Page 17 of His Whispered Witch (Witches and Shifters: Scott Pack #6)

P enn took a deep breath as she navigated the curvy roads back to Silver Spring.

Another downside of living deep in the mountains is that you could never flee from somebody at top speed while holding dramatic conversations in your head.

She had to focus if she didn’t want to end up at the bottom of a cliff, which meant that by the time she got back to town, she was a little calmer but also crawling out of her skin.

She’d almost avoided being trapped in one marriage, tried to help a guy, and found him declaring that she should be trapped in another.

She sat waiting at the edge of Main Street for the world’s most useless stoplight to change, because in six months of living here, she’d only encountered one other car at this intersection.

Was he right?

The thing she couldn’t get over was the connection that had snapped between them.

For a second, she had access to an avalanche of magic the likes of which she had only experienced once when all her cousins had attempted to join together.

It boggled her mind. It had taken sixteen witches to almost reach the level of magic he handed her casually with a touch of his fingers.

Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t made a unilateral declaration. To him, it was just a statement of fact. He was describing the world, not trying to order it.

Fate had already ordered it.

The light turned green, and she shook her head and hit the gas pedal. She didn’t believe in fate. Who believed in fate? It was one of those ancient Greek concepts you learned in Western literature classes in college. Who said things like that?

Did she want him to be right?

From the first moment she saw him, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. From hair the color of ash that matched his name, to the intensity of his eyes, to his long, lean form, she wanted him. And now she knew vividly what that form felt like against her.

They’d been making out like teenagers, and it was already more intense than any sex she’d ever had in her life.

His attention was addictive. From the very beginning, he looked at her like she was the most important human being in the room, and that impression didn’t fade.

Every time they met, it was like everything else disappeared for him. She could get used to that…

She could not be with a man who believed in a foreordained mate built just for him.

But he hadn’t said that. He said there was a choice. They could choose to exploit the magic or not. She just wished there was some way to get a second opinion, but there was nobody she could ask.

She thought of the room full of books on wolves and made an abrupt left turn off Main Street to sneak into the neighborhood behind the main strip of businesses.

She parked in front of the giant purple and black house again and questioned her sanity as she jogged up the walk.

She hit the doorbell and took a deep breath.

Annie opened the door, her freckles extra vivid in her pale face.

“Is everything okay?” Penn asked.

Annie met her eyes for a second. “Yes. Fine. Why.” She spoke in a monotone.

“Because you don’t look okay,” Penn said.

“You fled your coven, rather than marry some dude, right?”

Penn’s eyes flew to the interior of the house, expecting the twins to come barreling out. She thought of them as the twins, little old ladies in a crazy house, but Niamh was Annie’s adopted mother.

She grasped Annie’s elbow, pulled her out the door, and shut it quickly. She looked around at the swing, two rocking chairs, and one tiny bench. She headed for the bench at the end of the porch, the only seating option not dangling from the ceiling, and sat down.

“First of all,” she said, “I fled from a different coven that had taken over mine and didn’t have my best interest at heart, only theirs.

But, yes, I was meeting guys before that with my coven.

The women I trusted and loved me and wanted the best for me were sending me on dates that I vetoed all the time. ”

“Right.”

It was silly, but until this moment, she hadn’t considered that she wouldn’t have an arranged marriage.

It was strange to the rest of the world, but within covens, it was expected.

Every generation was weaker. They tried to marry into magical families to keep power alive, and that meant arranging things. Everybody knew that. Annie knew that.

“Is there somebody else you want instead? Somebody unsuitable?”

Annie let out a hysterical cascade of laughter. “Just about the worst person in the entire world?”

Penn gasped dramatically. “You’re dating Hitler?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Okay, not the worst. In fact, not bad at all. He’s amazing.”

“But I take it he’s not an upstanding boy from a magical family?”

Annie shook her head morosely. Penn squinted at her.

How old was she? She wasn’t in school, but she couldn’t have been much older, and she’d already found the love of her life?

