Page 17 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)

Kate

I wake up to the sound of someone chopping wood.

I yawn as I come to, snuggling deeper into the sleeping bag that’s tucked around me. The light is diffused and soft, and it turns blue as it peeks in through the nylon fabric of the tent that’s covering me. There’s a little screen part in the very top, and through that, I can see trees.

I love camping, I think as I yawn again. From outside the tent, I hear a crackling fire and the soft murmur of voices. Must be early, since they’re speaking so softly. Don’t want to wake the other campers.

What the fuck? I had started to drift back to sleep, but my eyes are wide open now, and I’m sitting up. My wings are arranged through a clever slit in the sleeping bag’s zipper, and when I spread them, I smack into the walls of the tent and cringe. Oops.

But where am I?

It feels like we’re in the east. I know that as easily as I know that the voices outside belong to the men. That they brought me here. There’s no blood. No horror awaiting me. Stay with them. Give them a chance. It’s what I’m asking of them, so I suppose I can return the favor. They think they’ve got our situation cracked, okay then.

I’ll listen.

For now, I’ll listen.

I get up on my knees and unzip the round door of the tent, peeping out at towering sequoias, at house-sized Witchwoods trees. There are bushes with strange fruits, and in the distance, I see a herd of sleeping horses with extra mouths on their flanks. Yuck.

I climb out of the tent to find myself in a campsite. We’re likely somewhere in the Redwood National and State Parks system. It’s beautiful and magical and honestly looks like a fairy tale even without the Witchwoods stuff. With all of that arcane power here, too? It’s trippy.

Fernanda must be so excited, to be living in a romantasy novel. Err. She’s living in a plain ol’ fantasy novel, huh? The ones who are living in a romantasy are … us. We are. We’re the ending I would read to get, and my knees almost give out on me.

I grab onto the edge of the tent to steady myself and spot Tanner with no shirt on it, swinging an axe and quartering wood on the other side of the campsite. Um.

I’m overly excited by the sight of him, his muscles bunching, sweat dripping down his skin, the light from the fire crackling across his face. It’s daytime, but not much light finds its way down here. I can see a gold haze above us, but it doesn’t help with visibility on the forest floor.

My witch eyes adjust to take in more of my husband’s body.

He turns to look at me as I approach him, and it’s fucking torture. Tanner stares at me like he’s fighting every instinct he has. He wants to touch me, hold me, drive into me. But he knows he can’t, so he growls under his breath and turns away like everything is normal.

“Why are you cutting firewood? Brooks can make flames from thin air.”

“Not firewood, kitten. It’s part of the spell.” He takes a step back, eyeing the wood in front of him. “This should be about right.” He picks up a piece and leans the axe against the side of a tree stump, turning to look at me.

Tanner takes a step forward, and I take one back. That makes him smile. He stalks forward until I hit a tree and let out a small yelp. Then he slams his hand on the bark above my head and flicks his tongue against his canine, eyes closed.

“It’s hard not to fuck you right now. I know it’s for the best, but goddamn if I’m not having trouble containing myself.”

“If you brought me the ingredients as soon as I needed them, maybe we could be onto the next part of the spell already?” Brooks sounds annoyed, sitting on a log at the fire and cooking bacon in a huge cast-iron pan. The smell wafts over to me, and my mouth waters. Tanner had already made my mouth water, so I almost drool, shoving my hand against my lips to clear away the evidence.

“Yes, sir,” Tanner teases, and I go cold inside. The men don’t know that those were my last words, and I’m not sure I should tell them. I try to keep it cool, but I forget how precisely un cool that I am. Tanner leans down and the tips of our noses touch. I’m helpless under that stare. “What happened, kitten? Now.”

“It’s not … well, it doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. What’s the point in talking about this? We need to move forward, not look back. I swallow and close my eyes. I can smell Tanner, and I like what I smell. His hat brim has crushed mine entirely, pressing against my forehead. I’m licking his neck with my own hat, and I know that he’s concerned for me, that he’s prepared to take any measure necessary to put us back together. “My last words were yes, sir. The Hag Wytch … said them to me.”

Tanner’s face falls.

“I … yeah, I knew that,” he admits, twitching his wolf ears for me.

Marlowe stands up from his seat beside the fire, his hat covered in the same strange spotted fruit that’s growing all over the weird purple bushes. It looks vaguely threatening, that fruit. And then I notice one of the—I guess they’re apples?—has teeth. Spotted apples with teeth.

