She hit him with his shirt before she pulled hers on backwards and inside out.
“Um…” As the sex bliss ebbed, he knew he really could not be discovered here, and he wasn’t helping her.
He tied off the condom and left it on the bed for lack of anywhere else to put it as he rolled to his feet in another aching squeak.
He stopped her hands as they searched through the wreckage of her room and pulled at her shirt.
“We can’t!”
He just raised an eyebrow, and she looked down at herself. She groaned and ripped it off, shook it out, and put it back on as he found her skirt, but not her underwear. She just pulled it on. He was glad that she was a witch and not a werewolf, because every shifter within a quarter mile would smell him on her and what they had just done together. She grabbed her leggings herself.
She ran a hand over her hair, normally sleek and straight, and now a bird’s nest. He looked around, and she whispered, “What?”
“Hairbrush?”
“Cat!” someone shouted
“I had a vision! A big one! I’m writing it down!”
She pointed to one shelf, where he saw a few bags of makeup and a hairbrush. He didn’t let her take it out of his hand once he’d grabbed it and instead pulled it through her hair. He didn’t let her turn around so he could see what he was doing, just held her, and slowly—as slowly as he moved in the bed—brushed through her hair and breathed. After a minute, her cheeks returned to their normal color, not the high red flush they had. She looked roughly like she had when he came in.
“You’re good,” he whispered.
She laughed, a reaction he wasn’t expecting.
“I have a naked alpha werewolf in my room. This is the opposite of good.” She left the room, slamming the door on him.
“Well, when you put it like that.”
15
The haze of post-orgasmic bliss and a serious jolt of adrenaline were still sloshing through her system as Cat skipped down the stairs. She could still feel him all over her, and her whole scalp tingled from the hairbrush he ran through her hair while never taking his eyes off her.
She tried to tamp it all down as she hit the main landing and headed for the kitchen. Three redheads, Niamh, Annie, and Beatrice, were standing over something on the kitchen island while Siobhan peered over their heads.
“You’re back,” Niamh said with barely a glance at Cat. “We have to get this up immediately. Then we can tell you the plan.”
“What is it?” Cat said and stumbled toward the giant kitchen island. A sealed honey jar shaped like a bear was now filled with a much darker liquid.
“We’ve got to get the alarms back up,” Niamh repeated.
“We almost caught him,” Annie said, sounding strange, her voice heavy with fake cheer.
“But we lost him,” Siobhan said, “and he might know where we are, so thus?—”
“We need to get the alarms up,” Niamh repeated a third time.
Cat gulped. “The alarms to tell you there’s a werewolf in the house?”
“Hopefully, they go off before he’s in the house, dear,” Niamh said. “Help me with these, Bea.”
Cat watched helplessly as Beatrice took her mother’s hand, and Siobhan took the other. In a normal coven, she and Annie would be asked to help by lending their magic to a spell, but they didn’t share blood. There was no way to help and no way to stop them as the bottle turned even darker beneath Niamh’s fingers. The moment Niamh opened her eyes and took her hands away, the shriek of a banshee filled the room.
“To the gates!” Siobhan shouted, dove below the counter, and popped back up with an ax. She headed for the front of the house.
Cat closed her eyes as Ducky barked and ran around them all, and Beatrice and Niamh immediately followed Siobhan to the foyer, where presumably they left their weapons. They were more trusting than Siobhan, apparently.
She met Annie’s gaze for a timeless second and then spun on her heels and ran for the stairs.