Penn felt a little jealous. She also felt a little jealous that Annie went out and found somebody normal and not some kind of fated connection with a werewolf.

“You have time, right? If he loves you, this boy isn’t going anywhere.”

Annie’s eyes flew to her. “He’s getting the same pressure.”

Penn frowned. “So he is from a magical family?”

“Not like that,” Annie said to her shoes.

When nothing else was forthcoming, Penn sighed.

“I wish I could help,” she said sincerely.

“No one can,” Annie said.

No, Annie wasn’t a teenager anymore, but she was close enough to get the dramatic hopelessness just right.

“Just, um, keep the lines of communication open?” Penn rolled her eyes at herself. What did that even mean? “I mean, keep talking to your mom and your aunt. And me,” she added, though how long would she be here?

She froze. Forever? She had planned on spending her life here with this coven.

She couldn’t deny it now. She was going back to him, and not only to help him. Where the hell would they go, exiled from pack and coven alike?

Annie summoned a smile. “Anyway, I told you I’m fine. I am fine.”

Penn heard the conviction in her voice. “You are fine. Whatever happens, you’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath. If only she could take her own advice.

Annie squeezed her hand. “Thanks. I’ve got a shift.”

For the first time, Penn noticed she was wearing a purple shirt that exactly matched the shade of the house with a white cauldron on the front over a pile of sticks made of brooms, the uniform for the shop.

“Have a good shift,” Penn said and sat where she was until Annie was off the porch and heading down the street, her arms wrapped around her torso as if she was literally holding herself together.

She recognized that tension, the love of her family versus the need to make her own decisions. She sighed, feeling a sort of peace she hadn’t felt since her blissful orgasm before the truth bomb. She’d already chosen to come here. She could choose again.

She didn’t like to come into the house uninvited, but Annie had left the door open, and there didn’t seem to be anybody else home.

She stepped inside and tried to look casual as she headed for the library when a scramble of paws made her freeze.

The wolfhound galloped around the corner and skidded to a stop with his nose in her belly button. He sniffed her all over and growled.

“Hey, stop that.”

Did he smell the werewolf?

“I’m your friend!” she said, putting magic in the world. “Go… Go take a nap.”

He gamboled away after a final sniff. Did Asher smell like a wolf even in human form? She had to get out of here.

She dashed into the library and tried to remember the mechanism.

Seconds before she grabbed the silver wolf, she hesitated, worrying that this was some sort of spell keyed to the Griffins, but no, the whole point of their existence was to bring new people into their coven.

They wouldn’t lock the door, right? But then again, they didn’t exactly have harmless shit in this room.

There was only one way to find out. She grasped the statue, and nothing happened. She dropped her hand, cursing, before trying to jiggle it again. It tilted toward her, and the door unlatched. She rolled her eyes at her fear. They hadn’t used any magic at all. She stepped inside.

Knowing what she knew now, this collection looked even more grotesque. The rack of weapons looked like something out of a medieval torture chamber, and the books were horrifying: The Lupine Scourge, Monsters of the Moon, and How to Take the Pack.

Why had she thought this was going to be any help at all, that she’d magically find buried amongst the violence a book called: Yes, there is a magical connection between witches and wolves, and here’s how to find your fated mate and live happily ever after.

“Can I help you find anything?” a voice asked from behind her. Penn spun with a jolt.

Cat, one of the twins’ former foster children, stood with an elbow tipped casually against the door.

Penn examined the smaller woman. Today, she wore a long paisley skirt with silver balls all over it and a top made of homespun hemp that looked scratchy. Her hair was wild and loose around her head, blacker than Penn’s, which made her blue eyes seem to glow in her pale face.

“Do you believe in fate? Like fated, um, partners?” Penn asked.

Cat burst out laughing. Penn liked her laugh. They hadn’t really had a serious conversation, and she regretted that now.

“Do you know what my talent is?” Cat asked.

Penn closed her eyes, trying to remember. She’d been introduced to all the various witches in the coven once they agreed she could live here, but she didn’t remember.

Penn shook her head. “Something receptive?”