Page 34 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)

Kate

The clearing around the Witch’s Tree is empty, the search teams gone. Bits of police tape are still wrapped around some of the trunks, but it’s torn and flapping in the wind. Ferns creak. A stray forest spirit squats on twig legs and stares down at us.

“ This wicked thing is here to hunt,” it whispers, but it’s the only one around, and there’s nobody else to take up the call. It’s all alone.

I swallow nervously as I look at the tree, my husbands on either side of me.

“This is absolute insanity,” Brooks says, but if he didn’t agree with me, we wouldn’t be here. The men would probably have spelled me into a locked room or something, like a cage for a wild werewolf. Shoved a few serial killers through the bars for me to eat.

God.

I pace a little in front of them, procrastinating. I don’t want to leave any more than they want me to go, and they know that, too. They know everything. I’m not even trying to hide it.

The shadowed moon is speaking to me in strange whispers, and I can hear the words of my victims in my brain on an eerie echo. Saliva dribbles down the side of my face because I can’t stop the hungering. There’s a spreading darkness inside of me that demands release.

The curse, asking to be paid properly.

I step forward and reach out a hand for the hole, but Tanner stops me. He grabs my wrist and turns me around, pulling me into his arms. I’m crushed tighter to his chest than would be safe if I weren’t an immortal owl monster. He puts his mouth up against my ear.

“Don’t you dare try to run from us, Kate. I’m getting tired of warning you.”

“Do better then,” I tease, trying to make a joke out of this. Feels a little like I’m pleading for help. The expression on Tanner’s face tells me that he’s more than aware of that. “And I told you: I’ll only run if I have to. I’ve never lied about that.”

“Alright, boys, let’s tie her up,” Tanner says over my shoulder, and I see that his shadow is stalking mine through the trees. “Kate’s too wild for her own good. A kitten needs a collar sometimes.”

I pinch his hips through his shirt as punishment, stabbing him with my witch claws.

“Make sure that you only feed me violent criminals. That’s it. I can relax a little if I know that I’m not wearing the blood of innocents.” I try to step back from Tanner, but he doesn’t let me go. His hands get tight on my waist, and his eyes are as haunting as the glowing orbs of the unknown beast that’s watching us through the trees.

I don’t have to check the Witch’s Tree to see if the gate is still cracked: I can smell it. The primordial ooze of that place is pungent, like sulfur and magic and secrets. It tastes like iron on the back of my tongue, like blood.

“This isn’t goodbye. The way you’re acting like it is, that upsets me, Kate.” Tanner pushes his hat back to get a better look at me, and I decide that I have a love/hate relationship with his wolf ears. They’re adorable. He’s a beast. But damn, I can’t hide anything from him. He can hear my heart, can hear the way I swallow my nerves down like sour candy.

Looking into his face like this, it feels as if he can hear my thoughts, too.

“We’ve been in bed for days, making sweet love to you. And this is what we get in return? A teary farewell? I don’t know how I feel about letting you go into this tree by yourself.” Marlowe curls his lip at me, but he blushes when I blow him a kiss.

Yeah, breaking him with gentleness was the way to go. I’ve captured Marlowe, and there’s no way out for either of us.

“Don’t think we won’t have eyes on you in there.” Brooks reaches up to point at his hat with a single finger, blinking those red orbs in a random order to throw me off my game. His shadow antlers stretch horizontally on either side of his head, eerie and distorted. “You hear me, Kate?”

“I hear you, Brooks.” I give Tanner a kiss that’s so good, I struggle to break it off. One for Marlowe. Another for our fearless leader.

And then I back away from them before they can keep me here.

Today is a test. Will they let me go? Will the curse unfurl under a moonless night and enthrall me forever? Or is our spell working?

I spin to face the Witch’s Tree, fog crowding my ankles, a soft sobbing from the lone forest spirit in the tree above my head.

I’ve got this.

I poke my hand in the tree, and something withered pokes me back.

