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)
But, a small voice in the back of my head says, she is not a wolf.
Those thoughts are so far down any potential path that I should not even be having them, yet I cannot stop the images from filling my mind. I have only heard a handful of words out of her mouth, and I can already imagine how her moans would sound. I have not touched her, but I can imagine how her sweet curves would feel under my palms.
I swallow down all the feral noises I want to make and the filthy words I want to say. I forcefully stop thinking of all the delicious images of her spread out on a bed or in a pile of blankets on the floor. I do not let a single image come to my mind except for what is right in front of me—the witch, standing near her worktable, watching me right back. She swallows thickly and my eyes are drawn to the little dip in her throat. Fuck me.
I cannot take my eyes off her. I cannot pretend I want to look anywhere else. I cannot pretend I would rather be out in the storm, smelling mud and wet grass and lightning.
“I just,” she starts, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “There’s only the one bed.”
I nod my head without thinking, hoping it looks polite and restrained. “I can sleep on the floor.”
IDALIS
I’m out of the habit of existing in close quarters with others. It’s been far too long and I find myself out of sorts. Almost curious but also apprehensive with every sound he makes.
I should’ve realized that before, I suppose, but no one has stepped inside my home since I lost my coven. That also means no one has slept under my roof since then. No one has needed anything of me since then. The shifter’s presence is as if the storm is now brewing inside me.
It’s not that he is loud—he is not. He is almost entirely silent. Which I find intriguing. He’s quite large with broad shoulders and his handsome form is at odds with the cozy warmth of my home.
By the time I offer him a bed on the floor, it has to be late evening. The bed consists of an array of pillows and a knitted chenille comforter on top of three thick quilts, one of which I’ve had since I was a little girl. It’s enchanted and the fact that he held it without consequence is a good sign. I remind myself of that as I shift under his heated gaze. The sound of the rain has carried me—both of us—through the day. The hours came and went. It is still, I think, earlier than I would normally go to bed but—
I do not know how to converse with the wolf and my thoughts are preoccupied by the absence of magic. What exactly has happened? Nerves prickle their way through me and leave me with unease. So he should sleep, so I may think of a way to undo all of this. Immediately.
I do not think I could fall asleep now even if I did get into bed. The idea of drifting off to the sound of rain is laughable with this muscled wolf taking up all the room in the cottage. It seems so commonplace to offer him tea and food, but he insists he does not need either. Still he looks at me, nearly through me, as if he is starved. It’s unsettling in a way I’ve not felt. The heat and tension are palpable although I pretend they are as nonexistent as his appetite.
I’ve been alone so long that even a single, tall, handsome soldier is enough to take my breath away. Swallowing thickly, I ask him if he needs anything, to which he shakes his head no. It’s odd how I long for him to tell me “no” so I may hear the rough timbre of his voice and even odder that the moment I have that thought, he does so.
“No, thank you,” he says, and my heart betrays me with a little flip and then a skip in my chest. I find it hard to breathe every time I look at him. I cannot just go about my bedtime habits while he stands there.
I have so many questions for him that my mind buzzes like a beehive, but the tension keeps them trapped inside. It is so thick between us that my face will not cool down. I must be as red as the midsummer roses along the back gate. My heart beats hard, as if he’s watching and waiting for me undress. I’m only standing at my worktable, but I feel exposed—and desperate to get behind his leather armor to the soul concealed inside.
I keep asking myself what it is about him that makes me feel this way, but surely it’s obvious, I’ve not seen a man in so long. Let alone one so…delicious. Hardened muscles and rough stubble… I am a woman after all…and not blind to his charm.