Wild is the Witch by Rachel Griffin

Author:Rachel Griffin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2022-06-06T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

When I wake up, a soft blue light filters in through the tent. The wind has died down, but the rain is still falling, tapping against the nylon in a way that makes me want to fall back asleep. Soft, rhythmic breathing comes from beside me, and I suddenly remember that I’m in this tent with Pike.

I slowly turn my head to look at him. He’s facing me now, a shift he must have made in the middle of the night. His right arm is stretched toward me, his hand resting against my hip, and his left is tucked under his head. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him without his glasses on, and the image does something weird to my insides. He looks vulnerable in a way, a vast difference from the confident, sarcastic person I’m used to.

A stray piece of hair has fallen down his forehead, and my hand reaches for it, acting entirely of its own volition. I gently tuck the hair behind his ear, lingering longer than I should. His skin is warm, and he stirs when my fingertips brush his face.

His words from last night reenter my mind. This world is fucking brutal. I watch him, wondering what secrets he keeps, what hurts and pains he carries inside him, hidden beneath easy laughs and constant jokes. Maybe our secrets could keep each other company.

But it’s a foolish thing to think. Secrets are secrets for a reason, and mine belong deep in my chest, far from the surface.

Pike’s eyes blink open, and I’m mortified to realize my hand is still hovering over his ear. I quickly pull it back, but it’s too late. Pike looks to the side, to the empty space my hand just occupied, then slowly turns to me.

“My vision is admittedly terrible without my glasses, but it looks an awful lot like you were watching me sleep.” His voice is groggy and low, sleep still thick in his throat. Heat flares in my stomach, and I look at the roof of the tent, the zipper on the door, my shoes on the ground. Anywhere but his face.

“That’s a gross misrepresentation of what was happening.”

“Is it?” he asks, reaching over his head for his glasses. He puts them on and watches me, his vulnerability fading away with the dawn.

“It is. How embarrassing for you.”

Pike laughs and rolls onto his back, then stretches his arms up and over his head. He arches into the stretch, and I feel like I’m intruding, seeing him like this. It’s a common thing, waking up, but it’s something he normally does alone. There probably aren’t many people who have seen Pike Alder wake up, and it’s odd, knowing that I have.

“I don’t get embarrassed often,” he says, looking back at me.

“That’s one of your personality flaws,” I say casually, even though my mind is racing, fully unprepared for this version of Pike.

“You’re feisty in the morning.” He sits up, and I want to tell him he’s wrong, that I’m not feisty.

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