Page 7

Back in my room, I pace. Out of rage, worry, or indignation, I’m not sure.

Probably a combination of all three. Tristen refused to let me accompany the witch to the clinic.

Instead, I was sent back to the house, and he even made some of his betas wait on the porch to make sure I didn’t sneak out again.

Ridiculous.

I don’t even know that poor witch’s name yet.

She’s obviously from an outlying small coven and looks barely sixteen—I’m surprised Malik hasn’t already snapped her up.

By the looks of it, she doesn’t trust anyone.

And probably for good reason. I doubt she’ll trust shifters anymore after tonight.

Or me—she probably thinks I lured her there just to get snatched.

It was a miracle she called at all; my coven sisters tried to reason with her, but she preferred to stay out in the forest. We barely got a chance to talk before Tristen turned up and ruined everything, but it sounds like Malik overcame their magical defenses, and she was the last one left.

Does that mean he’s going to break through ours, too?

We’ve long suspected the runes wouldn’t hold.

Malik can absorb powers from different supernatural species; it stands to reason that if he gains enough magic, he’ll be able to eliminate the runes.

However strong they are, there must be a limit.

We’ve tweaked them several times, increasing their potency as we try different variations, but the fear that Malik could simply walk straight through feels frighteningly realistic after talking to the girl.

And here I am, locked in my room like a naughty child. I may not have any practical magic, but I’ve adapted and made myself invaluable with my knowledge of runes. I need to talk to the girl and work out if our defenses remain stronger.

I may not really be a luna; it was a fake bond.

Tokenism. But I feel a responsibility for the magical defenses, or at least the theory behind our runes.

I still need my sisters to actually enact the magic, something that I will always find embarrassing.

Most of them are nice about it. If anything, they just pity me.

But living in a coven with no magic isn’t always easy, and the kindness of a few never quite countered the outright hostility of the others.

I know Marian only let me stay because she loved my mother, and for that, I know I should be grateful.

Witches like to think they’re so different from shifters, but the truth is that both value strength. They just demonstrate it in different ways.

Running a frustrated hand through my long hair, I stop pacing and sit on the bed, my previous rage quickly fading to sadness and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

I allow myself a rare moment to wallow in it all, finding myself pulled back to that night in the forest with Tristen when he rejected me.

The whole thing feels like a weird dream, and I still struggle to understand why it has affected me so much.

I didn’t know him; he was a stranger. Yet, when he held me, I knew we were meant to be together.

And I know he felt it, too. It was as though our entire future together was a forgone conclusion.

My soul felt instantly at peace. He rejected me because I’m a witch, and the irony that I’m a useless witch only makes it sting even more.

And now here I am, trapped in this room, in this alliance, with the man who hurts me every time I look at him.

Well, that’s not quite true. He makes me feel other emotions, too, but somehow, hurt and anger seem the easiest to deal with.

When he held me pinned to that tree, I thought for a moment he was going to kiss me.

I was so angry with him, yet I knew if he had, I’d have welcomed it.

I’m so weak; it’s pathetic. I promised myself I would never be weak—or weaker than I already am—but I find his presence completely overwhelming.

My body responds to his as if played by an invisible force.

Shifters have destined mates, but witches do not. I don’t know why my soul feels so intrinsically linked to him. All it does is hurt me even more.

I stay there, lost in thought, until I’m pulled from my reverie by the beam of headlights as someone turns into the drive.

The familiar truck’s engine cuts out as Tristen slams the door, talking in hushed voices to his betas.

He’s probably sending them back out to finish the patrol, as it will be morning soon.

I look down at my clothes, knowing I should get some rest, but my mind and body are too fired up and too on edge to rest.

I hear the main door open and close. Normally, Tristen moves so quietly through the house that I’m never sure if he’s here or not.

He also never approaches my side of the house.

This is a dance we’ve been doing for weeks now, so when I hear his footsteps approaching my door, I freeze.

Is he just checking that I’m still here?

Is he not done arguing and laying down the law?

His footsteps stop right outside my door, and I force myself to stay calm. This is Tristen, after all. His presence seems to overpower everything, even with a solid wooden door between us; I feel his power. He’s obviously hesitating, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s just going to walk away.

"Emily," he finally says, his voice low and rough as he knocks loudly on the door. “Are you awake?”

I consider a sassy reply, considering the knock was loud enough to wake the dead— well, I am now, asshole —but my words die in my throat as I stand and reach for the handle, my hand feeling annoyingly shakey.

I open the door a fraction, and he pulls it the rest of the way to reveal himself in the hallway.

He looks me over, seemingly taking in the fact I’m still dressed, a frown marring his handsome features.

He’s obviously tired and on edge, but it does nothing to detract from his raw magnetism.

But there’s a darkness to him tonight that isn’t usually there, one I’ve rarely witnessed.

However, when I have, it’s usually directed at me.