I wake up with a yawn, leaves stuck in my hair. A giant banana slug is melting on the ground beside me, yellow eye stalks limp and tangled with some blackberry brambles. The brambles themselves have twined around the slug, and I see a lot of … fluid. I think it’s dead. I think those brambles are eating it.

I scramble backward, careful to keep my lips pressed tight together. My eyes dart around the shadows of the forest. But not the shadows of night, diffused gray shadows that hint at the sunlight above the thick canopy.

Everything is quiet, a sleeping world of magic all around me. I spot a pair of kirin—basically, they’re deer-unicorns—collapsed not far from me. There’s blood everywhere, and it takes me a minute to realize that I tore out both of their throats.

I’m a fucking unicorn killer now?

With a sigh, I push myself up to my feet, annoyed to find that I’m naked with no memory of what happened last night … or however many nights. I could’ve been out longer than I thought.

Doesn’t matter.

I make sure to keep my mouth shut, walking back in the direction of the cottage. I know where it is because I’m a living compass, and I know that all I have to do in order to find it is move south from the Witch’s Tree.

And that tree, it’s a blight in my soul. I couldn’t forget its location if I tried.

Barefoot and alone and invincible, I trudge my way back to the tree, pausing to study the bodies strewn across the ground in bloody, half-eaten piles. When the woods are awake, they feast, but for now, because of me, everything is asleep.

For the very first time since I entered these woods, I stop and look at them. Really look at them.

I turn and glance up, up, up into the darkness of the canopy. There are forest spirits sprawled all over the branches, asleep. Little bubbles come from their mouths as they breathe, these tiny pearlescent orbs that drift up and pop against the branches above.

As quickly as I can, I jog back to the cottage, tearing the front door open and pausing at the bottom of the stairs. Most of the blood is gone, but not all of it. The bone dust is still there. The dead flowers. The crushed bodies of big, fat Witchwood bees.

I leave it all behind to go downstairs, to Brooks’ room with the big four-poster bed and the wardrobe that looks straight out of Narnia. I tear the doors open, digging through his mentor’s clothing until I find some soft, supple red leather pants. What sort of creature is this made out of? I wonder, but I don’t stop digging.

I find a … is it a jerkin? Like a sleeveless leather jacket with ties down the front. I put it on, borrow another pair of too-big boots, and then I walk back outside, and I climb the nearest tree.

Well, I try to anyway. With my clit piercing in place, I don’t have full access to the magic of the curse and therefore, I am not the strongest creature in the woods. I’ve got some muscle from my scaffolding and pulley journeys, but not enough to make it up twenty feet of soft redwood bark to the nearest branch.

I just wanted to see what this place looks like from the top, what the Witchwoods really is. Are there portals to other worlds hidden around here somewhere? Am I on a planet like earth? Or is this some flat, endless plain of trees and magic?

There’s a sharp, awful pulling in my chest that I can’t resist. It draws me like a lead, like a leash, tugging me back through the shadows of a daytime forest. I sidestep a sleeping gore-bear that smells like rotten meat, bounce across thick lime-green clumps of moss, walk a wide berth around a flower that’s bigger than my house.

The edge of the woods appears, and I feel my breath catch.

The voices of the Hag Wytch’s victims are not her voice. I didn’t speak in this place: they did. So can I walk out or am I trapped? If I am trapped, it’d be best to close the gate before the men can follow me.

The thought is as horrifying as it is practical, so I bite down on it, save it for later.

I keep walking, head held high, the breeze tousling orange and black hair around my face.

Between one breath and the next, I’m in the woods, and then I’m on the street.

It’s early morning, and everything is quiet and still and dewy. It’s a wet, Eureka sunrise with plenty of salty fog off the bay.

Brooks, Tanner, and Marlowe are waiting for me.

I stop where I am, the toes of my borrowed boots on the cement, the heels on the dirt of the McKay tract. My breath catches, and I feel both connected and relieved all at once. One day, I might have to run, but today is not that day.

“Welcome back, North.” Brooks greets me with a formal nod, his face dark and shadowed. Frowning. Hands held loosely by his sides.