“What the fuck, Kate? First you tell us that it was … the day that I …” He stops talking, and his face goes white. Then bright red. “It was your birthday ? I want to be upset, but I just feel like I should apologize profusely instead. I’m sorry that you said yes, sir for your last words. That’s messed up.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I’m getting to know an entirely different side of Marlowe, the one that got left behind on the day his friends abandoned him in the Witch’s Tree. He’s still got that person inside, and we’re just now meeting.

The campsite falls silent for an entire minute.

“Um, well. I thought it was funny, I guess?” I scratch at my temple with a witch claw. “The yes, sir thing. The other part is messed up, but we’re past that now.”

“I used to be … like a gentleman?” Marlowe suggests, sitting down again. “Isn’t that crazy?”

It’s not crazy. I believe it. That guy is still in there somewhere.

“Sit and eat.” Brooks is imperious, but he’s also serving me hot food after keeping me tucked snug as a bug in a sleeping bag in a very nice tent. What is there to be mad about?

Tanner is still pressed right up against me, making it hard to concentrate.

“Move, please?” I ask, trying not to touch him. I know the rules here.

He removes his hand from the tree and takes a step back, holding out a palm to indicate that I should sit in the north.

I do, and Brooks serves me several thick slices of bacon on a plate made out of tree bark. I know it’s not actually bacon, but it smells like it. There’s an animal corpse behind Brooks, near my truck and its packed dirt parking spot. Even the road beside the campsite is only dirt. This must be a pretty remote campground.

“My parents used to bring me here when I was their only child. My sisters hated camping.” Brooks feeds Tanner next. Then Marlowe. We sit in our respective directions and eat the meat, licking grease from our fingers. Tastes like pastrami and medium-rare steak with a hint of bacon. It’s good, probably very fresh.

“My sisters loved camping,” Marlowe adds with a shrug. “They would beg me to take them on weekends when my parents were working. Just us, up here with some cans of beans and liters of soda. I’m a shitty cook.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shows them to me. “You mind, North? Considering we’re frozen in time in a broken world.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, lighting up with big dark circles under his eyes. His attention flicks to me when he sees me staring, catches me studying the shape of his throat and his Adam’s apple and that perfect way his fingers curl against his chin in thought.

I slap the cigarette out of Marlowe’s hand, and he curls his lip at me.

“I hate camping.” Tanner speaks up with a little snort, swiping his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, fuck. I hated the outdoors and hunting and all that shit since I could walk. Despised it. Didn’t like birds either. Ironic, huh?”

“I’m a casual camper. I like it, but I hate packing. Usually, Georgia handles that—” I stop talking because this is way too normal of a conversation to be having. It’s kind of creepy when I really think about it.

Brooks takes note of my reaction.

“I thought this spot would serve several purposes for our spell,” he explains. “Most importantly, it’s due east of where we were yesterday.”

I eat my breakfast and try not to freak out. Brooks even pours hot coffee from a thermos and passes it out to us. It tastes like heaven and sadness and happy memories. I sip it slowly, trying to savor it. Could be the last time.

My wings shift behind me.

“What’s the wood for?” I ask, nodding at the small piece next to Tanner’s boot. Brooks leans forward and picks it up, moving around the truck and dragging a wooden structure out of the back.

“The legs are uneven, so we needed a shim. We also needed to sacrifice a tree and incorporate its wood into the spell.” Brooks pulls a … something out of the truck bed and drops it to the ground.

“Are those wooden stocks?” I ask, choking on my last bite of bacon. I down several hot mouthfuls of coffee to clear my throat. “Like the kind they used to put witches in?”

“I don’t know about witches. We built this yesterday. The iron mouth guard and handcuffs didn’t do shit. We have to make sure you don’t eat us, don’t we? This wood is spelled. I think it’ll hold you for a time.” Brooks sets the device up on the hard-packed ground of the campsite, in a place a different family might put a second tent.

We don’t have a second tent, but we do have a medieval torture device.

My mouth twitches, and I reach for another piece of bacon from the pan. It’s possible that this came from one of the fanged horses. I decide not to dwell on that part.

“You’re seriously going to fuck me in that?” I ask with a scoff around my next bacon bite.

All three men pause to stare at me again, and it feels like I’m being hunted.

