Page 87 of Samhain Savior

There it was again. Those words.

My witch.

They were more true now than they had been just a day ago, and I couldn’t find a single part of me that regretted them.

A mate was not something I had ever imagined having. The idea of someone who belonged only to me, who had been put on this earth to be my perfect match had seemed so far-fetched after the endless millennia of my existence, that I had discarded it completely.

But now that I had experienced it, the undeniable draw that led me to claiming the woman meant solely for me, I knew that nothing had ever felt more right.

And yet, here I was, trying to ignore my throbbing fucking cock while she hid away in the other room, probably plotting my murder and getting more and more creative with every passing second.

Within me, the bond pulsed, seeming to have a mind of its own. Every fiber of my body was humming, screaming at me to go to her.

To touch her. Taste her.

Toclaimher.

But while the bond and my magic were of the same mind, my brain understood that Delilah was stubborn. IfI burst into her room, demanding her submission, she’d fight me every step of the way.

And while that did hold a certain appeal, I knew that I needed to play the long game with her.

I knew my witch well enough by now to understand that forcing a direct confrontation would only make her dig her heels in more. She was proud and stubborn, but also logical when given space to think. If I stormed in making demands, she would fight me purely on principle. But if I approached her with respect, with honesty about what was happening between us, surely she would see reason.

She had shown me trust in the Void, had placed her safety in my hands when every instinct probably screamed at her to run. That trust was precious, fragile, and I would not repay it with games or manipulation.

No, if I wanted Delilah to accept our bond—to acceptme—I would have to earn it properly. With patience, with explanation, and with the kind of careful consideration I had never shown another being in my endless existence.

And that meant going with a peace offering.

Nodding at my own brilliance, I opened my Rip and retrieved her bags, then strode across the hall and knocked on her door.

I had been prepared to face her, the rumpled, smudged version of the witch I had come to know. I imagined Iwould offer up her things and she would be ever so grateful, thanking me profusely.

With her mouth, perhaps?

What I was not prepared for was to find her nearly naked, her pale skin damp and flushed from the bath and a towel held tightly over her perky breasts. The sight of water trailing lazily down her neck had my breath catching and my cock thickening in my pants. As I watched, the crystal droplet rolled over her pulse point and then snaked across the mating mark I had left on her neck, and I swore I could feel that drop as though it were on my own skin.

Slow, I reminded myself, offering her the bags and taking a seat while she went to change.

I had wanted to talk, to ease her into the discussion and find a way forward, together.

But I fucked it all up, letting my concern for her conflicting emotions escape, and when she flung open the door, I knew the time to talk had long past.

Because my witch was pissed, and I was ready to show her I could handle all her rage and then some.

Chapter forty

Delilah

“Careful, witch,” he growled, his tone implying that I was in the wrong. “I’ll give you answers, but not until you calm down.”

“Calm down?” I hissed, my eyes narrowing on his arrogant face. “When in the history of the world has telling a woman to calm down ever worked?”

Heading to the far side of the room, I set Pandora down on a cozy chair then rifled through my satchel, beyond glad to have it back in my possession. Finding the containers of snacks that I kept stored for her, I popped it open and laid out her dinner of dried peas and her special kibble before snatching up my grimoire and stalking back toward the bastard who was still staring at me like I was some sort of spoiled child in need of scolding.

Bypassing the bed, I sank heavily onto the hard wooden chair at the desk, lighting the fat candle that sat on the surface with a wave of my hand. For a second I blinked, surprised at how easily the flame had appeared, but unable to focus on that at the moment. Spreading the grimoire out over the worn wooden surface, I flipped open the first page and began my search.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as if he had the right to know anything about me.