Page 4 of Unhinged Magic (Cutters Cove Witches #2)

Skye

Sea spray coated my cheek, and I swiped it away before its dewy residue could sink into my skin. Ahead of me, a footpath edged the ocean that led into town, and I didn’t notice the uneven pavement from underground tree roots until it was too late.

I leveled my hands in front of me, just able to stop myself from falling flat on my face.

My thoughts were somewhere else, my mind playing flashbacks of the previous night on repeat.

Wesley had been downright rude. But I knew I was the reason for it.

I needed to explain but wasn’t sure I could. He was so different now.

I bundled my hands into my pockets, a welcome shelter from the ice-cold air currently circling my neck.

Winter. I loved how its harsh breath could make you feel alive if you let it.

All you had to do was breathe it deep into your chest. Nature was strange like that.

Above me, dark clouds loomed overhead, hinting at rain.

I’d always wanted to dance in the rain. To bathe in nature itself.

I imagined it drenching my skin, soaking my clothes, and for just one moment let my mind drift to a place where green eyes no longer pierced my mind.

Like it could wash my thoughts of him.

I shook my head in disbelief.

Wesley .

I’d discreetly slipped out last night, giving Tyler some lame excuse about a shift I had at Coffee Cove this morning. Truth be told, there was no shift at the little coffee shop I worked at casually. I just needed to get the hell out of Tyler’s house, and fast.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, there was an undeniable intensity about Wesley that made me nervous.

And it had nothing to do with our history.

Try as I might, the image of his back muscles rippling as he sparred had lodged itself in my mind, where it would live rent-free for days on end, if not forever.

To make matters worse, Wesley had emerged from a child into something much more.

His voice was no longer that of a boy, but of a man, dripping with just the right mixture of sex and confidence.

He was cocky, cheeky, a walking red flag.

And blunt as shit.

A ripple of something I couldn’t name tumbled through me, remembering the way his gaze had slid over every inch of my skin. It reminded me of the first time I had seen a shooting star: thrilling . It annoyed me that he could make me feel those things after what he said.

How dare he abuse the most sacred partnership in life; because, although I could not deny he was attractive, the mate bond was most definitely not what I felt.

I’d heard about the instant connection when mates found each other for the first time: an all-consuming intensity that could rival nothing.

Wesley was hot as hell, I could admit that much.

But fated mates, no. The fact that he had the audacity to even joke about such a thing made rage simmer in my chest.

Disgusting.

This morning, I’d casually thrown his name into my conversation with Scar and got more out of her than I expected. It seemed Wesley’s flirty nature had earned him a reputation around town. I never liked to take words as gospel, but, so far, he had not made a great impression.

If he thought using the mate bond was how to come onto a girl, the guy needed his balls stuffed up his ass, and I would relish in the humor of watching him attempt to walk afterwards.

I spent the morning roaming the streets on my own, needing space to filter my thoughts into something more plausible. I valued my own company and felt it was entirely underrated. Sometimes life was so noisy I could barely hear myself breathe, much less think.

I found myself standing outside a small shop with the sign 'Revival' perched above it. As I stepped through the front entrance, I immediately warmed to the place.

It sold mainly antiques, but also had pre-loved items tucked away in the cluttered aisles.

I soaked up its timber ambiance as it filtered through my nostrils, like each item had its own story it wanted to share with me.

Warmth filled my soul. I loved this smell.

It reminded me of the shed my father liked to tinker in when I was a child.

The timber floorboards groaned as I moved through the aisles between items arranged in a way that was a hoarder’s dream, yet a delight to walk through.

I suddenly stopped short, my gaze climbing to where a collage of fabric lined the back wall, stacked one on top of the other.

Running my finger down the piles nestled on the shelves, a sense of longing anchored in my heart.

I gathered a bunch of fabric someone had stashed away, folding it neatly again, repeating the process with the other few until all were neatly folded back in place.

I stepped back, admiring my work with a satisfied smile. It irritated me that people could be so careless.

Not far away, a large pane of glass separated this room and another.

For a moment I imagined how perfect this shop would be to do upholstery, being able to create in the back room and sell on the shop floor.