“Kitten, nobody said anything about fucking you in this.” Tanner’s grin is nice and sharp. Spirits float above us, drifting through the dark like they’re searching for something. I haven’t seen this many in a while, and I don’t like it.

Spirits are still food. Spirits can be chewed up like gristly beef. I saw it happen in Mrs. Madsen’s house, and I hate knowing that I’m capable of the same atrocities when I’m flying blind.

“You implied it,” I grumble and Brooks huffs at me, coming to stand too close. I can feel his need in his hesitation, in the careful way he edges back to put space between us.

“Finish eating and then get in the stocks.” He walks over to the truck, retrieves a second hot thermos, and pours me more steaming coffee. Brooks breaks out a container of croissants, and they’re pure, flaky, buttery heaven. He baked these before all of this shit went down, but they certainly don’t taste any different now.

“Pastries are so much tastier than pedos,” I joke, and they all laugh at my inappropriate joke one way or another. We’re all weird. “Have I been … do you get to hear their last words?”

“Unfortunately,” Marlowe grumbles, taking a stick and … putting a marshmallow on the end. He hands it out to me, blushing. “What? Your family didn’t do smores when you went camping? Get out of here. Times haven’t changed that much.”

I laugh at that, putting my marshmallow above the flames. There’s a ratio, okay? Everybody knows that. A perfect level of gooeyness on the inside, a crisp outer shell. I’m going to roast the shit out of that ‘mallow.

It slides off with a plop and catches fire in the center of the stone firepit. Oops. Marlowe gives me another, and Brooks, I think, manipulates the flames with his magic so that it cooks perfectly this time.

“The girls and I made s’mores, you’re right.” I can’t hold back my smile. Look at what they’re doing for me. Making everything feel normal when it’s never been so abnormal.

“If my dad took me into the woods, it certainly wasn’t to play games with marshmallows.” Tanner laughs, like that’s a joke instead of a painful memory. “This is my first time making ‘smores.”

“These are nothing new,” Brooks admits, accepting a marshmallow on the end of his own stick. “My sisters were in the girl scouts. We had a cookbook at home with a recipe like this. They were called ‘Some Mores’ back then though.”

I brush some crumbs off my boobs and realize that I’m wearing a different outfit than I fell asleep in. Instead of the Wednesday Addams dress with the too-short hemline, I’m dressed in sweatpants and a loose tee from home. It smells good, like the laundry detergent that reminds me of my grandmother.

Tanner helps me slide my marshmallow and some chocolate between a pair of graham crackers, and it all melts together. Chocolate oozes onto my fingers as I take a bite, eyes rolling back in bliss.

“I baked those graham crackers from scratch,” Brooks says, and I choke on them. Another fresh, hot sip of coffee and I’m cured again. “Part of the spell.”

“Hard for me to tell when you guys are lying about that or if you’re actually telling the truth,” I huff, taking another bite of gooey marshmallow. It’s so good that the feathers on my wings ruffle, and my hat tries to steal it from me. I slap the tongue off, but that doesn’t keep it from creeping into the bag of marshmallows and stealing some for itself.

The taste of sugar fluff explodes on the back of my tongue.

“That’s why you should always just do as you’re told,” Brooks says haughtily, chin raised as he looks askance at me. Everything feels normal even if nothing is. I suppose that’s how you know that you’re with the right person (or people). We’re in purgatory right now, and I don’t care. I’d stay here forever, just me and my coven. The fact that the girls are here seals the deal. I could be happy like this for sure.

Are the men aging since they’re awake, or could we stay like this forever? Suffer through one night of chaos a month when the world rises from its slumber. Live together in a waking dream and never grow old.

“Isn’t it your turn to do as you’re told and swallow?” I retort, taking another bite of graham cracker. The sound snaps through the silent forest. No chirping birds. No chattering squirrels. This place is so remote that none of the other campsites are occupied, so there aren’t any sleeping people around. No cars. It’s just us and the wind through the trees.

“It’s my turn, baby.” Tanner sounds resolved, reaching up to remove his hat so that he can rake his fingers through his hair. His hat’s ears are pressed flat in displeasure. I want to rub one so badly, but I force myself to focus on licking the chocolate from my fingers before my hat can do it for me. “My sacrifice to make today.” He gives me a questioning look. “So, did you enjoy your last days alone? That’ll never happen again. Soon as this hunger is axed, I’ll handcuff us together.”

I ignore him. I hope he’s telling the truth. I don’t want to be separated from them.

