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And that wasn't even the worst part.

Just as Frexin had promised, the tattoos had done their job, keeping the wolf silent all day.

Those desires were all mine.

"FUCK!" I slammed my fist into a tree.

I'd thought it was all the wolf!When had the Witch managed to work her way so deeply under my skin, too?!

I glared at the dark forest around me, needing a distraction — from her, from the cabin, from all of it.

Something moved to my left, and my body went on alert.

Perfect.

I'd focus on the threats — the dangers lurking on the Isle … like wraiths … the beast Frexin was hunting.

Instead, my thoughts immediately flew to the Witch … alone in the cabin. Practically defenseless.

She was a great fighter, and the blades I'd commissioned for her would help.

But I'd seen what it had done to the base, and the fear in Frexin's eyes whenever it got closer. That monster would destroy her with a single swipe of its strange dark magic …

Ice chilled my veins, and my feet moved towards the cabin of their own volition — faster, and faster.

I could do one night in that cabin with her. I was stronger than a few little emotions.

Besides, Frexin said the final set of tattoos would be enough to keep the wolf away forever, and I refused to pay heed toanythingthe traitorous Japhire had said.

Everything would be fine.

I emerged from the forest at a run and slid to a halt.

Cheery firelight poured from the cracks and holes in the wood panels, accompanied by a rich feminine voice singing something about a sailor and his ladies at every port.

The words were ridiculous, but her husky voice rolled along my skin, seeping into my bones, going straight to my dick, drawing me to her like a flutterwing to a flame.

Seriously? Just the sound of her voice does it for me …

I'd stepped through the front door before I could second guess myself.

My jaw dropped. "What. The. Fuck?"

Kaiya stared intently down at a table, her nose dusted in flour, bits of carrot in her pale hair. She held a knife in one hand and a massacred onion in the other, tears pouring from her eyes. Beyond her lay a messy pile of butchered vegetables and a pot billowing smoke from atop the cast-iron stove.

Those hazel eyes flew to mine, and she quickly wiped away her tears. "Don't worry. I'm just crying because of the onion," she assured me, cheeks a pretty shade of pink.

Growling, I strode to her side. "I can see that. I meant, what the fuck are you doing to our dinner?!"

Her eyes rounded and she looked around at her handy-work. "It's not that bad, is it?"

My brows arched as I picked up three pieces of the tuber she'd already cut — three pieces that were VASTLY different sizes.

"Witch. If we cook these as they are, half will be hard as stone and the others pure mush!"

Her eyebrow twitched, but she just shrugged. "I mean, at least I got the water boiling. Right?"

I looked at the smoking pot and cocked my brow. It smelled of burned iron and had gone completely dry. Beyond that, the meat had to be seared first …