When I was young, my Uncle let me help him upholster my childhood rocking horse in new pioneer red leather and bronze studs.

It fascinated me that such an old, well-worn piece could be given a new life for decades more.

In my mind, everything deserved a second chance.

Upholstering became a creative outlet for me and I’d always dreamed of owning my own upholstery business.

But my family had never been that way inclined, preferring the nine-to-five grind working for someone else.

I had no idea where to start, and, as much as I hated to admit it, I lacked the confidence to ask. In short, it would never happen.

I lowered my knee to the ground, running my finger over a plain linen fabric that I wanted desperately to find a use for.

Its neutral tone could easily find a home in any room, and I searched my mind for a use for it but came up blank.

The smell of new fabric called to me like a siren, and I knew one day I would return with the perfect item to use it on.

Suddenly, a not-so-familiar scent drew my attention, and I turned to find Wesley staring down at me, his gaze lingering on the fabric in my hand.

Frowning, I huffed out an irritated sigh. “What are you doing here?”

Wesley towered over me, wearing a black, oversized hoodie and gray sweats.

I never quite understood why women went on about sweatpants on a man.

I mean, they were just pants . Swiftly folding the linen back into a neat pile, I placed it on the shelf, achingly aware of his watchful eye following my every move.

The corner of his mouth peaked ever so slightly, his foot shuffling against a floorboard. “Good morning to you, too.”

I rose to my feet. “It’s no longer morning,” I retorted, folding my arms around my waist. I knew for a fact it was noon, and he deserved all the lip after last night’s antics.

He lifted a brow. “A little touchy this morning, aren’t we?”

Ugh.

“I don’t have time for this, Wesley,” I lied. I had all the time in the world today. But he didn’t need to know that.

Darkness stole the light from his eyes, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “We need to talk.”

“So you follow me here ?”

“I could have come to your house…” His stare moved over me in a slow, deliberate crawl, causing my skin to come alive.

I held a hand in the air between us. “Please don’t.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

My insides sank. He really wanted to do this here .

“I couldn’t,” I gritted out. It was the truth.

He stared me down, not believing me. I didn’t blame him. It was a shitty excuse.

He lowered his voice. “You left without even saying goodbye. Ty told me you went to some school.”

I stammered for words, not prepared to have this conversation right now . “I’m sorry, I...”

“Is this all a game to you?”

His accusation slammed into my chest. This was not a game to me. It never had been. How dare he accuse me of that after the shit he pulled last night?

“I’m not the one using the mate bond like it’s bait,” I whisper-shouted, trying to keep the conversation between us. My looked to the store clerk, seemingly oblivious to the rendezvous going on in the back of her shop, before returning to the distraction in front of me.

Wesley frowned, surprised at my outburst. He didn’t move. Remained silent.

“I’m not like other girls, Wesley; I don’t need your attention,” I seethed.

A spark suddenly twisted his haunted gaze, his knuckles grazing his jaw. It framed his face in a way that should be illegal, and I was sure panties had dropped on their own accord on that jaw’s merit alone.

His shoes scuffed as he took a step closer. “Are you sure about that?”

The tone of his voice made every hair on my skin rise in triumph like disobedient children.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from him even if I tried. I internally groaned. Why in all shit was I attracted to this man? The player .

I retreated, but each step away from him produced another to his front.

Stumbling backwards, I yelped, scrambling as I fell. The top of a stepladder broke my descent, and I found myself perched on top of it.

A smirk teased Wesley’s mouth. I was practically at his waist height.

Of course I was .

Unspoken words gathered in his stare, teasing his lips.

I knew the innuendo he was undoubtedly holding onto, but instead of coming out and saying it, he surprised me, bending at the waist. His hands fell on either side of my hips to the platform I perched on, though he didn’t touch me, his arms keeping him steady.

Damn him and his vicious green eyes. They stamped me in place, his emerald ink sinking into my bones.

He seemed to contemplate his next move. “It looks to me like you’re trying your hardest to make this difficult.” He cocked his head to one side. “To make me beg.”

A coil tightened in my lower belly. I swallowed a wad of air.