Ryder shifts his path slightly to head for his cabin. His strides get larger so by the time I’m nearing the three waiting wolves, he’s returned, a hoodie that is most definitely not mine dangling from his grip.
Fifteen
RYDER
Twenty-four hours ago,I wouldn’t have considered a witch’s comfort, but when she asks for her cloak, it takes zero thought before I’m redirecting myself towards my cabin to retrieve it.
It’s balled up in my nest from being discarded this morning. Her scent, already penetratingly strong, clings to the entire room, but her cloak makes it worse. There is no way it’s fading with time when it’s laying on top of the furs. It’s a stain of black, exactly what this entire mate bond is on my being.
My wolf doesn’t appreciate the thought.
Alone—and the fact it’ll probably be my only chance to do this—I bring the silky material up to my nose and inhale deeply. The scent of water—lakes and ponds and dew after a heavy rainstorm—fills my nostrils. While all that makes up Carina’s scent, beneath it is another. A lighter perfume, the scent of her skin and whatever cream she’s recently slathered on.
No matter how this ends, it’ll be what trails me through life.
Annoyed by my own actions, I twist for the door. The material, while reasonably thick, still feels too thin. Especially considering the speeds I’ll run and the way her little quakesvibrated my sides last night, whether or not she realizes she was shivering at the time.
I discard it back onto my nest, though it’d be better off on the floor, and cross for my chest of clothing, rifling through until I find an article I typically wear when winter temperatures hit.
With my hoodie in hand, I return to find her standing nearby but still maintaining some distance from Xander and Conan. Their conversation dies as I pass them to reach Carina, who brightens at my arrival.
Why the hell is she happy to see me? She has no damn idea how her every breath and blink affects me so fucking much.
I’d hate her…if I was allowed to.
She reaches for what she presumes is her cloak, but I slip the opening of my sweater over her head and maneuver her limbs, all without meeting her clouded expression. If I look at her, the fact I’m dressing her in my clothing will come crashing down and I won’t survive what my insides are demanding.
It falls midway down her thighs, a couple inches above where her dress stops.Thatshe needs to get the hell rid of because if she spends another night with her legs bare, the wolf won’t be responsible anymore.
Mine.
She isn’t mine, not formally, nor will she ever be. But she’s mine… My witch, made for me, dressed in my clothing.
Fuck. Me.
She pinches at the material on her chest, brows raising with her question, but before she can ask it—before she can point out anything I’m doing—I drop my hands and make them busy behind my back.
“It’s warmer than that silk thing you call protection.”
Then I turn for Xander and Conan, both of whom wisely don’t point out the obvious. Silently, they head out of view to shift.
“You’ll ride with me,” I tell her before following. As if there’d be anyone else she’s allowed near or on.
Xander’s waiting in wolf form with a backpack dangling from his teeth for me to toss my pants into. I do so without looking at him or Conan and return to Carina on four paws and bump my snout into her thigh.
My wolf rumbles, content by her appearance, her scent. My cabin smells like her, and now she smells like me. It’s as it should be.Nîkâkîstis.
Though she’s only done it the once, she climbs on easily and settles into her place, her hands sliding through my fur. My wolf likes this, but I don’t know how to feel.
The trip to town passes quickly. Xander leads the way, picking the best path that won’t accidentally knock her off, while Conan brings up the rear for protection. A common formation that ensures she’s safe in the middle.
By the edge of the town, Conan carries the bag out of view and Xander follows. A few second later they return as human.
Carina throws one leg over my back and shuffles down my side, her dress getting hiked in the process. I avert my gaze from her thighs and stalk into the woods to change, this time in a shirt and shoes too because being within a human population means fully looking the part.
She’s staring longingly at the edge of town when I return. Some dozen feet away, a string of humans that make me want to bolt line up for pictures by Banff’s town sign.
Humans are strange. It’s a fucking sign. This is why we stay away.
