Page 58 of Kat Bethel
William.
I did as he suggested and turned the phone off, tossing it back. “I need to check in with Willow soon. Otherwise, she’ll have an aneurysm.”
“I like Willow and Esme. They are genuine and make you happy.” Why did it make me so happy that he approved of them? Probably because William bitched about them every time they came up. “I assume they are your coven sisters.”
“Yes. My cousins,” I answered before I realized I should have been withholding information until I got some from him. It was only fair. “What was your relationship with Margaret?”
“She was my wife,” he answered confidently, with an appreciation that bordered on how he spoke to me, but there was a distinct edge to it. “My best friend. You already know that.”
“If you know I already have that information, why are you regurgitating it?” I crossed my arms. “It annoys me when you do that.”
“Perhaps your questions should be more precise.” I could swear that fucker was smirking. But it was impossible to know for sure, with his featureless face.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “What was your relationship like?”
Two of his big reactions had been when Margaret came up, but other times he was fine talking about her. It was her death that riled him.
“We met in those woods. I bought the land and went to survey the area to plan my first build. I found her hunting something she called a black dog. I told her to get off my property. I’m lucky she didn’t listen, because that night it almost killed me. She saved my life.”
So he was a victim when they first met, not a monster made of shadows.
“I offered her a permanent place on the land, but people were suspicious of her. Her knowledge. Her books. Even her garden. I asked her to marry me, so she could practice in peace.”
“But it wasn’t a real marriage?”
“Sure, it was,” he answered, offended. “I just didn’t bed her. Marriage is loyalty and commitment. We had both of those things.”
“It kinda sounds…” A platonic relationship that was built out of tolerance and friendship. Someone who would stay even when your tits sagged and your skin wrinkled, because that was never what the marriage was founded on.
It sounded peaceful.
Safe.
A more dangerous word never existed.
I’d bet Abiel was a good and honorable man. His demeanor was polite and thoughtful in a way humans usually weren’t. The kind of man that a witch of the 1800s would cry for. Considering my family was quick to sacrifice our husbands, especially back then, that meant something.
It made me wonder how I’d feel if it was Abiel the Builder that I’d met instead of Abiel the Ruin.
The carpet burned under his feet and radiated outwards.Good luck getting the deposit back.
“No one knew about the arrangement, and after fifteen years, a rumor of Margaret’s infidelity made its way around the settlement. They called her a whore, and the witch accusations started up again. My brother attacked her in my house.”
The air grew heavy, and the lights flickered. Shadows quivered and bent toward me like they were reaching for me. “He attackedmywife inmyhouse.”
I could read between the lines. Margaret said Abiel hadn’t killed his brother, then mailed her journal, because she knew she wouldn’t survive.
“But she was a hunter. He didn’t stand a chance.” An easy deduction to make, considering I’d just been in a similar situation.
“She was a fighter, like you.” His voice grew soft and affectionate. I’d spent my whole life downplaying what I was capable of to make men feel stronger. I’d never heard one describe it with soft pride.
“I imagine killing him was as easy as breathing.”
The room grew darker. He pointed to his chest, and the tension in his fingers made me nervous. Something under our feet snapped and vibrated. “It was my job to protect her.”
“Witches don’t need protection.” Not from human men, at least.
“That’s not the point, Dandelion. I vowed to keep her safe. That I would repay that blood she shed for me.” The anger in his voice radiated with a dark threat. That he would never fail to protect what was his again, no matter the cost.
