Page 45 of Bewitching the Wolf

“My species do not rut.” I try to sound indignant, but even I catch the tremble in my voice.

Clem giggles. “Well, maybe it’s time to give it a go.”

“This weekend is a professional arrangement,” I retort haughtily. “Not an episode of monster love island.”

“Professional schmechanel—I was working for Otis. That stopped us for… well, no time at all, really.” She laughs. “Seems baking a cake together did the trick for us. So why not get it on with my brother over a green smoothie?”

I fall silent, recalling the splat of smoothie on Jax’s towel.

You should have offered to lick it off.

Goddess save me!

“I’m a wixen. We don’t fraternize with wolves,” I protest vehemently, desperate to black out the visuals floating in front of my eyes.

Clem huffs out a sigh. “Really hon, you’re not fooling any of us. You two are steaming hot for each other. I can only imagine what the temperature is like in that little den right now.”

I fall silent. Clem has a point. It’s like a sauna with all the pheromones flying around in here. I can’t blame it all on Jax. My slick pussy and my pulsing clit betray the lie.

“Stop pretending this whole thing is about your potions,” Clem sounds suddenly serious. “It’s you that Jax needs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Girlfriend, there comes a time when you can’t fight fate anymore.”

I swallow hard, unable to form words. Sure, I know about the whole fated mates thing, and Sammy and Arlo, Clem and Otis, they are pretty much proof that it happens.

But this thing with me and Jax could never work. We’re both too stubborn, too opinionated.

“Wolf got your tongue?” Clem says wickedly after a long pause.

“I, er, gotta go, I’ve got a potion about to boil over.” There is no potion; it’s me that’s reaching boiling point. “Bye Clem,” I manage to gasp before I hang up.

My mind is reeling.

Clem carrying on about me and Jax being fated?

Aunt Felicia giving me the story of Agdar and Leonora to read.

What in the goddess’s name is happening?

My pulse racing, I go to my room, grab the book my aunt gave me, and carry it out to the table. I stroke the worn leather binding, run my fingers over the words embossed in gold: Agdar & Leonora.

This book is surely older than the revolution. It must date back to the early days of the Labyrinth.

Sitting down, I start turning the pages with shaking fingers.

The writing is mostly in rune language. I can understand a few of the letters, but it’s a combination of Silver and Red book words.

But the illustrations… oh my goddess, there’s no need for words.

The pictures tell it all. In graphic detail.

The first illustration is of what is clearly a war zone. In the background there are flames, and a group of humans in uniforms carrying bayonets. In the foreground, Leonora, in her human form, cowers under Agdar’s huge form, his arm around her shoulders, his blazing eyes testament to his love for her.

The next picture makes a lump form in my throat. Agdar and Leonora hold hands through the bars of their separate cages, their faces meeting through the bars.

Leonora’s delicate pointed ears poke out from the tousled mane of her red hair. Tattered clothes hang off her slender frame. Agdar is straining every muscle to get closer to her, his hands riveted to the bars as if he must surely break through to his beloved. Around them, other monsters are caged and shackled, but they only have eyes for each other.