Tanner steps forward and drops my hat on my head. It greets me with a big sloppy lick, and I smile, reaching up with two fingers to touch the brim. Almost prick myself on one of the fangs, but I’m getting good at this and manage to avoid making myself bleed.

“Missed you, kitten,” Tanner tells me, his voice rough and husky and full of a tenderness that’s everything I ever wanted. Truly. With my hand still on the brim, I look up at him from underneath it only to find silver eyes instead of their usual blue-gray. “You doing okay?”

He’s not touching me. Marlowe is struggling to look at me, his teeth clenched, his gaze on the sidewalk and my horned shadow as she plasters herself to the pavement like a chalk outline.

“What happened?” I ask, blinking at them in confusion. I expected to be swept up. Kissed. Held.

Tanner’s expression softens further, and he lifts his warm hands up to cup my face on either side.

“You’ve been gone for a week,” he admits, and my eyes widen in surprise. A week? I was gone for an entire week? “We popped in to check on you every twenty-four hours or so, but I got to say, if the last Hag Wytch was a bitch to deal with, you’re next-level.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I breathe, my words barely audible over the sounds of the neighborhood waking up. There are no reporters here, no influencers, no busybodies. Our Internet spell is working. It’s a relief, but not enough to cover up the horror of my weeklong excursion.

“Nope.” Tanner swoops down and captures my mouth, crushing our hat brims together as he kisses me. His tongue is sharp with relief and edged with a fear he doesn’t dare give voice to. I’m sure that while I was gone, the three of them were working diligently to break the curse. “Damn, I’m glad to see you, but holy hell you reek, kitten.”

“Excuse me?” I’m indignant, but I can’t deny the truth. I smell like carrion. Like the Pit. Like blood and meat and everything horrible in nature that means the difference between life and death. Eat or be eaten. That’s my reality. “How dare you, Eastwoods.”

Marlowe leans back against a tree, fiddling with a folded picture in his pocket. It looks worn, like he’s been fiddling with it the entire time I’ve been gone. I wonder what it is?

“Let’s get her home, and her Westwoods can give her a nice, steamy bath.” Marlowe looks me over like something to be devoured, and my body responds in kind. Can’t decide if I want to eat him or fuck him though, and that’s a problem. “I’d advocate to do it here, but nobody needs to see that naked body of yours. It’s coven property now.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of making me feel welcome,” I sniff, but it’s a joke. Obviously.

I’m damn lucky to be here. I wasn’t sure that I was coming back at all. One day, I might not.

“Stay gone less time on your next trip, and your Southwoods will welcome you home with more cheer.” Brooks squats down and rifles through the wicker basket that’s sitting on the sidewalk next to him. He pulls out a thermos full of coffee, and a still-warm quiche, folding the foil back on it so that I can eat it like a hand pie.

If I’ve been gone an entire week then … have they been waiting out here for me everyday? With food and coffee? I sniffle as I bite into the quiche, waiting for Brooks to pour me a cup of coffee in the thermos’ silver lid.

“You’re not going to spank me, are you?” I ask, and Brooks gives me a wry look.

“Did you do anything on the other side of that gate that requires a spanking?” he clarifies, and I shrug. The quiche is good. All of the raw meat I consumed in the Witchwoods, bloody and squirming, was better. I can’t handle thinking too hard about that.

“Not really.” I take the coffee with a sigh and sip it, looking between the three of them on this drizzly autumn morning and finding myself brimming over with love. In the beginning there, it was mostly sexual. I can’t lie. Tanner, Marlowe, and Brooks, they’re handsome. Young. Fit. Strong.

Life gets messy though. It stretches and twists. It tangles and drags. The magic is great. The sex is fantastic. But it’s the companionship that ties it all together.

I’m not alone.

Here we are, bearing witness to one another’s lives. We don’t have to matter to the world, but if we matter to each other, then nothing is too big for us to handle. Not life. Not death. Not hell.

Not even the Witchwoods.

