It’s sad I’ve stalked him enough to know this part of his schedule, but it’s become an addiction impossible to stop—for some reason I’ve yet to identify. He may technically be my mortal enemy and the reason the coven has to give up something each year, but I can’t help myself. Even knowing wolves have tempers and if he spotted me, I’d be fucked with a capital F, I continue to come.
Regardless of those reasons, curiosity lingers like an incurable infection. There’ssomethingabout him. Something that compels me down here every other week. Something that makes me want to know everything about him. He’s the forbidden crush I’ll never meet, and Mom will never learn about because I’ll die before she does.
I remain crouched behind a bush in my usual spot and wait. As his usual time approaches, I cast a concealment charm around me with a wave of my hand that makes me invisible to the eye and masks my scent from his enhanced senses.
I might be stupid enough to make these trips, but not enough to risk being found out.
Within minutes, the air grows thicker, tenser—electric—as he arrives. Instead of the black wolf he’s typically transformed into before shifting to human, he strides into the clearing in his mortal form. He’s shouting—more like growling, despite the lack of snout and ears—making nature cringe in discomfort.
“Motherfucking—fuck!Fucking, fuck, how the fu?—?”
He’s never angry. In fact, I’ve never heard him speak, but his timbre is exactly like it’s been in my head, when visions of him linger late at night.
Instead of bolting from the tense and probably dangerous wolf, I find myself leaning deeper into the bush.
He stops by the pond and stares down into the flat water as one hand comes up to his dark hair and tugs. His body is taut with rage, which comes off him in waves that make it all the way back here. With his position, his shirt rides up a couple inches. Considering he usually arrives as an animal, his chest and back isn’t anything new to me, yet being covered makes the view even more tempting.
Suddenly, he freezes, then turns my way. His eyes zero in on the exact spot I’m crouched in as his arms slowly lower back to his side.
“The fuck?” I accidentally breathe aloud. He can’t see me; magick prevents it. I glance over my shoulder, praying to Hecate something else caught his attention—especially when he takes a step in this direction.
But his gaze isn’t over my shoulder. It’son me.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. I have to get out of herenow.
It should be impossible for him to catch sight, sound, or scent of my presence, but whatever the reason behind his approach, sticking around to figure it out isn’t an option. As I rotate to stand, my foot catches on a raised tree root—because of course it would—that face plants me into the ground and on my stomach. Sticks dig into my palms, but I ignore the discomfort and jam my shoes into the dirt to finish scrambling away.
However, when the shifter enters the treeline, a mere shadowy figure appearing over the bushes, I stop moving and cast the spell again and roll over until I’m seated on my ass.
“I won’t hurt you, whoever you are.”
Only because he’s assuming I’m human, but once he learns who and what I am, that statement will become a lie. Being on their territory could be viewed as an attack, giving them the option to retaliate. If he doesn’t kill me first, then Mom will when she learns why our coven is randomly launched into conflict.
He appears between two trees, and for extra security, I cast the spellagainbefore he’s fully in view.
“I can smell you, witch.”
Well, fuck.The spell isn’t working if he caught my scent.Andhe knows what I am.
Hecate, Blessed Be. Can’t wait to see you soon when he slaughters me. Give me a hint on how my untimely demise will come.
Suddenly, he steps around the nearest tree and bright eyes sweep the forest floor, landing on me before continuing on. Thespell is still active, so relief is a long breath that unknots a few muscles. Whyever he can smell me, at least he can’t see me.
The shifter approaches, stopping within two feet. I bring my legs in closer before he steps on me and figures it out.
“I won’t hurt you.”
As if I believe that.
His gaze roves again, flashing silver every once in a while, and his nostrils flare as he passes me over more than once. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him and my heart rockets in my chest for every single reason, not only fear and anxiety.
He’s fuckinghot. His hair, a dark, dark brown that looks almost black is shaggy—probably cut so infrequently. It’s wild and unruly, exactly what I imagine him being. His face is all sharp angles and tones; his skin tanned from the endless hours of sun exposure. Scars litter his chin and jawline, which match the few on his chest and arms as well, suggesting a life outdoors that I’d utterly fail at. His body is huge; muscles that’ll crush me if he doesn’t give up searching soon.
“Why do you smell so fuckinggood?”
Well, that sounds like he’s planning to make me his lunch. Contrary to what I said to Jasper about begging him to eat me, looks aside, being this man’s meal—thatkind of meal, anyway—isn’t how I’d enjoy dying.
After another inhale, his head jerks, tipping to the side the way I imagine his wolf form would when stalking prey. Blue eyes—the colour of a pond at dusk, when the sun is no longer washing out its natural colour—land on me, but move away just as quickly, the spell continuing to hold.