“What’s the goal here? Other than Tanner swallowing a mouthful of hot jizz.” I couldn’t resist. “Like, what do we need to feel or accomplish to get this part of the spell right?”

“If you follow my orders, you’ll do just fine.” Brooks turns to look at me, eating his marshmallow directly from the end of the stick. He swirls his tongue around it, and I get the jitters. Holy shit. That jawline is cut. That half-frown is like a punch to the stomach. “Try to relax. Orgasm for us. Let Tanner eat you out. We timed it better this time and bled you before you woke up.”

Ah.

“Can I just ask about the birthday thing one more time?” Marlowe brings it up again, so it must really be bothering him. “How are you only just now telling us this?”

“I’ve only known you for a month. It just never came up.” I use my shadow to steal another marshmallow, sliding it onto the stick with clawed fingers. Brooks’ shadow is stretched up above him and into the trees, peering down at us.

Lo has taken his hat off and is raking the fingers of his free hand through his hair. His marshmallow has long since melted off and burst into flames, and even his stick is on fire. He isn’t paying any attention to it. He tosses the stick aside and gets on his hands and knees, surprising me.

Marlowe crawls around the fire and gets right up in front of me, sitting splay-legged and witch-hatted and sloe-eyed.

“What the fuck can I do to make this right?” he asks, but he doesn’t touch me. Yet. His witch claws dig into the dirt on either side of him, and his shadow wings look like they’re sitting in the fire. “After this is all over, what do you need from me? I’ll do anything. I’d sell my bones for you.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask, standing up and taking a step back from him. He was definitely too close. I shake my head as my hat’s tongue tastes him by wrapping its pink length around his neck. A pure and desperate sort of love. Faithfulness and devotion. Uuuhhh. Marlowe Waverley?

There’s a reason people showed up to his candlelight vigils, and it’s not because he SA’d them in a magical forest.

“You can do a big grovel for me if we—”

“When we.” Brooks interrupts me, and I roll my eyes.

“When we get home. Get on your hands and knees for me then.” I wait for Marlowe to go back to his seat with a scowl before I resume mine. Tanner is watching us with pursed lips, and his shadow is definitely stalking me. I’ll have to earn his trust back over time.

“The Hag Wytch was in my mentor’s coven.” Brooks keeps dropping bombs on me with a voice that’s stoic enough that he could be delivering the weather. It’s all a front. He’s the take action first and break down later type. Hell, he held in his grief for his sister and his family for years. “The South to her North. Guess she ate East and West.”

I have no idea how to respond to that.

“We ran into her ghost,” Tanner explains, and I’m grateful yet again that somebody here remembers to fill me in on what’s happening. I love that he dislikes lying to me. I also love how fiercely he chased me, how carefully he tracked me down. “Brooks’ mentor, that is.”

Wow. Tanner got to meet this mysterious mentor? I’m jealous.

“Still no name?” I ask and Brooks shakes his head.

“She failed her coven. She was right: she didn’t deserve one.”

I don’t necessarily agree with him, but I won’t push it. We were just reunited, and everything feels too tender and precious. I don’t want to push.

I look back over at the stocks.

There’s a piece of wood, maybe four feet in length, with three holes cut into it. The one in the middle is the largest, with a pair of smaller holes on either side. The wood is split in half horizontally, allowing it to be opened so a person can put their head in one hole and their arms in the others. It’s supported by two legs and a stabilizing crossbar.

I’ll be bent over and vulnerable in that. The idea is more appealing than it ought to be.

“Wooden stocks?” I repeat again, and Brooks gives me a raw look.

“They weren’t my idea,” he says, and his hat eyes flick over to Tanner.

“We needed a wooden contraption for this part of the spell. This does the trick. Plus, you’ll love it.” He stands up from the log, still shirtless and a little sweaty. I watch as his tongue traces a bit of that silver scar, licking up a stray dot of chocolate. His shadow does the same in exaggerated fashion behind him, the velvety black tails wrapped around the truck of a tree like ebony ribbon.

“Love it? That’s a bit of a stretch. I’ll tolerate it, if it’s for the spell.” I’m such a liar, and it’s grotesquely obvious.

“Come on now, Kate.” Tanner extends his hand, but I eye it with suspicion. Before we entered the Witchwoods, we had the best time ever. Not by accident. On purpose. Just in case. Is this another just in case moment? “Don’t look so worried: we’re only taking a walk. I promise.” He shakes his hand at me for emphasis, a crescent moon etched across his fingers in magic ink.

