My Midnight Moonlight Valentine (My Midnight Moonlight Valentine 1)

She hung her head and sobbed, her body shaking as she cried her heart out. Who knew ghosts still felt pain?

Walking over to her, I knelt in front of her. “There is nothing I can do for you but tell you the truth. Your mortal life ended in tragedy. It’s actually very common, unfortunately—”

“You are not making me feel better.” She sniffled and inhaled once before lifting her head to glare at me.

“Says the ghost who made me want to claw my ears out, threw me all over the world, and nearly scared me into a grave with your evil ghost face,” I shot back.

“It’s what you get, showing off your love in front of me like that,” she muttered and tried to push herself off the ground.

Grabbing her arms, I lifted her with me.

“Showing off what?” I stood back up defensive. “I wasn’t showing off anything.”

“You and your husband.” She nodded behind me, and when I turned, Theseus stood beside his father and mother, watching me. Her eyes were wide when I turned back to face her.

“I forgot that they were there,” I whispered, knowing they could hear me, but it wasn’t like my thoughts were private, either.

“They? As in us? Are they talking about us now?” Ulrik questioned, but I just kept my face forward.

A small smile appeared on her lips. “Even to the unearthly, you must look like a madwoman to them, now, brawling with yourself.”

I glared at her. “Thanks. It’s my first day as a part of their family; I’m sure I’m making a marvelous impression on them all.”

Her smile widened brightly to a full-blown grin. “If not, they will not say anything for your husband loves you far too much for them to object.”

“I feel like I should help you with that.” I pointed to her neck. “It can’t be comfortable.”

“I would be grateful.” She lifted her chin, and it was only when I reach for it that she added, “So grateful as to ignore your obvious desire to avoid praise of your husband.”

“I’m not married,” I whispered, tugging gently on the crown.

“Then may I haunt him for eternity? He is quite splendid,” she asked.

I paused and stared at her. “You’ve been waiting in a painting for almost two hundred years because of one man with such a deep love, and yet, you are moving on so quickly.”

“What can I say? I am a romantic.”

“Better luck if you get another chance.” I shook my head.

“I believe I will, and thus, I owe you thanks. In burning that painting, you’ve almost set me free.” She giggled but then pointed to her neck. “Yet you seem to be having trouble now because I brought up your husband.”

I let go of her neck and stepped back. “Obviously, it’s because I need a spell, instead.”

“The magic of love?” she asked.

That was so cheesy, but I’d let it slide. “Please stay still. I’m still learning my magic.”

“Impossible.” She frowned. “To have helped me so much so far, you must have a great mastery of magic as my husband did.”

“You knew he was a witch?”

She nodded, a sad frown on her lips. “He never told me. I never asked. But I knew. Just as I knew my benefactor was also of the unearthly.”

“Your benefactor?” I asked, confused.

Once more, she nodded behind me, and when I turned to look, Sigbjørn glanced over to Rhea.

“She was always far too perfect and wary of my husband to be human herself.” She said. “I should have listened more. Tell her—though she will surely say there is no point in acknowledging it now—that she was right.”