“How is she?” I ask, ignoring his gaze, which feels like it’s scorching my skin. “Is she okay?”

He sighs, leaning slightly against the solid door frame. “She’s fine, beaten up by the fall, but she’ll recover, " he finally says. “She’s feral, but seems to like one of the nurses, so she’ll stay with her tonight. You can talk to her tomorrow.”

We stare at each other for a beat. “Am I supposed to say thank you?” I mutter, not forgetting his harsh words out on the trail when he ordered me home.

He scoffs. “A little gratitude would be nice,” he growls. “Do you have any idea how much danger you were in out there?”

He’s probably not wrong, but I huff anyway. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with trouble.”

“And once again, it’s me that has to save you, witch,” he snaps, the term witch as derogatory as ever.

“The only problem tonight was you turning up and spooking that poor girl, causing her to have an accident,” I retort. “You didn’t save anyone; you just made everything worse. As usual.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing off the door and stepping closer to me. “Is that right? And, just what else have I made worse, Emily?”

I want to say, you’ve broken my heart and made me doubt myself, made me sad, made me feel as though I’m not worthy of love.

Made me feel less than …But I don’t, I can’t.

I’m so transfixed by his gaze that I barely even register that he’s stepped closer again.

He’s now in my room, and although I instinctively step back, too, he’s beginning to crowd me.

A voice in the back of my head tells me to put some space between us, not lose myself to the strange pull he has over me. Looking into his amber eyes, it almost looks as though he’s waging a similar internal war, as I see the conflict dancing across his expression.

A conflict he loses the moment he reaches for me.

Time seems to stand still around us as I allow him to pull me against his hard, unyielding body—it’s almost like back on the trail. But this time, it’s not done with anger, but instead, a passion that I wasn’t expecting. His mouth crashes down on mine, and I gasp at the intensity.

His strong arms wrap around me tightly, pinning me against his chest as he deepens the kiss, and I melt into him.

His scent, a heady mix of the forest night and his masculinity, is overwhelming, yet I crave even more.

I feel his hand in my hair, tangling my long locks around his fingers as he tugs me closer.

The sound of our breathing echoes around us as he parts his lips slightly, his tongue dancing along my bottom lip.

I open to him greedily, allowing him access to my mouth.

His taste is nothing short of addictive, and the memory of two years ago comes rushing back to me in full force.

Despite everything I ever told myself about what I’d do if he kissed me again, it all goes out the window as my hands find their way to his shoulders, digging in slightly as I try to get closer still.

His skin feels like warm silk under my fingertips as we explore each other’s mouths hungrily.

It isn’t a gentle or tender kiss, but it’s not exactly rough, either; it’s a claiming.

The one he denied me at our ceremony. One that makes me want to cry out with pleasure while at the same time making me want to beg for even more.

The kiss goes on, turning ever more primal, and I’m not sure who’s leading who.

We crash into the wall behind me, our bodies pressed together, and I feel his arousal digging into me.

His hands begin to roam, and my breath hitches as he finds my breast, squeezing gently through my shirt.

His teeth scrape lightly along my jawline before his lips return to mine, his tongue delving deeper this time and scattering all rational thought.

I hear myself moan into the kiss, unable to stop myself. It’s been so long since he touched me like this, and I didn’t realize how much I needed it. How much I craved it.

I’m dimly aware as his hand moves lower, dipping beneath the band of my yoga pants.

Suddenly, the daze I’ve been in begins to lift.

My heart hammers in my chest as his fingers slide over my mound and dip between my folds.

It feels incredible, but I can’t help but feel the waves of panic beginning to overtake me.

No man has ever touched me before, and it suddenly all feels too much—I know how Tristen really feels about me, and just because he wants my body right now, it doesn’t mean he’ll feel the same way tomorrow.

His fingers slide tantalizingly close to my entrance, and I feel my hips rock almost involuntarily. One of his fingertips slides inside my entrance. “Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he breathes hot against my ear.

A pinch of pain, and I panic, pushing hard against him.

He staggers back, his hand is gone, and I miss it almost immediately, but I shake off the thought.

As my head clears, there’s an unmistakable scent of sex and desire in the room.

Tristen is breathing heavily, his wolf dancing in his eyes.

He looks more wolf than man right now, and I wonder if he’s even capable of stopping.

A moment or two passes, and I see him slowly coming back to himself.

He lets out a long breath, “I should go,” he says. “Unless you want me to stay?”

Please stay. I think, but instead, I reply, “You should go. I won’t just be a mistake to you.”

He wavers for a moment, and I wonder if he’s going to say something more, but then he nods and simply walks away.

As the door closes behind him, I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and give in to a tremble that wracks my whole body, my core aching.

If I thought he had ruined all other men for me after our first kiss, the touch of his hands on my body is even worse.

I fear I will never experience true love while Tristen keeps me wanting him like this.