I bite my lip, standing up without taking his hand. Not because I don’t want to, but because we both know it’s better if I keep a little distance. He looks at me, brows furrowing.

“I can still remember how your meat tasted,” I tell him, and he cocks his head at me, working that handsome jaw of his.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, and this is mean-Tanner who I find hot even though I shouldn’t. The asshole who told me he wouldn’t say I love you because he’d said it to too many women before me. Like, what a prick. Also, committed to me one-hundred percent from the very first second.

I’m in love with him, too. Love at first sight is … I guess it just means that I saw him, and I wanted him to be mine. I know there’s some shallowness in that act. I do. He’s fucking beautiful, and there probably aren’t all that many people out there who’d turn him down. Lucky for me that our personalities go together so perfectly.

“A walk sounds good though, yeah.”

“Huh.” Tanner isn’t pleased, but he tucks his hands away into the pockets of his jeans. I never thought I’d get to see my man in jeans again. I didn’t think I’d get to see him , period, so this is all weird for me. I committed to both acts—saving Brooks, and resurrecting them—without ever giving it a second thought.

This is why we work together, me and Tanner. I’m in. He’s in. We’re both in for each other.

“Who won the self-sacrifice game?” I tease as we start walking, Tanner on my left. Marlowe behind and to my right. Brooks a little further behind, like he’d rather watch for a minute. It’s unnerving, to be watched with so many eyes. “Me or you guys?”

“You’re not allowed to win that game.” Tanner snorts, drawing the green t-shirt from over his shoulder. He tugs it on as he walks which is sort of annoying. He then grabs his bow from the dirt near the small wooden half-fence that partially encloses the campsite. We’re walking down the road in the direction of the camp manager. It’s disturbing to see that the trailer with the Management sign in front of it is covered in some sort of creeping vine.

“Whoever was in there is shit-ass dead now.” He says, peering at the sight with a slight protrusion of his lower lip and a shrug. “Shame.”

“Are the plants awake?” I wonder, a question that’s difficult to answer. Did these vines launch a slow, creeping attack over the last week or did they explode from the earth and snatch the trailer up the very second the world’s combined?

God, there was … at least a little while there where everyone was awake. We are not the only people to have seen the melding happen. This is fucked.

“No clue, but I’m not getting close enough to find out.” Tanner keeps walking, slowing his strides to match mine. I blush at that, and he notices, the edge of his lip quirking up.

“Ugh.” I put my hands over my face and walk a little faster, peeking over to see who it is that’s jogging up beside me now. Marlowe. I drop my arms and study him, his bow in his hand, arrow cocked. Another useful habit that’s saved our ass plenty of times. “That girl with the pink and white sneaker that jumped in front of us …” I begin softly, expecting him to sympathize with her.

He doesn’t.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” he snaps, gritting his teeth and giving me a disdainful look and a scowl. “That bitch? She almost ruined our lives. Our afterlives, too. Idiot deserved to be eaten for leaping out in front of us.”

“She was a teenager ,” I remind him gently, and his entire face changes. We both know, because of Talia, that he isn’t nearly as horrible as he thinks he is. He’s not as innocent as he thinks he is either. He just … is. This is Marlowe Waverley. “But even though she’s dead, at least her spirit is free. In the end, I was finally able to help her. I’d do it a hundred times over, kill the Hag Wytch.”

Marlowe steps in front of me and turns at the same time so that I slam into his chest. It’s a weird moment, walking through a remote campsite that’s tainted by those woods like mold on an oil painting. It’s beautiful, but it’s creeping. It’s reaching. It’s putting out spores.

A cloud of glitter floats by behind Marlowe, passing through on the breeze. Pollen? Poison? I don’t know what that is, but it’s a good reminder that this place isn’t safe for my men. Not at all. They could die here even with the world asleep. The Witchwoods are inherently dangerous.

“If she hadn’t jumped in front of us, we would’ve made it out. I’m not blaming her, but I don’t have any sympathy either. I don’t care what happens to her if it causes something bad to happen to you. Does that make sense?” he asks, frowning as I step back and put space between us.

They all keep trying, but I won’t stop reminding them that I’m dangerous.

These moments of lucidness are temporary. If Brooks uses magic to free me from this cycle of carnage and cannibalism, I’ll take it. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t keep losing time. We’ll have to find out.

