“I can smell you, witch.”
I step around a tree, my ears picking up her breathy pants. She’s somewhere nearby, drawing my attention to the small expanse of ground in front of me. It’s mostly clear of debris, but my eyes remain focused, stuck on what isn’t there.
Her scent catches on the wind again, and my fangs tempt poking through my gums. My skin itches, begging to be rippedapart for my wolf to be released. He longs to sniff her, to drag his nose along her throat and inhale what could be an addiction.
“I won’t hurt you.”
My lungs work overtime to inhale the deepest of breaths, never wanting to stop breathing her in. Whatisit about her?
“Why do you smell so fuckinggood?” It was supposed to remain an inner thought, so it doesn’t freak her out and make her run before having the opportunity of making her useful.
Sticks crack below my feet. No—not my feet…but nearby. She’s very close.
My head tips to the side and I remain still, listening on the wind for where her scent has gone. My eyes are once again drawn to the ground in front of me.
And then, some-fucking-how, shapes materialize in the precise spot I’m staring. A figure fades into existence, revealing a woman, probably around my age, gaping up at me.
A waterfall of chocolate-coloured hair lined with subtle blonde highlights—a colour appearing created by sun exposure and not dye—cascades over her shoulders, long enough to tangle with the dried leaves as she’s slightly reclined backwards, leaning as far away from me as possible. Bright purple eyes—a signature sign of a witch—study me with identical intensity as I am her. Freckles splatter the bridge of her nose, trailing towards the plumpest lips I’ve seen on a woman. Her tongue appears, dabbing her bottom lip, and her sharp inhale draws my attention to her body. Curves for days that would meld perfectly with my hands are encased in yoga pants and a zip-up sweater over a sports bra.
Siika.
The Old Language of shifters flits through my mind, despite so few words being used nowadays. Shifters across the continent have adopted English, to blend with humans. I don’t know why.Don’t know what made me think of it, but it doesn’t make the thought any less true.
Beautiful.This witch is stunningly beautiful.
My chest rumbles again; my wolf’s announcement he feels the same. It’s a strange reaction. Something I might care about if I didn’t have this gift from Highridge laid out in front of me for the picking.
“Well…” My tongue flicks my bottom lip; I need the pause to collect my thoughts. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, witch?”
She immediately surges to her feet, glaring with widened eyes, as ifI’mthe one in the wrong. After another second, her arms move in front of her in defence, and knowing witches convey power through their hands, I keep my attention partially on them, intending to see her first sign of attack.
My gums ache as incisors poke through, and my fingers tingle from where claws are starting to sprout with a partial shift. It must be in response to her threat.
Eventually, when neither of us move, her gaze slowly travels up my chest to my neck and finally my face, meeting my eyes for the first time.
A jolt runs through me, jerking me to a standstill. Heart, mind, and body, I’m frozen, caught within her lavender gaze and anxiety-ridden posture.IfI ever had thoughts of harming the trespasser, they’re gone as my wolf aches to approach.
Tomeether.
What. The actual. Fuck.
I don’t know this woman.
I don’tcareto know her.
But when she looks at me, the ground rumbles beneath my feet, forewarning me it’ll never be still again. One gust of wind and I’d be tossed from the mountain’s peak that is her entire life—before givingheran entirely new kind of life. My insides knotand unknot over and over until I’m fighting to remain upright against the pain. It’s a message some unknown force is thrusting at me, but in a foreign language.
My wolf is crying inside my body, determined to rip me apart only to drag her home, keep her safe from anyone who’d consider harming her. Safe from her own coven. Safe from enemies. Safe from the winter weather that’ll be on its way in coming months.
If she’s on enemy territory without back up, it’s clear she’s unable to keep herself safe. Sheneedsme.
Keep, he growls in my head.Take.
Distracting from the betrayal that is my inner being, I ask, “Who are you?”
She remains still, both of us trapped by the other. Her lovely throat moves with her swallow, and her head turns slightly to the right and then the left, seeking an exit.
Iwantto know her. Need to sniff for another male’s scent on her. See if she’s truly available to be taken.
