Mated By Fate by Christa Wick
Chapter Twelve
In the end,it was Seth sprawled the length of the bed sound asleep. Moonlight caressed his sculpted shoulders and muscular legs as, wide awake, Lana stared at him in wonder. He was beautiful, still completely naked, his back illustrated with a set of wings inked with datura. Certain that all she had to do was reach over and stroke him once and he would be hard and ready, she rolled quietly off the bed and went to the closet for fresh clothes.
Esme had altered just one set of her clothing to work the charm, with the intent that Lana would practice on her remaining clothes. The ones she retrieved from the closet were unspelled. The last thing she wanted was for Seth to wake up and think she had rejected him all over again. She had been insane to want to hide from him in the first place.
Her mouth puckered in thought. Not insane, just self-conscious and unable to believe a man that looked like he did could want her. Having now experienced his uninhibited desire for her, she was willing to accept that he needed a very soft, plump yin to his hard-muscled yang.
Wanting to see if Esme was okay, she tried to school her face into something that didn't wear a canary-eating grin. Hard to do—she felt sore in all the right places, her nipples and the sweet spot between her legs hypersensitive from her earlier arousal. Hell, there was no "earlier" to it. She was more than ready to bed Seth again. And she would—at his place.
Right now she wanted to check on the witch and thank her for her friendship and hospitality. It had to be hard, even as powerful as Esme was, to live among the shifters. Esme needed to know that she had an ally, that Lana wouldn't shun her now that she had accepted her place in Seth's life as a latent and his mate.
Stepping into the hall, she found Esme's bedroom door open, the bed still made from that morning. She walked down the hall, only one lamp in the living room on and Esme nowhere in sight. Worry growing inside her, Lana stepped quietly onto the porch. It ran the length of the house, the front door at the center, a small table and two stools on the south side and a pair of rockers at the north end.
Turning toward the rockers, she saw Esme motionless. The moon above and the lamp from the living room lit her upper body. Wanting to wake her gently, Lana tiptoed up to her sleeping friend. Looking down at Esme, she smiled.
Killer cheekbones, a strong chin and delicate brows shaped the round face. While Esme had looked gorgeous enough the night before, she'd taken extra care with her makeup that morning, due in no small part, Lana assumed, to the fact Denver had slept on her couch. The lips were a pale rose, the same color dusting her eyelids before blending into a silver-gray beneath her eyebrows. A healthy pink colored the apple of her cheeks, the rest of the skin a soft cream.
Lana hoped, with a good dose of common sense and at least a little groveling, Denver would straighten up and make her new friend happy. If things could work out between a latent and a shifter, it couldn't be that much of a stretch for a wolf and a witch.
Reaching out to lightly touch Esme's shoulder, Lana froze. The black cardigan Esme wore unbuttoned over her top had shifted, its edges bunched to the side and exposing part of her bra line. Moon glinted off a thin strip of silver—the underside of a pin. Attached to the pin was the same type of flower Esme had placed on Lana's clothing that afternoon.
Mouth flattening into a straight line, Lana carefully folded the hem of the sweater up. She couldn't be sure with just the moonlight and inside lamp, but she thought she saw the glitter of silver thread. She ran her thumb over the area, the texture of spun metal unmistakable.
She drew back. There had to be other uses for witch's lace and silver thread. Hundreds of other uses—the silver merely there to magnify the charm. Retreating to the front door, she let it shut loudly enough to wake Esme.
Lana carefully studied the witch's response as Esme came awake with a start, her hands quickly assessing her clothing before she looked at the source of the sound. Seeing Lana, she offered a weak grin.
"He let you out of bed, I see."
Heart sinking, Lana nodded. While there might be untold uses for the flower and silver thread, there was only one reason for Esme to make sure Lana didn't see them.
Esme was a witch and a latent. And she was in love with a shifter, with the two of them almost constantly at one another's throat.
Something sharp twisted inside Lana's chest. She'd already been rejected by people she loved—her mother and her grandmother. And then she had lost Hannah. She wouldn't go through that again. Looking back through the screen door and down the hallway, Lana mourned what could never be.
Esme stood and walked toward her, her smile strengthening. "So you've worked things out."
Lana shook her head. "I thought so, but…"
She forced herself not to gesture at Esme, especially not at the spot where the witch's lace rested against her breast or the silver thread worked through the seam of her clothes. She wouldn't tell the witch she knew the truth. She'd let Esme share her secret once she trusted Lana enough.
"I made a mistake." She fiddled with the uncharmed hem of her blouse, her voice a soft whisper of uncertainty.
When Esme put her hand on Lana's shoulder, Lana looked up to find the witch's face filled with regret. Esme gave her a gentle squeeze. "Are you sure, honey?"
Moving into the witch's comforting embrace, Lana nodded.
"Can I sleep in your room tonight?"