“It makes sense,” I tell him, stepping around him and finding Brooks and Tanner both waiting just ahead of us. “You’d kill the world for me now, but you’d violate me to save yourself before. You haven’t changed. I just got lucky and fell into your arms.”

We both pause at that, and he gives me an odd look from his dark eyes.

“Still, your birthday ? How the fuck are you into me, Kate? Sort of pisses me off. You deserve better.” Marlowe snorts and turns away, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck as he walks. He’s wearing his iron mask around his throat, but the other two aren’t.

“I’d prefer it if you’d wear your masks on you at all times,” I tell Brooks, clasping my hands behind my back, my wingtips dragging down the dirt road on either side of me. I leave little grooves behind, like footprints. “That’d ease my mind a little.”

“We’ll be fine,” he tells me, but like he’s not fully listening either. He’s working out a problem in his head, something to do with all of these upcoming spells. I know how lucky our coven is to have Brooks. He’s reinventing the wheel, studying an art that nobody knows exists. If he wasn’t as smart as he is, I wouldn’t have the slightest flicker of hope in my chest.

But Brooks, he makes me feel hopeful. I know that I shouldn’t but I do.

“We’re going to have a come to Jesus moment when we get home, aren’t we?” I say to him, pretending like I believe we’ll reach happily ever after. Maybe I really do? I shouldn’t, but I do. I do trust him and the things he says, no matter how impossible they sound.

“Look at you, skipping over here to gleefully ask if you’re going to be punished later. Kate.” Brooks turns to glance down at me, raising both brows and rolling the six eyes on his hat like I’ve lost my mind. “All those fun sex games, that’s not punishment. Abstinence, for you, is punishment. When we get home, you’ll live like a nun for a year—”

I’m gaping at him, a hot flush stealing across my skin.

“That’s not … realistic,” I explain with a small cringe. “You’d never be able to deny yourself for that long.” I ruffle my feathers and tuck my wings in tightly against my back, wearing them like a fashion accessory. It’s actually great to have wings. I love them. If I could keep them forever, I would. But if they have to go when the curse breaks, good riddance.

“You don’t think so?” Brooks replies, putting his hands on his hips and sighing heavily. “Well, I didn’t want to do it, but if you need me to prove it so badly, I’ll make it happen.” He pauses to offer a meaningful look. “But not until after this spell is cast. We need to fuck as much as possible. It’s vitally important.”

“Uh-huh.” I give him a dry look, but I honestly believe him. It’s just more fun to pretend like I don’t. “We must anoint the athames inside the dripping wet chalice.”

“We could also cut off two fingers and two toes. That’s how my mentor’s spell worked. Would you prefer it?” Brooks reaches down to his belt and withdraws his machete, pressing his fingers against the blade hard enough that they bleed. I leap forward and pry his hands off, and he fucking grabs me.

Him and his shadow, holding me tight while I scream.

“If you let me eat you, I’ll never forgive you, Brooks McDowell.”

“Yes, of course,” he says politely, chucking me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Not a problem even with the added weight of my wings.

I put my palms on Brooks’ back and push up so that I can see behind him. We’ve walked a circle through the campsite and ended up next to my truck again.

The stocks are right there.

And so is Sharyn, holding up her hands to warn me. Three minutes. Her spirit disappears, thankfully, before anything else happens.

“Three minutes left,” I warn them, trying to be as transparent as I can.

Brooks carries me over to the stocks and then sets me on my feet, opening them and helping me get in place. The wood closes above me, locking my neck and wrists between the two slats. If I tried to break out of here, could I? I don’t want to test that.

My wings are chained down. My ankles. There’s a wooden seat in front of me, and I’m bent over that, my hips propped up. Ahh.

Here we go, a witch on trial.

Brooks picks up a leather paddle that I hadn’t noticed until now and slaps it against an open palm as he studies me from the front. From the back, I can feel one of the other guys dragging my sweatpants down and exposing my swollen pussy.

I shift, lifting my ass for a better view and I hear Marlowe curse from behind me.

“Remember what we talked about? Punishment and sacrifice? Abstinence is both things for you, Kate.”

“Wait, what?” I ask, lifting my head as my hat opens a mouth on the front of its cone and hisses at Brooks in rage. “What do you mean?”

