Page 23 of His Whispered Witch (Witches and Shifters: Scott Pack #6)

A sher heard something in the far distance. He was dreaming, but that wasn’t right. He wasn’t asleep.

“Asher, you have to come back.”

He loved that voice. Maybe he was dead, and the angels were speaking to him.

“Asher!”

Slowly, he realized he was not dead or sleeping. He was awake, but he was a wolf. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Why was he a wolf?

He felt something alive brush against his fur, the first physical sensation he could discern, and scrambled for control as the wolf rose within him, ready to do battle.

“Okay, not that! I’m taking the lizard far away.”

There was a lizard? Why was there a lizard, and why did his wolf want to kill it?

You hate eating reptiles.

Then he felt lips on the top of the wolf’s head.

“Please come back to me.”

In a rush, memory returned. Penn. Fated mate, probably. Or animal witch who could save him. Or both. The fight. The witches.

Let me out.

The wolf ignored him, like always. It had control now, and it wasn’t going to give it up.

She could force him…

He said she could get him back. He should have explained how.

The wolf rose within him, and he fought it. Force me.

“Seriously?”

Could she hear him? Only mates could do that…

Now!

“Asher, shift!” Penn said.

More!

“Asher, now. ”

He heard the magic in her words and felt his human form come back.

They were lying in the back of the truck amongst their suitcases, she on top of him.

He blinked as color seeped back into the world. He had a half-second’s peace before the wolf fought back. For once, he was thrilled to be back in this endless fight because it meant he was human, even though the wolf was more riled than ever.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thank you!” she said and ran a hand down the side of his face. His naked skin felt so sensitive without fur.

He looked around at the cloudless sky and fought to sit.

She retreated and sat back on her heels as he curled up.

He twitched when he saw the dragon/lizard perched on a suitcase glaring at him.

Logically, Asher knew that was just what its face looked like and it didn’t have an opinion, but tell that to the predator in his soul.

He clenched his hands to keep from swiping the little guy and permanently taking care of him.

He looked out beyond the truck to see endless prairie around them.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Just over the Nebraska-Colorado border. There’s only one highway east, so I thought it was a pretty safe bet.”

“Yeah.” It was shocking how quickly the world transformed.

They had been winding on tiny mountain roads surrounded by pines and soaring peaks.

Now, the world was absolutely flat, beige, and unchanging.

Still empty though. He had never gotten used to how few people lived in the West; most of the country was devoid of people.

He turned toward the front of the cab and realized they were parked in a tiny rest area in front of a copse of cottonwoods that ran in a bizarre straight line toward the highway, so probably an irrigation ditch.

Penn handed him a pair of jeans, and he quickly pulled them on, hoping he wasn’t blushing like a teenager.

Then she held up the paperclip on braided leather, and he pulled it over his head, even as he told himself he was being ridiculous.

It truly could not keep him human; only he could do that. And maybe…

“Did we get it?”

She blinked. “Get what?”

“The book.”

She nodded and drew out the book they risked so much to bring with them. “It’s a grimoire.”

She said that like she expected him to understand. He thought he knew about witches. He grew up around one, but he’d never heard of a grimoire. He was beginning to realize that while he knew about witches, he knew nothing about covens. His aunt had fled hers decades ago and didn’t talk about it.

“What’s in it? And, um, what is it?”

“It’s a record of spells for a Circle of thirteen witches to accomplish together.”

“You stole their spellbook?” he asked, impressed.

She shook her head. “Not theirs. They stole another coven’s. It’s super old. And it, um, has a spell to make werewolves.”

“Right.” A voice chattered in the back of his head that if someone had the recipe to make werewolves, they could also unmake werewolves, but he trusted her.

She was his. Of course, he trusted her.

She flipped through the pages.

He had to trust her.

“You said that there are really witches in your pack who can join together,” she said, her eyes on the page.

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen it happen.”

“No.”

She sagged backward. “But you know it did.”

“Yes. Once.” He put a hand around the paperclip.

“Once!”

“They might have done it again.” He had no idea how often they gathered.

“But you’ve only heard of it once.”

“There’s not really a call for it.”

“Right, because your aunt just put up the wards herself. That is crazy.”

