The Witching Moon: The Witches of Redwood Falls - Book 1 by Janelle Daniels Page A

Moon that would occur in one week.
There wasn’t a need for hunters to set their traps to stock up
enough fur for the winter, but that didn’t matter. November’s full
moon was still called that, and probably always would be.
    Walking down the street to Poppy’s cottage,
he breathed deeply, absorbing the pungent air. He hadn’t bothered
with an umbrella. It was too windy for one anyway. The deep hooded
coat he wore protected him just fine. Besides, what would a little
rain hurt anyway?
    He could taste magic in the air. Halloween
was a day that called for it, for the mystical things of the night
to have their time on earth. He’d been friends with Poppy since
childhood, and there was no way he could deny the existence of
magic. How could he? It wove through the blood of the woman he
loved. It was as much a part of her as the gold in her hair, the
moss color of her eyes, the gentleness of her heart, and the
quickness of her mind. He wouldn’t change her for anything.
    Her ancestors were founders Redwood Falls,
and their legacy had been passed down from generation to
generation. Her power was a gift, but also a responsibility. And
Poppy lived up to her birthright.
    He leaned a hand against a tree, a familiar
ache spreading through him. He loved her, but would never have her.
Because of magic. Because of the prophecy. He wasn’t fool enough to
discount it, but it grated all the same.
    Magic didn’t rule him. He was a man of this
world, a man with passion, with direction, with desire. He knew
what he wanted, and that was Poppy. Since he’d been old enough to
realize it, it had only ever been her.
    But they weren’t meant to be. No matter how
close they’d gotten, no matter how much he’d wanted to be with her,
she’d always pushed him away. She was promised to another. It
didn’t matter who that person was, it only mattered that it wasn’t
him.
    His fist clenched, the tree scraping his
fingers, but he didn’t care. What did that small annoyance matter
when it couldn’t come close to the pain in his heart?
    Why was he even here? Why had he said he
would help her today? He should turn around. Just leave. Pack up
his stuff and head out of town. He didn’t have to watch this
happen, he didn’t have to watch her fall into the arms of
another.
    But he would. He couldn’t leave. Not like
this. Not without seeing her taken from him with his own eyes. He
wouldn’t abandon her no matter the cost to himself.
    He pushed from the tree, his steps quick,
determined. He may not be her soul mate, but she was his. And no
matter what happened, he’d be there for her.
    He walked in without knocking. The habit so
ingrained, he didn’t think about it. Hanging up his dripping coat,
he called out, “You in here?”
    “Yeah, come back to the kitchen,” she called
out.
    The air smelled like a mixture of spices,
strong, potent, but still pleasant. He couldn’t place which ones
they were. Even after all this time, she’d been unable to teach
him.
    There was history here. With every step he
took on the dark wood floor, a memory came to him. His eyes
narrowed on the freshly polished planks beneath his boots. Poppy
polished the floor four times a year, but it wasn’t time for it
yet. He didn’t need to ask why she’d broken her routine, why the
whole house was recently dusted, or why a full bouquet of hot house
flowers rested in her grandmother’s vase on the entry table.
    She was expecting to bring someone home
tonight.
    His gut clenched. She’d bring him here, of
course. They couldn’t stand in the circle all night. The thought of
them together, here, cut him to the quick.
    Needing a breath, he leaned against a wall,
dragging in air. He didn’t want Poppy to see him like this. To see
what a wreck he was.
    His head jerked up when she peaked through
the kitchen door down the hall he was falling apart in. “You
coming?”
    “Yeah.” He tried to sound casual as he
brushed his hands on his pants. “Smells great in