“Not really?” Marlowe echoes, throwing an arm around my shoulders. It’s a casual move, but there’s so much tension in his body that he can’t hide his true feelings. His hat either, brimming with poppies and so beautifully alive. “That doesn’t instill much confidence, Mrs. Poppy.”

“If you don’t count cannibalism as a spank-worthy offense, then I’d say I was a good girl for you guys.” I nip a bite off the quiche and Tanner groans. Brooks smiles, all eight of his eyes crinkling with the expression.

“Honey,” Tanner offers, taking the thermos lid from me once I’ve finished with my coffee. “You’re never a good girl for us. You love being the villainess, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not a villainess,” I protest uselessly. I eat people. I literally eat people. Of course I am.

I risked the world to keep what I have in front of me, and I’d do it all over again.

“What was it you called her before?” Brooks asks, looking over at Tanner with a little smirk, like he knows this is going to annoy the shit out of me. “The villains’ whore? I liked that one better.”

“Me?” I blurt as Lo laughs, dragging me down the sidewalk in the direction of the old Victorian that I’d be happy to call home for as long as we all shall live. I toy with my wedding ring, wondering when the next bad memory will strike. Grateful to have it on my finger anyway.

We don’t have to have any answers right now.

We’ve found a way to buy ourselves time, and time is all we need.

“Tanner coined the phrase,” Brooks admits, gathering up the inappropriate balls/pussy/boobs/ass basket with the thermos inside. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“If anything, you guys are the villainess’ whores. I’m the one with the harem, remember? Unless you three have gotten cozy with each other while I’ve been gone? I’m okay with that, by the way, if you guys want to have sex.”

“Thank you for giving us permission to do something you know we’re not going to do.” Tanner slaps my hat’s tongue away when it tries to lick him, and Brooks sighs.

“By the way, your … stepmother, is it? That girl who’s the same age as you, she stopped by while you were gone and asked to see you. She brought her kids, too.” He looks at me as we walk, and I try really hard not to get excited. “How old is she again? How old are those kids?”

“Jada? She got pregnant her senior year of high school. My dad is a class-act, isn’t he?” I finish off the quiche and Brooks holds out his hand to collect the balled-up tin foil that’s leftover.

“Yeah, we spelled his dick to stop working—permanently.” Marlowe shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I stop walking. The forest on one side, a neighborhood of old houses on the other. The air tastes like salt and fog, and when I shiver from the cold, Tanner takes the cloaking cloak that’s thrown over his right shoulder and slips it over both of mine. Hiding my wings. Warming me up. “You’re not going to get upset like you did over Nathan, are you?”

“Hey, I agreed that Nathan had it coming.” I turn to look at the three of them, and even that feels wrong inside my head. The three of them? They’re more than that. This is Brooks McDowell. This is Tanner Skye. This is Marlowe Waverley. “My dad deserves it a hundred times over.” I pause for a minute, considering. “Is there a reason Jada stopped by? Like, it can’t possibly have just been to reunite me with the twins.”

“She wanted to know if we’d feature her on our channel,” Marlowe admits, sighing. “You know, social media was so much easier when Newgrounds was the only site I had to worry about.”

“Our channel?” I sigh. Jada has millions of followers, but I bet we have more. “So, our social media posts aren’t invisible yet? What the hell is wrong with this spell, Brooks?”

“The spell is working fine. The sex tapes are buried. The Witchwoods legend is toast. But if you think I’m not going to harvest all the free energy we’re being given for a few shirtless photographs, you’re sorely mistaken. Maybe after we break the curse, we can discuss disappearing from public view entirely.” Brooks adjusts the basket on his arm and keeps walking.

“I can’t lie to you, kitten,” Tanner begins, reaching up to rub at his smooth jawline. Aww, he shaved for me. Our eyes meet, and a grin catches on his lips that makes me realize how long it’s been since we were naked together. A week feels like an eternity when you’re in love. “Marlowe and I … we kind of like the social media stuff.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I shrug Lo’s arm from my shoulders and take off running after Brooks.

They chase me.

And I love it.

Home sweet home.