Chapter 42 Clumsy Witch

Chapter 42 Clumsy Witch
Elara's POV

Sunlight filtered through the small window, pulling me from a deep, unnaturally blank sleep. I blinked awake in an unfamiliar bed, momentarily disoriented until the events of yesterday flooded back—the wedding, the celebration, my first night with Connor. My husband.

The space beside me was empty, the furs still holding the warmth of his body. Sitting up, I pulled the blanket around my shoulders and surveyed what was now my home. The cabin was small but sturdy, with loving attention evident in its construction. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, freshly stoked.

As I rose to dress, the door opened and Connor entered, his tall frame filling the doorway. His face brightened when he saw me.

"Good morning," he said, moving to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. "I was about to hunt, but—"

A knock interrupted him. Connor opened the door to reveal a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face.

"Father," Connor greeted. "What brings you here so early?"

Garret's eyes flickered to me briefly before returning to Connor. "Thought I'd take over your hunting duties today. New married folk need time to settle in."

Connor hesitated, looking back at me. "That's generous, but—"

"Take the kindness, son," Garret insisted. "Besides, I spotted a fine buck near the eastern ridge."

After Garret left with Connor's bow, my husband turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I should have asked if you wanted me to stay."

"It's kind of him," I replied. "And it gives me time to learn my way around our home."

Connor's expression softened. "Our home," he repeated. "I like how that sounds." He reached into his pocket. "I've something for you."

He pressed a delicate silver bracelet into my palm, tiny wolf charms dangling from the thin band. Moonlight seemed captured in the metal itself, glinting despite the dim morning light.

A sudden, inexplicable burning sensation flared beneath my skin as I held the bracelet, as though my very soul was restless. I instinctively touched my arm, searching for physical evidence of the uncomfortable heat, but found nothing.

"Is something wrong?" Connor asked, frowning.

"No," I said quickly, slipping the bracelet onto my wrist where it settled cool against my skin, though the internal burning remained. "I love it. Truly. It's beautiful."

My fingertips traced the small wolf charms, each one stirring emotions I couldn't explain. The burning sensation intensified, like my spirit was trying to claw its way out of borrowed flesh.

"Thank you," I whispered, forcing a smile while fighting the strange discomfort.

An awkward silence fell between us. Connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His eyes darted around the cabin as if searching for something to say.

"I should... probably prepare something to eat," he finally offered, moving toward the cooking area. "You must be hungry."

"Let me help," I said quickly, eager to prove myself useful. "I can tend the fire and cut the vegetables while you prepare the rest."

Connor hesitated. "Are you sure? You don't need to—"

"I want to," I insisted. "We're husband and wife now, aren't we?"

His smile returned, warming his entire face. "We are."

We moved to the hearth together, Connor gathering ingredients while I approached the woodpile. My mind raced with anxiety, desperate to make a good impression. I knew I should check the wood for dryness—such basic knowledge seemed vaguely familiar—but in my nervousness and unfamiliarity with this new home, I grabbed several pieces without proper inspection.

Only after placing them on the embers did I notice my mistake. The logs hissed in protest, refusing to catch properly.

"Come on," I muttered, squatting before the hearth, watching the small flames lick tentatively at the damp wood. "Just burn."

I stared intently at the reluctant fire, unwilling to admit defeat at such a simple task. Something stirred within me—a flicker of energy responding to my frustration. Without thinking, I focused all my attention on the struggling flames, willing them to grow.

Suddenly, the fire roared to life, flames leaping upward with such ferocity that I scrambled backward with a startled cry. The wet logs crackled loudly, now burning as if doused in oil.

"What happened?" Connor asked, turning at my exclamation.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully, staring at the unnaturally vigorous fire. "It just... caught."

My moment of triumph was short-lived. The damp wood began releasing thick black smoke that billowed throughout the small cabin. I coughed, my eyes stinging and watering as the acrid cloud enveloped us.

"The window!" Connor called through the smoke, moving to throw it open while I stumbled toward the door.

Once we could breathe again, Connor hung a pot of water over the now-properly burning fire. "For porridge," he explained, handing me a knife and some root vegetables. "Could you cut these while I get the grain?"

Determined not to fail again, I took the knife and began carefully slicing. The smoke had cleared somewhat, but my eyes still watered, blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus on my task.

The knife was sharper than I expected, slicing through the vegetables with ease. Lost in concentration, I didn't notice when my finger moved into the blade's path until a sharp sting made me gasp.

"Ouch!" I cried out, dropping the knife as blood welled up from the cut. Pain throbbed through my finger as I clutched my hand, tears springing to my eyes—not from the pain, but from sheer frustration at my incompetence.

Connor was at my side instantly, concern etched on his face. "Let me see," he said softly, gently taking my injured hand in his.

Without hesitation, he brought my bleeding finger to his lips and drew it into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue against my wound sent a shock through my entire body, my breath catching in my throat. His eyes held mine as he sucked gently, the intimacy of the gesture making my cheeks flush for entirely different reasons than before.

When he released my finger, the bleeding had stopped. "An old hunter's trick," he explained, his voice lower than before. "Works better than any bandage."

I couldn't speak, my heartbeat suddenly too loud in my ears. His tenderness stirred something deep within me—a strange, compelling familiarity that made no sense.

"Thank you," I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper.

Together, we salvaged breakfast. Connor showed me how to properly bank the fire and stepped in when I hesitated over unfamiliar tasks. His patience made me wonder what I'd done to deserve such kindness.

"Would you like to see the village today?" he asked as we finished eating.