Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Heat engulfs me in an instant, and it is far stronger than the urges that struck me when I thought I was mere minutes from returning home. It’s as if the fire has jumped out of her grate and into my blood. I bite back a growl and plant my boots on the muddy ground, using all the power of my muscles to stand still.
This does not matter to my wolf. My senses sharpen, telling me more about the lines of her face and the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat and her quick, shallow breathing. The witch grips an athame in one hand, and her posture tells me she knows how to use it, but her pupils are blown large and dark with interest. The scent coming off her now is fresh and even more intoxicating. There is a pull between us—some recognition, I think, or that is what my wolf wishes it to be.
The witch cocks her head slightly to the side and inhales, shifting the air around her and sending more of her scent into my veins as I pray for control. As I demand it from my wolf. This was a mistake. This woman…she bewitches me. I am sure of it.
“You,” she begins, adjusting her grip on the athame. “Are not human.”
“No. I am a shifter.” I barely get out. As if I am breathless before her.
“I see…your eyes…” She takes a small step forward. The witch—this beautiful creature—is close enough for me to reach out and touch, yet the space she leaves between us is intentional. I do not breach it. If I do, I will not stop until I have satisfied my wolf. Until I have satisfied myself.
She gazes into my eyes, her own bright. “They are sharp and gray. Your wolf wants…” The witch looks for another long moment, then takes a sharp breath. “Your wolf wishes to hunt.”
With a step back, her hand raises, and the door seems to obey her. Her hand is on the wood by the time I put my hand up to stop it. The pressure of the door seems greater than it should be. Even if the witch pushed it hard, it should not be swinging so heavily into my hand.
Magic. The power of the witch.
I have more strength than the door, though I must adjust my stance and engage my arm to hold it. This door must not close on me. She must not send me back out into the rain. Not only because of the crystals, but because my wolf is nipping and growling and demanding to be near her, and he will howl for hours if he is denied.
“Please. I…I will not cause you harm.” Not an ounce of shame is felt although my plea is desperate.
Her hand tightens on the door, rising an inch like she might try to slam it shut in my face, but after a few beats she lowers her hand and steps back once again although the door does not budge an itch. Still I fight against its push.
The witch’s eyes lower, to the doorknob I grip.
“You may come in.” Her voice low, testing something on the tip of her tongue. With her permission, the magic pushing the door subsides and although my heart still races, everything around me seems to slow. With one breath, I look at her and easily push the door open.
I step through the threshold and shiver at the sudden change in temperature. A fire burns in the fireplace, throwing heat and light into a good-sized main room. It is a cozy place with a blue velvet sofa and a colorful chair by the fire. A quilt lays in a basket between the two. There’s a small table by the window with jars of herbs and crystals strewn about it. Farther into the cottage, I can make out the kitchen and another table with four chairs around it. Many shelves line the walls, and there are crystals, books, and spell jars everywhere. A journal lays open on the chair closest to me and as my eyes turn to it, the thing closes on its own. Sharply and with an authority that catches me off guard. There are enough odd curiosities to look at for days, but I only spare them a short glance. My wolf is hungry for the sight of the witch.
With a few steps backward, she puts a few feet between us, her brow creased, then waves her hand at me in an odd way. Her slender fingers each taking a turn in a quick wave. As if she reads me like she reads the books that lay everywhere in this place.
I had not known how much rain was weighing me down until it lifts off. I feel her magic on my skin, and a low growl works at the back of my throat. I swallow it down before I can let the sound loose. We have only just spoken for the first time. I do not wish to frighten her with the growls of my wolf.