowed around her as her eyes traveled from my head down to my toes. I couldn't tell if she was assessing me or checking me out.

That's alright, she said in an Australian accent. I wasn't paying attention either.

Her skin was pale and lacked color. Those icy green eyes held an outer ring of black. Straight, jet-black hair fell past her shoulders. She was thin, a few inches taller than my five-and-a-half feet, and looked even more so, with her dark, leather stiletto heels. Black nails, matching skinny jeans, and the hem of a creamy linen shirt peeked out from under her jacket.

She was intimidating.

And she was beautiful.

I didn’t know what to make of the glow around the woman in front of me other than the fact that she wasn't human, according to my grandmother, but her smile indicated she was genuine. Smiling back, I gestured toward the diner and we crossed the street.

Heya, Aisling, George called out from behind the counter as we walked in.

I stopped in front of the Formica counter. Hi, George. Mind if we use your washroom? We had a bit of an accident outside.

His eyes moved to the woman standing next to me and noticed the black liquid dripping from her. You don't have to ask, child, he said and nodded toward the back.

We stepped into the washroom and I grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the faucet.

Your name is Aisling? She shrugged out of her jacket and handed it to me before turning to wash her hands.

That's right, I smiled and dabbed at the lines of coffee.

It's very pretty, she said and dried her hands.

Thank you.

My name is Zoe. Zoe Kavanaugh.

It's nice to meet you, Zoe. I inspected the leather and sighed in relief. Looks like we got the coffee off in time, I held it up for her.

I'm sure it's fine. Thank you. She didn't look away from me.

Odd.

I handed the jacket to her and she shrugged it back on, pulling her hair out from underneath the collar. Oh, it's no trouble. I'm just glad you weren't burned, I smiled. Say, can I buy you a cup of coffee to replace the one that ended up on your jacket?

Sure! she beamed, showing more enthusiasm than the situation called for.

Something wasn't right. I just couldn't figure out what it was.

We stepped out of the washroom and she followed me to two empty seats at the counter in front of George.

Get it all cleaned up? he asked.

Yep, all better, I said, sitting down.

The man sitting to my left wasn't there when we arrived. As I was about to say hello, he took what looked to be his first sip of coffee, and then stiffened. His light brown hair and piercing blue eyes made him look normal, if not on the tall side. He laid a ten on the counter, mumbled his thanks to George, shot me a quick, tight smile, and then left, but I caught the wary glance he made at the strange woman.

I clasped my hands in front of me while Zoe sat down and faced me. George eyed her for a moment before looking back at me, waiting. Maybe it wasn't just me. Can we get two cups of coffee, please?

Sure thing, Aisling. He turned to the row of porcelain cups on the shelf behind him and paused, You want them for here, right?

Yes, Zoe said, without looking away.

Something about her was making me uncomfortable.

Okey dokey, then, he shrugged.

I wasn't sure I wanted to stay any longer, but I didn't want to be rude. So, I said, what brings you to Nashville?

George set up the space in front of us with a pair of cups filled with coffee and two spoons. He gave us a small pitcher of cream along with a bowl of sugar cubes. There ya go. Lemme know if you need anything else.

Will do, George. Thanks. I added the cream and sugar, stirred, and took a sip of the warm liquid all while I kept an eye on the woman next to me.

As the silence stretched on, I watched George making rounds with the pot of coffee. He was in his sixties, and he ran the diner for over thirty years. His bubbly, smiling persona made him a likable person. That, and he was always kind to me.

Zoe kept watching me with an expression I could only describe as hunger, and, at last, she answered, Well, this town is so beautiful this time of year. I wanted to see it for myself. Her coffee was still untouched.

I nodded. Yeah, we get the most visitors this time of year.

So tell me about yourself. Not a question.

Squirming, I said, There's not much to tell. I've lived here for a long time.

Surely you've got family?

Um, no. Not anymore. Why did I feel like it was a mistake that I answered her?

I'm sorry. I know it's not easy to be on your own either.

That's not what I said.

But I let it go.

The conversation continued like that for another hour. She'd ask me questions and then respond without telling me much of anything in return. My unease grew as her questions started getting more personal.

Too personal.

How long have you been practicing? she asked after George took our cups away. He eyed hers, cold and untouched, but said nothing.

From the way she looked at me like I was her next meal, I was smart enough to know not to talk to her about my status as a witch.

My eyes made a deliberate and pointed look at the clock above the counter and I feigned surprise, widening them for effect. Oh, no. I've got to get going, I'll be late to meet my friend, I lied, slamming a five-dollar bill onto the counter. It was nice meeting you! I called, already halfway to the door. See you later, George.

Aisling, he said in farewell.

The sound of Zoe's heels clicking on the floor followed behind me. I kept going as alarm bells went off in my head. I made it halfway across the street when she said, "Aisling, Einfrieren des Geistes."

I froze mid-step. Right there in the middle of the street.

The woman walked up next to me and whispered something I couldn't understand because my brain wasn't working the way it should.

My feet carried me back toward the diner. She ushered me to slip in the narrow space between it and the next building.

Heart hammering in my chest, my fear grew to outright terror. The more I resisted, the harder it was for me to remember my own name, let alone that I needed to resist, or who the black-haired woman was as she stood in front of me. I knew, on a deep level that I was in serious trouble. And I didn’t know what to do.

A tear slipped down my cheek as the woman grabbed my wrists and her pale eyes slid closed. I felt paralyzed, yet electrified at the same time. My energy waned as the glow surrounding my captor brightened and bits of orange started to mix with the black.

Then, my vision narrowed and faded away.

Chapter 3

I couldn't see through my darkening vision, and I heard nothing but the blood rushing through me. But that feeling in my stomach intensified.

Somehow, I knew.

He was there.

Right next to me.

My vision cleared enough to see him. His hands gripped the arms of the woman whose name I couldn't recall and said, "Aufhören. Zurückweichen," and severed her connection to my wrists, pushing her backward and away from me at the same time.

I blinked. While I was under, my senses failed me and I didn't notice the icy feeling that radiated through every cell in my body. I shivered, but the warmth came rushing back through my wrists.

Connor! What are you doing here? She beamed at him.

Cut the crap, Zoe. He pivoted in front of me in a defensive position, blocking part of my view from her. His jaw clenched. I know you've been following me.

So? she snapped. You've found a fresh one. She's so powerful. Her gaze traveled over me again and I shivered. But not from the cold. As my brain started functioning again, I wondered what she meant by a fresh one.

The man she called Connor sidestepped, cutting off her view from me, and the green glow that surrounded him brightened. That has nothing to do with why I'm here, and you know it.

This one packs quite a punch, doesn't she?

Look, I'm sorry I failed you as a mentor, but I'm not going to allow this. His voice sounded gentle, but his posture was something different. He leaned forward and his arms were loose as if he was ready to act at any moment to protect me. I was too scared and confused to be flattered.

We were much more than that, she purred.

Connor stiffened and said, Not anymore.

Zoe's mouth opened, but my savior raised his hand — it wasn't a threatening gesture, but his glow turned purple and the air crackled around him. Then, her mouth closed.

You will not pursue this woman. You will leave me alone, and you will leave this town. Now.

Anger erupted across her features and I could feel the two fighting for dominance. Defeated, she said, This isn't over, Connor. I'll get what I want. I always do. Then she stalked away on her expensive stiletto heels.

"W-What

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