“We’re not having sex here. You’re just getting spanked.” Brooks lifts that leather paddle up to his shoulder, an asshole in a witch hat and an unbuttoned plaid shirt with a wifebeater underneath. He’s bare foot which I’ve only just now noticed, an odd mix of urban and arcane.

My hands curl into fists, and I jerk against the stocks in frustration.

“Don’t worry about escaping those, North.” Brooks approaches me and passes the paddle over to either Tanner or Marlowe, I’m not sure. “Let’s see if you can tell them apart this time,” he teases as he bends down, nose to nose with me.

Something horrible comes out of my mouth, a voice I don’t recognize. A man’s voice.

“ I don’t give a shit what happens to that bitch,” I grumble in the last word’s of one of my victims. Oh, fuck. Eww. Knowing where we were and who I ate, this is … dark.

I black out just a few seconds after the first swing of the paddle hits my ass, and I don’t wake up until it’s stinging.

I’m panting, eyes darting around to make sure everything is okay.

No blood. No intestines hanging from the branches above us.

There’s a whistling sound, and the paddle makes contact with my ass. It’s hard, and it hurts, but it feels great, too. A sharp sting.

Liquid slides down my inner thighs. My own juices. Maybe a little bit of blood from that last smack. I heal instantly, so I can’t be sure. A hot spurt hits me right in the cunt, and I hear Marlowe groaning behind me. Brooks is still in front, watching with his arms crossed.

He just came on me. Lo just came on my pussy. Not inside of me, but on me. That’s what some of that liquid is, like Tanner maybe came while I was still acting like an ancient owl monster. So I must not have turned into a full owl just yet. It’s like I can feel it lurking inside of me, like the curse is this separate entity, like an infection, like a disease.

“Pardon me,” Brooks says, collecting the paddle as he passes around me. He swings it hard against my ass, and my eyes roll back with both the pleasure and the pain. A witch in stocks wearing a hat that’s panting as hard as she is, watching a man with the ears and the grin of a beast move into place in front of her.

“I already finished, honey. Too bad you weren’t awake for it, but that’s our game, right? See if you can surprise me next time.” Tanner is teasing, but I like the look of him too much to care. Marlowe moves up beside him and they stand shoulder to shoulder. Touching. Lo has this little wet spot on the bottom of his shirt, like he snagged it between his teeth so it was out of his way. He doesn’t like to get his shirts dirty.

“You aren’t finished, East,” Marlowe reminds him, smirking and reaching up to take his hat off. Acorns fall to the ground as he drops it by his side, ruffling up his hair and studying me. “As soon as Brooks finishes, you get to fall on your knees and lap it all off. Lick that pussy clean. I hope you like the taste of me as much as I enjoyed you.” It’s meant to be a joke, maybe even a threat, but it turns me on.

I moan and wiggle, wishing my ankles weren’t changed so I could rub my thighs together.

Brooks blows his load quick, like this is less about our pleasure and more about efficiency. I want to scream. It’s rare that his pervy rituals aren’t pervy enough for me. This is one of them. But I’m glad. I’m glad it won’t take long. I should put myself back to sleep before I lose consciousness again.

“Enjoy.” Marlowe pats Tanner on the shoulder as the man makes his way around behind me. I hear him get into position. His hot hands reach up and grip my cheeks, opening me in an obscene way.

Brooks is back there still, and Marlowe joins him, all of them watching me from behind as my wet, dirty pussy is exposed to the cool air. There’s a reason Tanner didn’t heat the breeze for me this time. He wants me to feel this.

His shadow appears in front of me, leaning down to look into my eyes. Two pointed tails. A disturbing tongue. I gasp as Tanner’s own tongue slicks up the exposed length of me, a firm wet tip from clit to ass. He does it again, and I groan, bucking back against him.

He pins me there, forcing me to decide if I want to use my Hag Wytch strength on him or let him hold me. I let him. He bathes me with his tongue, cleaning cum from the skin of my hip, from the crack of my ass, from my inner thighs and down to the rucked fabric at my ankles.

“Make me come, please,” I murmur, but he ignores me, continuing his work as his shadow watches me from the front, staring at me from black velvet eyes. “Tanner, please. ”

He stands up and comes around in front of me, taking his shadow’s place. He swallows purposefully and then opens his mouth, showing me his clean tongue. He takes a cockie from the pouch on his belt and snaps a bite off the end.

Sharyn appears behind him, waving her hands frantically in warning.

I black out before I have to see what Tanner plans on doing with that cookie.