Page 26 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Faolan

DO I FEEL LIKE A coward? Yes. But I couldn’t bring myself to meet Aurora’s family, with their smiling faces and city-dweller smells.

It’s been a few weeks, and Aurora hasn’t rejected me, but neither has she fully accepted me as her mate.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel right meeting her family.

How would she even explain who I am? No, better to keep my distance. It’ll be easier for her that way.

I know they were going to the inn first, so I feel safe—at least for the time being—at the cottage.

I’m outside, sitting on the back steps that lead to the kitchen door, watching the chickens peck the earth.

They don’t much like me—seems no one in this cottage does, apart from Aurora—and they keep their distance.

At least the cat’s not here. For once, I don’t feel his gaze on me, glaring from the bushes or shadowed doorways.

Everything in my life changed so fast. I went from being a highly valued member of the Emberstone pack to being.

.. well, nothing. A lone wolf. An exile.

In all the years I spent wondering who my mate was and when I’d meet her, I never imagined she’d be a witch, and I definitely didn’t expect her to be with two other men and carrying one of their children.

I drop my head into my hands and let out a groan.

My wounds, though almost healed now thanks to Aurora’s mindful tending, ache with the memory of Cathal tearing into me, his teeth rending my flesh open while the other members of the pack watched, some as bloodthirsty as him, others with their tails between their legs, heads dropped low.

My family. My pack. Now no better than strangers.

A longing for familiar surroundings and faces makes my insides ache.

This is such a damn mess.

I’m still sitting on the steps when I hear distant boots treading over dirt and fallen leaves. My first instinct is to sprint into the woods, but I still myself and wait, focusing on my hearing. There are two sets of footsteps, no more. So Aurora’s family must still be in town.

That realization helps calm my beating heart. I’m not afraid of people—I’m not afraid of anyone—but that doesn’t mean I want to talk to them, smile at them, try to pretend this is all perfectly normal and we’re a big happy family.

I scoff at the thought.

As the footsteps come closer, I catch two scents on the wind: Alden and Rowan. Their quiet voices carry through the trees, but I don’t bother trying to listen in. I just don’t care.

They approach the front of the cottage, and Alden notices me sitting on the side steps. Rowan continues into the house, the door opening and closing quietly, but Alden heads in my direction.

Great.

I’ve not spent much time with this one, the carpenter. Truthfully, I’ve not spent much time with either of them. But he doesn’t grate on my nerves like the redhead. Like Rowan . Aurora doesn’t like when I refuse to use his name. Same goes for the cat, Harrison .

I’m working on it.

I focus my gaze on the chickens, who’re still pecking about, though the brown one is now rolling in the dirt, giving herself a dirt bath.

It makes me want to do the same, to run through the trees and roll in fresh-fallen leaves.

It’s been too long since I last shifted.

My wolf is itching to break free. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I feel so cranky.

Alden’s shadow falls over me, and with a sigh, I glance up at him.

“Why’d you run off?” he asks, leaning his shoulder against the side of the cottage, cloak shifting around him.

With a grumble, I tear my eyes away from his. “I didn’t run off,” I say, voice low. “If I’d run off, I’d be gone by now.” There’s a dry yellow aspen leaf beside my boot, and I pick it up, then crush it in my fist and watch the dried leaf matter blow away on the light breeze.

Alden doesn’t respond at first. I’ve learned this about him, that he’s not a talker like Rowan .

Even with Aurora, he’s quiet sometimes. His silence isn’t off-putting to me, doesn’t make me raise my hackles.

I’m used to nonverbal communication, to using body language instead of words.

Often, that’s more comfortable to me than speaking is.

“Aurora was upset,” he finally says.

A bolt of guilt goes through me, but I try not to show it. “She had you and the knight and her family. Why would she be upset about me?”

Alden shakes his head in my peripherals, and I turn slightly to look up at him.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbles.

A growl vibrates in my chest. “Get what ?”

He sighs and narrows his brown eyes at me. “I don’t know about this whole mate thing, but Aurora cares about you. She’s attentive to you. And she hasn’t seen her family since the spring. They’re important to her, and you weren’t there. How do you think she feels?”

Instead of responding, I curl my hands into fists and glare toward the shadowed tree line.

It makes sense, I suppose, even if I don’t want to hear it.

“Thought you should know.” Alden pushes off the cottage, and his smell drifts around me—pine and woodsmoke. Then he heads back toward the front of the cottage, pausing briefly to pet one of the chickens on the head. Only when the front door has clicked closed behind him do I let out a long breath.

Fuck.

He’s right. And I hate being wrong.

I shift my stare to the road leading away from Brookside and into the village, and I picture Aurora when she looked back at me from the wagon, a bundle held in her arms, a soft smile upon her lips. I didn’t even smile back.

I drag a hand down my face and groan, causing the chickens to scatter, frightened by me even from a distance.

I can sure be an asshole when I want to be.

Now, with guilt swirling around inside me, joining all the other emotions I wish weren’t there, I know I need to get out of here. If I don’t blow off some steam, I might do something I regret, like tear a chunk of red hair from the knight’s pretty head.

But really, would that be so bad?

Aurora would think so.

I shove to my feet and stalk toward the tree line, shedding the clothes Aurora bought me as I go. She was so proud to provide them for me, and though I might not show it very well, I really do appreciate it. I don’t want to ruin them with a hasty transformation.

Now naked, with the autumn air cool against my hot skin, I pause at the shadowed tree line and glance back at the cottage.

I want to be there for Aurora, but as of yet, I don’t know how. Maybe I never will.

Teeth grinding together and frustration bubbling in my veins, I turn and sprint into the trees, losing myself to the wolf.