The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4 Carissa Andrews (the beginning after the end read novel txt) 📖

“All right, then, see ya around, Dru,” he says, backing up and flashing his trademark wink.

Despite my desire to stay, I ground myself to my better judgment, and put Blue into gear. “See ya in a bit, Angel.”

As I drive off, he taps the back of my vehicle. I turn on my hazards; a final good-bye before I drive out of sight. My eyes flit to the side mirror to get a final glance of him. He waits, standing in the middle of the road, until I can no longer see him at all.

Leaning back into my seat, I let out a low groan.

“Oh my god, I am in so much trouble with him,” I say aloud, unable to ignore the desire beginning to build inside me.

Despite myself, I don’t spend the two-hour drive to Windhaven thinking about what I need to ask my dad, or what I’d like to learn from him about our family history. Instead, I spend it fighting myself about how soon is too soon to hop into bed with Wade. Oddly enough, it’s a welcome distraction.

As I make the final turn down my dad’s extended driveway, nervous energy erupts in my stomach, and I realize I’m walking into this totally unprepared. The last time I was here wasn’t the most pleasant of times, to say the least. I spent more than a few weeks in bed—and even more of that confined to my room, despite it being a large house.

The trees on either side have a mysterious air about them as the sunlight filters through the branches arching over the road. There isn’t another house anywhere in eyeshot and a hint of anxiety trips into my consciousness.

It’s like going back in time.

Or at least what I imagine going back in time would be like.

I sit up straighter, clutching the steering wheel a bit tighter as I search for any signs of sentient life. Suddenly, the trees give way to a large clearing and the overgrown dirt driveway gives way to an older, cobblestone one.

As the enormous ancestral home comes into view, memories flood in. There weren’t just crappy times here. I do remember some happy ones. Ones when we were all a family, but they’re hazy. However, there’s still a piece of me that loves the house and wishes I could go back to those simpler times.

Now that I’m older, I definitely admire the architecture and style of this old Georgian manor. Its entire presence commands the landscape to embrace it and hold it safe, and it’s utterly breathtaking. The barely turning leaves are still in contrast with the gray stonework, making the front façade pop. The oversized windows adorn much of house, and I remember fondly that when the curtains are pulled back, it lets an incredible amount of light into the home.

I continue down the cobblestones at a slow pace until they start to loop around in front of the main entrance. An old statue of a weeping angel rests in the middle of the loop, surrounded by vines and flowers starting to die back from the colder weather. Tilting my head to the side, I put the vehicle in park and kick open my door. Before heading to the house, I walk up to the statue to have a better look. Interestingly, the angel is male, not the stereotypical female. But like many of the others, his face rests into his bent arm as he leans against a stone pillar.

I don’t know why I didn’t take much notice of it as a kid, but it creeps me out a bit now.

Blowing out a puff of air, I turn around and my chin tips upward as I take in the sheer size of the home.

“This is definitely bigger than I remember it,” I whisper to myself, surprised. Usually, it’s the other way around. Swallowing hard, I straighten my shoulders and walk up to the entrance.

Its massive front door is crafted from heavy oak beams and full of stained-glass figures and geometric shapes that are hard to distinguish from this side. Taking hold of the large cast iron knocker, I tap it against the doorframe three times.

I take a step back, clasping my hands behind my back and wait. After a minute or two, Dad still hasn’t come to answer the door, but I swear I can hear movement just inside.

I reach out and knock again, this time louder.

“Come on in,” a voice answers from the other side.

My eyes widen, but I pull my shoulders back and push open the door.

“Hello?” I call out, a strange seed of excitement blossoming inside me as I enter the entrance hall.

In a weird, alternate universe kinda way, it’s like stepping into a movie version of my life. Even at seven years old, all I wanted to do was explore this house and the mysterious grounds. It seemed like a big, glorious adventure, only to be squashed by my dad’s overprotectiveness. Now that I’m older and it’s even more massive, the pull is definitely real. The house and this entire location has a strange, magical energy all its own and it resonates with the reason I’m here in the first place.

The main entry is an enormous, open space—the kind you see in movies. An expansive chandelier hangs above the entryway, illuminating a small, round table in the middle of the space. Beyond that is an impressive staircase with a bottom that flares outward, inviting you to continue your journey up to the second story, and the landing that wraps around the upper level.

“Whoa,” I whisper, taking it all in.

“Do you like it?” Dad asks, joining me in the entryway from the sitting room on the left.

I let out a yip and nearly jump out of my skin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, sweetie,” he says, chuckling. His blue eyes look tired, with far more wrinkles than I remember.

“No, it’s okay. I just—this entry is…wow. I mean, it’s just you in here, right? Why do