Page 8 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Aurora

FOR A MOMENT, NO ONE moves. I’m pretty sure we’re all holding our breath. Beneath my breast, my heart races.

“I’m your what?” I whisper, still standing behind Rowan, peering around him and his gleaming silver sword. I was shocked to step into the foyer and find the both of them locked in the doorway, each refusing to move. At least no one’s bleeding on the hardwood floor.

The shifter flexes his hands, and I notice his long nails for the first time. He holds my gaze unwaveringly as he says once more, “My mate.”

I knew this about shifters—that they often have fated mates, instinctual bonds they can do little to fight—but I didn’t realize it could happen between a shifter and a witch. My professor definitely didn’t cover that in class.

“How do you know?” I ask, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. Is it possible he got it wrong?

“It’s your scent. I knew it when I smelled you. It’s how I found my way to you in the woods.”

So, his appearance in the shadows of the trees wasn’t random. He was looking for me. Tracking me.

While part of me wishes to recoil from him, from this strange man who claims I’m his mate, the other part is curious, intrigued. How could I not be?

My gaze slides down the man’s muscle-bound body, to the thick dark hair between his legs and the impressive length he has there.

My mate.

I swallow hard.

Rowan adjusts his stance in the doorway, shifting back a bit, as if he’s trying to put distance between me and the man.

“What does this mean?” he asks.

“It means,” the shifter snaps, showing his teeth again, “I’m not going anywhere.”

To my left, Alden is standing on the stairs, brown eyes wide, curly hair mussed from his nap.

“Alden,” I say softly, drawing his gaze to mine, “do you have an extra pair of trousers? Something that’ll fit...” I realize I don’t yet know the man’s name. I glance his way. “What’s your name?” I ask him around Rowan’s immovable frame.

The man shifts slightly, floorboards creaking beneath his weight. There’s a long pause. Maybe he doesn’t trust us.

Finally, he sighs. “Faolan.”

My chest does something funny when I hear his name. I don’t know this man, don’t know anything about him, and yet somehow, his name feels... familiar, like it’s something I’ve heard before in my dreams.

Is that the mate bond? Is this real ?

Quickly, I flick my gaze back to Alden. “Do you have something that’ll fit Faolan?”

Alden rubs a hand down his face, looking like he’s trying to wake himself up. There are dark crescents beneath his eyes from the lack of sleep he’s gotten these last few days. “I’ll find something,” he says, voice gruff.

He pads back up the stairs. With him gone, I look back to Rowan and Faolan. They’re staring each other down, neither one willing to relax their aggressive stance. Clearly, I need to solve this problem. And when it comes to grumpy men, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

“You must be hungry,” I say to Faolan, keeping my voice light. “Why don’t we all have something to eat, and we can talk about... everything.”

“Aurora,” Rowan hisses.

“I know,” I whisper, placing my hand on his low back.

Under my fingers, his muscles are tense.

He hates this—has hated every moment of it since he came sprinting through the forest to find me—and I understand that.

But I’m intrigued by Faolan—and his belief that I’m his.

.. mate . I need to hear what he has to say.

“Now, are you two going to be able to get along?”

They don’t answer.

With an irritated sigh, I turn and head back toward the kitchen. “Well, you two can stay in there, or you can join me in the kitchen to eat. Your choice. But I’ll only offer once.”

“I’m coming!” I hear Alden yell from upstairs, voice muffled. He always knows how to make me smile.

Back in the kitchen, I find Harrison lingering near the cat door Alden made him. Tension is apparent in the stiff way he’s holding himself, as if preparing to run or fight.

“It’s awake?” he asks.

“He is. His name is Faolan.”

Harrison sniffs the air, and his whiskers twitch. “He smells terrible. Like dog.”

“He needs a bath, I know.” Using a rag, I lift the lid off my big soup pot, then give the bubbling broth a good stir.

“That’s not what I mean,” Harrison grumbles. “He’s a wolf, Aurora. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Not you too,” I say with a sigh.

“We’re worried about you.” Harrison’s long tail bristles. “He’s dangerous.”

After placing the lid back on the soup, I turn fully to face him.

“I know. And I appreciate it. But we need to give him a chance. And besides, he’s still injured.

I’d not feel right kicking him out in such a state.

” Crouching down, I offer Harrison my hand.

It takes a moment, but he finally lets me scratch him behind the ear.

“I’ll be careful around him. I promise.”

The sound of footsteps in the foyer has Harrison bolting for the cat door, and he vanishes through it just as Rowan backs through the doorway.

He’s still holding his sword, but at least it’s lowered to his side now.

He keeps his body in front of mine as Faolan enters the kitchen.

The space is already small, but he makes it look even smaller, like it’d be better suited to a family of pixies.

“Take a seat,” I say. “Both of you.”

Rowan glances back at me. “I’ll stand.”

Faolan sinks down into one of the chairs at the table, wincing a bit as he goes.

Before Rowan can stop me, I sweep around him and approach Faolan.

Suddenly, Rowan’s hand is around my wrist, and he tries to hold me back.

I toss him a severe look over my shoulder.

The muscles along his jaw go taut, and his eyes flash with anger, but reluctantly, he lets me go. With a sigh, I turn back to Faolan

“You’re badly injured,” I tell him. “I’ve been treating your wounds daily.”

He looks up at me. “How long was I asleep?”

“Almost three days. You had a terrible fever too.” I lift a hand. “May I?”

Behind me, Rowan shifts, and I feel his presence over my shoulder. Faolan nods.

I press the back of my hand to his forehead, then his temple. He’s still warm, but the fire beneath his skin seems to have finally smoldered out. “The fever broke.” Relief colors my tone. “We just need those wounds to heal now.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says.

Footsteps announce Alden before he steps through the kitchen doorway holding a faded pair of cotton trousers. With him in here, there’s almost no room to move. He holds the trousers up. “Think these’ll work?”

“They’re perfect,” I say, reaching to take them from his hand. “Thank you.” I pass them to Faolan, then step back, almost bumping into Rowan since he’s standing so close to me. “You put those on,” I tell Faolan, “and we’ll all have something to eat.”

The three men exchange tense looks, and I narrow my eyes at them.

“Anyone who can’t get along is welcome to skip dinner tonight.” I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s up to you.”