He realized all over again that growing up with a witch in a wolf pack was weirder than he’d thought. He’d never questioned the power she had access to with her mate, but every other witch on earth acted like she could move the sun.

“It’s hilarious to me,” she said when she’d flipped through a few more pages, “that the thing they want most in the world is completely and freely available to them right now if only they let go of the thing they hate most in the world.”

“Who?”

“The twins. The ones who just attacked us.”

He reached for her, and the lizard eyed him like Asher was stealing the love of its life. Which, fair.

“What exactly do the, uh, twins want?” he asked as he dropped his hands.

“They want to join magic with witches who aren’t related to them.

They’re not the only ones. Covens are slowly dying all over the country, unable to field thirteen witches.

I mean not to knock how great it is to chat with animals, but come on.

The only really powerful stuff can be done together.

And you guys just solved it. With wolves. ”

“The same wolves that they will kill and drive out of their territory at the drop of a hat.” He huffed out to laugh. Yes, that was pretty much the definition of ironic. “Do you want to try and talk to them? Show them?”

Penn sat back with a whoosh and shook her head.

“They came after me with a crossbow. That problem is theirs to walk. They’re not my family.”

“We could talk to your family.”

She shook her head even more violently. “There’s no such thing as the Young Coven. It’s already gone. They’ve woven themselves in with their conquerors seamlessly. Even if my cousins had, um, wolf mates or whatever, they’re already married to the milquetoast sons of witches.”

She ran a hand over her hair, which was a little longer now and softer, and he wanted to be the one touching it.

“Mine will welcome you with open arms,” he said.

“Because of you.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, but not only that.” Other witches had come to the land and had been welcomed. Granted, they stayed when they found their fated mate…

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. He wanted her quite desperately and had from the moment he saw her. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe there was some kind of connection between them. Every time they touched, it snapped into place whether they wanted it to or not.

But also, they were two human beings who barely knew each other, and now they were stuck together.

She had nowhere else to go in the world.

He’d made sure of that. He’d ripped apart the security of her new life with his very existence, and she’d done the same for him.

He wanted to be stuck with her; she’d told him the same.

He just couldn’t be absolutely sure he wanted that for the right reasons. And vice versa.

He finally asked the question he’d been chewing on since she insisted on returning to Silver Spring. “Why did you want the spell to make werewolves?”

“We might be able to undo it.”

The truck shuddered as he nearly shifted again.

She wanted to do what? Had he completely misread this situation from beginning to end? He focused on the fluttering canopy above them rather than shifting and defending himself from the threat in front of him, which happened to be his own mate.

“Is that your idea for fixing me? Just x-ing…” He didn’t finish on the off chance the wolf would understand.

“What, no! Never!”

He sat back. “Why the hell did you pick up a book with the recipe for werewolves in it?”

She bit her lip. “Recipe?”

“That’s what it looks like!” He pointed to the scribbled ancient pages.

“I was thinking of the snake.”

He gasped. Could she get rid of the snake?

“Your wolf is riled, and it won’t ever calm down. I’m sure you could try and make it work and negotiate peace, but it will never last.”

He appreciated the cottonwoods with their round, pale leaves flashing in the sun. He smelled the dirt and felt the rough seams of his jeans. He still had all his senses. He was fine.

“You think that’s possible?” he managed after another three minutes of indulging in the world.

“I don’t know.”

The snake was a nightmare. For the longest time, they hadn’t even known it was a snake. They just knew the pack lost as many kids to venom as they did to dominance fights. People had been seriously injured.

But could he actually let some witch muck about with a spell?

Not some witch, your fated mate.

“It’s not just my decision to make,” Penn said quietly. “Or yours. It would take every witch and wolf you could get your hands on and as much magic as possible. Nobody has power like they used to. I don’t know where the hell it went. We’re down to dregs.”

He smiled bitterly. “You gave it to us.”

She gasped. “That is exactly what happened.”

“And now you want it back,” he said flatly, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.

“I so don’t!”

“No, I know.”

She was doing this to help him. She wanted him to be better. Hell, he’d asked her to help. She was doing what he specifically asked her to do. That he didn’t like her solution wasn’t on her.

“Okay.”