Page 7 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Rowan

I’VE GOT MY CHEEK PROPPED against my fist, elbow on the armrest of the rocking chair. Aurora is out in the garden, Alden is taking a nap upstairs, and I’m on babysitting duty.

The man is looking better today; the sheen of sweat is gone from his brow, and the fever flush has gone from his cheeks. His bare chest rises and falls with easy breaths, the sound of his breathing barely audible over the crackle of the fire beside me.

I imagine he’s going to awaken soon, though I’m not yet sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I want him to wake up and get out of here as soon as his legs will carry him. But on the other, I’m worried about how he might react once he finally comes to.

Aurora doesn’t understand how unstable some shifters are, how their animal instincts often override their human ones. She hasn’t seen what I’ve seen—not that I’d ever want her to. She keeps assuring me the man is safe, but I don’t buy it. And she underestimates their strength, their sheer power.

For a brief moment, I imagine the man waking up and crushing Aurora’s throat in his grasp as she’s trying to treat his wounds, and it makes me reach for my sword where it’s leaning against the wall in its scabbard.

I will never let that happen.

A gust of wind rattles the window over the couch, and the man shifts.

My rocking in the chair ceases.

His brow, previously smooth and relaxed with sleep, bunches, and then his eyes open.

At first, he looks up at the ceiling, blinking against the late-afternoon sunlight.

Evening will be here soon, but for now the light streaming through the windows is bright and golden, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. And once they do, he turns his head and looks at me.

We stare at each other, even though I’m aware that staring a shifter down is something one should generally not do. But I can’t bring myself to stop. He’s the outsider here, the one endangering Aurora and our child with every moment he spends on that couch. And I want him gone.

Slowly, and with a small grunt that betrays his pain, the man pushes himself up on the couch. His long hair slips over his bare shoulder, glowing blue black in the light. I sit forward in the rocking chair, muscles coiling, and he narrows his eyes at me.

“Where is she?” he asks. His voice is gravelly, rough. It sends a warning twirling through me. This is already a bad start.

“Who?” I assume he’s referring to Aurora, but maybe I can get him out of here without ever letting him set eyes on her. She’s still out in the garden; hopefully she’ll stay there for a while longer.

“The green-haired one.”

Why does that make angry heat flare through my veins? I try not to let him see how it’s affecting me. “Not here.”

His lips curl down in the corners. Taking the quilt in hand, he tosses it back, revealing the extent of his naked body.

Then he puts his feet flat on the floor and stands up.

I rise at the same time and am unsurprised he stands well over me.

Shifters are known to be large, and he’s no exception—besides, Alden and I dragged him here, and his weight almost collapsed us both.

For a moment, he appears unsteady on his feet. Three days of sleeping and not eating while battling extensive injuries will do that to you. But the last thing we need in this cottage is a hungry shifter.

I should never have brought him here.

Ever since Aurora told me she’s pregnant, a deep fear has been simmering inside me.

I’ve had dreams of my little sister, Lucy, since she died, but they’ve been getting worse of late, and some nights I dream of my child—with green eyes and hair, just like Aurora—slipping through the ice instead of Lucy, plunging into the frigid water and becoming lost forever, all because of me , because I couldn’t protect them.

And staring at the shifter as he stands in the parlor, I get a sick feeling that I’m making terrible choices all over again, like he’s the ice and we’re all about to going crashing through it.

He looks down at himself, seeming only now to notice the bandages wrapped around his shoulder, chest, and neck. Aurora has been so careful with him, so attentive to his wounds. It irks me.

The man reaches up to touch the fresh, clean bandages, and then he smirks. When his eyes find mine, they’re more alive, as if he’s waking up more with each passing second.

“I know she’s here,” he says. He tips his head back, sending his inky hair down his back like a waterfall, and sniffs the air. “I can smell her.”

My heart thuds hard, sending my blood crashing through my veins like fire. He can smell her? Of course he can. He’s a damn shifter.

I’m an idiot. An absolute fool.

Clutching my scabbard in one hand, I reach slowly for the hilt of my sword with the other. The shifter’s eyes follow the movement, and his upper lip pulls back in the corner, revealing an elongated canine tooth. I get the feeling he’d like to sink it into me right about now.

“It’s time for you to leave,” I say, speaking slowly and clearly. I’d like to avoid violence at all costs, but I won’t shy away from a fight if that’s what it comes to.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His gaze flicks back to mine, pupils narrowing slightly. “Not until I have her.”

There’s a clear ring of metal as I pull my sword free. The polished silver gleams in the sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across the cottage walls.

It feels wrong, drawing a weapon in what has for many months been such a peaceful home. But the peace has been disrupted, shattered by the shifter’s presence.

“You’ll leave,” I say, enunciating carefully.

“And you’ll do it now.” The scabbard clatters to the floor, and I wrap my free hand around the sword hilt, adjusting my grip.

In my hands, my weapon feels familiar, like a friend or a lover.

It’s been some time now since I last had to draw it for anything other than practice.

The shifter growls, making my heart thump harder. We’re in much too small a space for this, and there’s only one of me. Typically, it’d be a real struggle to take a shifter down alone, but he’s injured—badly. That should even the odds.

As he takes a step forward and I widen my stance, the kitchen door squeaks open, accompanied by the sound of Aurora’s humming.

Oh no. No, no, no—

The shifter moves in that direction, his attention immediately distracted. But I step into his line of sight, blocking the doorway leading from the parlor into the foyer.

“Get out of my way, tiny knight,” he growls. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, but he opens them a bit to reveal long nails where his human ones were just a moment ago.

“No.” Despite the pounding in my chest, I steady myself in the doorway, sword held slightly aloft.

This time when he snarls, he reveals a full mouth of sharp teeth, and his muscles tense beneath his skin. He’s got way too much muscle for such a big man. Not looking good for me.

But I won’t back down. I’m ready for him to pounce. I’m made for this, have trained almost all my life for this.

Then a small gasp sounds from behind me.

The shifter breaks our stare, his gaze darting over my shoulder.

“Stay back,” I say to Aurora without turning to face her. “He was just leaving.”

“I already told you.” He growls again, the sound low and cautionary. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Footsteps sound overhead, and then the stairs creak as Alden descends into the foyer.

We must’ve woken him from his nap. I feel his surprise in the air as he pauses to take in the scene.

He doesn’t say a word, but I’m glad he’s here.

If it comes to it, he’s yet another shield to stand between Aurora and this feral creature.

“Why?” I ask. My fingers are still flexed around the hilt of my sword. “Why won’t you leave?”

Without moving his eyes from Aurora, the shifter says, “Because she’s my mate.”