Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Danu

"You're shaking," Van said as he wrapped me in his arms in the English Garden, where he was planning to lurk while I went down the last half mile to the pond. "If you're too tired from your last spell for this..."

"Too tired to save Minnie? Or Henry? Or you? Rest is not really an option right now."

I braced myself against his granite frame and pushed against him, tensing my forearms, biceps, shoulders. Trying to raise some resistance, rebellion, energy.

I let my breath out and my muscles sagged back into shaky exhaustion.

He gave me a wry, fangy smile and opened his wrist. "Here."

I turned my head slightly, resisting more from fear of the consequences of drinking his blood all the time, not a lack of desire from the bump I knew a sip would give.

"So now you're my cocaine, too?"

"Have you ever had cocaine?" he asked darkly.

"Once in college."

He made a mild sound of surprise but added, "Well if you had my blood and you've had that, too...you tell me? Which is a better source of strength?"

"You, most definitely. Your blood actually lends strength, coke only lends the perception of it, but you're probably just as addictive," I murmured, wrapping my fingers in his and squeezing what felt like steel dowels. "I'm afraid of becoming a fiend for you."

He nodded, but his jaw was set and he stared down the lawn, toward that pond that was in no way visible from this distance in the dark, especially shielded by the crescent of forest that arced to obscure it from this angle. "I don't like the idea of you being physically exhausted or magically weakened and alone, down there in the dark, so near the portal that belches monsters into this world."

"Well, I have the gun you're making me take, and you have my promise that I won't go anywhere that you can't hear my call for help, and though I'm a witch, I am still human, so you'll just have to get used to me being exhausted sometimes. But an addiction to your blood would be worse, don't you think?"

"Liadh was, perhaps, addicted to my blood, but I know better now, how much is too much. All of my benefactors benefit a bit from me. Why shouldn't you, the woman I love? The woman I want to keep healthy and strong for as long as we have?"

I thought about how Evander's blood had cured Mabel of leukemia. I thought about how Ace's benefactor looked to be a woman in her forties though she was some twenty-five years older than that. But Maeve and my father had longevity, and so did Tavish. It stood to reason that I would live long, too—if I didn't get shot through the throat with an arrow at some point, that is.

I had to tell him. As soon as this latest crisis was over, I had to tell Evander the truth. He deserved to know, even if it caused us to have a schism in the way we viewed our relationship.

Once he knew the truth, we'd have a marriage and a child from his perspective, not to mention years of memories that I didn't possess.

"You have a point," I said, "but there are so many things we need to talk about, Evander. And now is not the time."

"You're right," he agreed. He pulled his cuff down, buttoning it, then put his hands in his pockets, and gave me a jerk of the head. "And the sooner you perform your ritual, the sooner you will renew your strength. I hope."

I shouldered a soft leather satchel of witchy items and stood on tiptoes to brush his firm lips. He pecked back softly. "Go on, then. Happy Witching."

"Look at you, not being possessive or growly."

He cocked a dark eyebrow and curled his lip into a sneer. "Just saving that for Minnie and the goddamn wolves."