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The alternative was more terrifying.

Bailey was his familiar. He turned again, he’d found him so easily the first time, like he’d been the only man on the dancefloor.

“What’s up?” Smithy put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing.” How could he explain what a familiar mate was to people who didn’t believe in witches? He shook his head. He was wrong, and it was nothing more than a kiss fueled by his own need to hook up and have fun before shipping out. “I need a drink.”

He reached for his wallet, but it wasn’t there. He checked the other side. Nothing.

He laughed, unable to stop it from bubbling up. It could’ve been taken by anyone, but he knew where his wallet was. Remembered the glide of Bailey’s hand and the promise he’d be back.

There’d been magic all right, but it hadn’t been the mating bond between witch and shifter.

“I’ve lost my wallet,” he shouted over the music. His finger’s curled and he thought of the wallet and tried to bring it back to him. It was easy to direct objects in motion, harder if they were still. If his wallet was on the ground in the club it would tumble along until it reached his feet, but it wasn’t that close. It was with Bailey; snug in his jeans.

A wave of anxiety and fear and lust swept through him. He rocked back and drew in a sharp breath. But for a moment he felt the cold night air on his skin. There was no point reaching for Bailey as Kass’s magic didn’t extend to directing living beings. However, he was sure than if he started walking, he’d end up at Bailey’s side. He pushed away the thoughts, not wanting to explore what they meant. This time the fear was his. What had he done?

“Sure you did.” Smithy nudged him.

“No really.” He didn’t need this bullshit, but there wasn’t much he could do. He would have to call the bank and get a new ID, all in the next twenty-four hours. Even if he asked the club for camera footage, he doubted they’d have a clear photo of the guy with his hand in his pocket. Reporting it to the cops wouldn’t get him far either.

He’d cancel the cards and move on. In two days, it wouldn’t matter as he’d be in the middle of nowhere. He accepted Smithy’s offer to buy a beer, but the night’s buzz had faded, replaced with uncertainty. The missing wallet was the least of his problems.

Getting back onto the base with no ID was a pain in the ass. When he finally crawled into bed, sober and wound in knots, he couldn’t sleep. Bailey filled his mind looking like all he wanted was a good time—Kass would’ve given it to him too. Gotten a room and crawled back to base in time to shower and shave and pretend that he was respectable. There’d been something about Bailey that he hadn’t been able to resist.

Tentatively he reached out again, telling himself he was searching for his wallet. It was easy to find. However it wasn’t moving, and it was too far away for him to nudge it into action. He let his magic slide over Bailey and was immediately thrown into a storm of emotion. Bailey was wound up, but that wasn’t all. Lust, that wasn’t his, spiked through Kass making him as hard as he’d been in the club. The anxiety and desire tumbled together, ramping up, and it took several seconds for Kass to work out why—and only because his hand had somehow slid to his dick. He drew in a breath, wanting to back away from what should be private emotions but trapped in the moment.

Was it his heart racing or Bailey’s?

His breath caught, and a shiver of pleasure ran through him. With the next breath there was only calm. But he hadn't come, he was still hard.

He turned over to stare at the ceiling, unable to lie to himself, and trying to will away the erection. Had Bailey been alone, or had he found someone else?

The stab of bitterness that caused was unwarranted, given that he’d known Bailey for less than three minutes. Three minutes or three seconds, it didn’t matter. The kiss had started the magic that bound witch and shifter.

Which created another problem. He was heading off to a war zone; if he was killed, his familiar would pine away and die.

He sat up, swearing under his breath. He would have to call the Coven and report himself. Witches couldn’t go around blindly kissing shifters and binding mates, no matter how intense the attraction. He flopped back on the bed. It was three AM. He couldn’t make any calls now; this wasn’t an emergency by Coven standards. Tomorrow would have to be good enough.