Delilah Recovered **2017 Watty Winner**

Chapter Twenty

The cawing crows woke her up. As Delilah opened her eyes, she tried to shake the feeling of the dream. Intuitively she knew crows were a sign. What she didn't know was what they represented. She grabbed her phone and Googled "black crows." The Internet confirmed what the pit in her stomach was signaling, "There is no doubt that the crow is the omen of death." She tossed her phone on the floor.

The events of the night before were slowly coming back to her. She blushed as she remembered how she ended up in her bed with Samuel. It wasn't that she had any regrets. Because she didn't. None. She just couldn't pinpoint how the gears had shifted in their relationship.

Yes, of course, she wanted him. Who could deny him? It wasn't just that he was handsome. He was also just the right amount of broken. It gave her the impression that she had enough glue in her emotional arsenal to put him back together again. For all he was, he wasn't completely whole without her.

Trying to shake off her nightmare, she watched him sleep. It was as though a sculptor chiseled him out of marble with his sharp cheekbones, perfect chin with a dimple set in the middle, and his v-shaped widow's peak. She watched his chest rise and fall, studying the scar that ran up his neck wondering what happened to him.

Slowly he opened one eye, cocking his eyebrow he said, "Delilah, love, go back to sleep."

"I had a bad dream."

"Crows or chanting witches?" He asked, pulling her into his muscular chest.

"Crows," she said as she burrowed into him inhaling him, taking in his vanilla and sandalwood scent.

"Would it help if I told you it's only a dream?" He asked, kissing the top of her head.

"A death dream. I've had enough for two lifetimes."

"Someone's been using the Internet," he teased. "Would you like to hear a bedtime story?"

She remained silent. She had so many questions. But there was someone she wished she knew more about.

"You can ask me anything. Anything at all."

"Can you tell me about Maria? "

"Your mother was quite a witch. She was a legend."

"I don't know much about her life."

Wrapping his arms tightly around her, she melted into him. "Your mother, Maria, stood up to The Immaculates in front of everyone in our world. It took a profound level of courage."

"The Immaculates?"

"Has your coven taught you nothing of our ways? The Immaculates are our judges and our jury. They have the final rule over our world."

"Like a monarchy?"

"Exactly. There was a case, about thirty years ago, a witch gave birth to a baby sired by a witch-hunter. As you can imagine, covens do not mate with covens, and they sure as bloody hell don't mate with the witch-hunters."

"Was my mother the witch who gave birth to the baby?"

"No, she stood up for the witch from another coven. She had no personal gain for speaking up. Before The Immuculates handed down their sentence, your mother said, 'Why should a baby be punished? What if this baby was meant to broker peace between the witches and the witch-hunters? Love is love. Can't we love who we want and put an end to this gruesome thousand-year holy war we've been fighting?' "

"What happened next?"

"The baby was sent to live with the witch-hunters for a life of torture. Your mother was put into The Closet for weeks."