Page 5 of Unhinged Magic (Cutters Cove Witches #2)

This wasn’t the mate bond. This was lust. An unfathomable lust I did not care for. I bet he did this to all his women, called them his mate and expected them to cave to his advances. I would not be one of them.

His gaze dipped to my lips as his face came closer. I didn’t dare look away. I would not. His breath floated over my mouth, warmth spreading over it. Controlled. Collected.

“Is that what you would like, Skip? You want me to beg?”

Not one part of him touched me. Yet every nerve ending within me flared to life, my fire element scorching hot and rocketing through my veins. He stared at me as if I was his to take, and something about that purred inside me. I despised it.

I pulled in an even breath, trying not to show how much his proximity affected me. “You wish,” I countered.

“Then tell me.” He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting slowly. “What exactly is this?”

His hands remained in place, our lips separated by only inches.

This close, I could smell his aftershave.

A spicy hit of black pepper, combined with an undertone of sandalwood, drowning my every inhale.

Damn him, why did he have to smell so good?

Words failed me as neither of us moved, my breath suspended in my chest.

He lingered, taking me in as I did him. We had never been this close before.

At this proximity, his pupils seemed larger, scattered darker green flecks blotching the vibrant green circling them. A small scar lay under his eye, evidence of the time he had fallen from the tree in my backyard.

Suddenly, he stood upright again, his hands gripping the back of his neck. He looked down at me, irritation flickering in the depths of his scrutiny.

I didn’t dare blink.

I was still at his waist height.

Don’t look down, don’t look down, I repeated in my mind, willing myself to obey.

As if I had issued myself a giant middle finger, my attention dipped to his waist, where right then, he shovirisesed his hands into his pants pockets, causing the material to pull tight across his…

My throat went dry. Okay, now I got the whole sweatpants thing. When he folded his arms again, I couldn’t unsee it, like now that I knew, it was just more prominent .

I internally scolded myself, knowing I needed to get the upper hand here. A smart tongue.

Because he wasn’t the only one who could throw banter. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I gripped the edge of the ladder where his hands had been moments beforehand. “You’re clearly the one with a boner for me.”

A low rumble charged from him, and he tipped back his head in a throaty chuckle. That smirk. I wish I could wipe it off his face.

“What?” I questioned, glaring at him.

A smile creased the sides of his mouth, showing a row of perfect white teeth.

Of course.

He ran his knuckles over his jaw, his irises glowing as if radioactive. Like he could melt my heart with his stare alone, and I feared that, if I let my guard down for a fraction of a second, he would.

Boldly, he moved closer again, until his face was inches from mine. Every limb, every breath in my lungs, froze, as if some fascinating form of coercion existed between us. As if his body demanded my obedience, and it bowed to him like some lovesick puppy.

My fire element scorched my veins as it threaded into the palms of my hands.

I hated myself for it, knowing that if I felt it in the tips of my fingers, he could see it swirling in my eyes.

It wasn’t often that someone other than myself could bring it to the surface, and I could count on one hand the number of times it had happened before now.

How he’d achieved this not once, but twice now, was enough to make my blood boil.

Our eyes clashed, like a hurricane on steroids. Wild and ferocious. “What?” I repeated. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He lowered to me again, hands on the seat at my side. Next to mine. My pulse jumped into a neurotic beat. I dared myself to hold his teasing glare.

He came even closer, his hot breath on my ear. “One, that’s no boner. And two…” He paused, dragging out the moment. “I. Don’t. Believe. You.”

The gentle scrape of his voice sent a flare of goosebumps over my skin.

Standing again, he took a few steps backwards, his thumb sweeping his bottom lip before running through his perfect as shit hair.

Finally, he turned on his heel, sauntering through the store like he owned the damn place.

I followed his retreating form until he disappeared out the shop door, my shoulders collapsing with relief when he was finally out of sight.

What in the giant shit was that?

Something about him pushed every button inside of me, excessively stomping on each one. His essence simmered beneath my skin like a ticking time bomb, and I feared the day I wouldn’t have the means to control it.

I hated the effect he had on me. Pure. Unfathomable. Lust.

It was a damsel standing in torrential rain, waiting for its ride. With a confidence about it, like it couldn’t care if oncoming headlights held a psycho or savior. It took risks, bargained with its heart, and I didn’t trust lust for shit. I never had.

I couldn’t shake the way his irises had darkened with irritation at my dismissal, something I bet he wasn’t used to. But there was something else about the way his stare had ruptured, like I had fractured something more than just his ego.

I stood, pulling my coat tighter around me, banishing the feeling. He was just getting under my skin, and I would be damned if I would let him continue.

***

Pulling my knees to my chest, I sank into the weathered outdoor couch I did my best thinking on, my fingers running over the fine threads pulling from the aged armrest. From up here on the second story of the house I rented were views many would pay to see: the wilder side of Cutters Cove.

Where Mother Nature announced her presence unguardedly.

Water charged toward the cliffs, every powerful surge revealing a secret held for centuries, retreating only to return with another. This was the part of Cutters Cove I had fallen in love with, its raw nature nothing less than breathtaking.

I looked to the distance where dusk grasped both the sky and ocean in its merciful hand, streaking its arrival through every lull and ripple in the water below. I loved this time of day. The colors, the smell, the taste.

My gaze veered to a humble moon hanging discretely off to one side, as if an invisible string kept it in place, its observation an infinite presence. I could never tire of so much beauty. I took a sip of my hot chocolate, pulling the wool blanket tighter around me.

For over an hour I had sat here, trying to sort my thoughts. I knew Wesley wanted answers. I owed him answers. But trying to talk to him at a party or a shop was not the place.

How do you possibly tell someone you see ghosts?

And worse: what happened after they knew?

Looking back, I now saw that time in the onset of my magic for what it was: a child tripping over her own fate, laces hanging on the floor, her longing for them to be tightened.

Because a teenager couldn’t possibly learn a magical gift and understand why the peaceful moment right before sleep suddenly became Grand Central Station for spirits.

Try running from your worst nightmare when all they want to do is talk to you.

Newsflash… you can’t.

I got up from my chair, sliding the door shut behind me as I moved inside, pulling on one of the oversized band tees I slept in.

After washing my face and running a brush through my hair, I slid into bed, tucking the sheets tight under my chin, staring absently at the wingback chair in the corner of my bedroom.

Tonight, he would come. I knew it. It had the makings of every other night I had felt his presence, a blanket of calm settling over the cove as if hiding us from the outside world.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, a feather-light breeze ghosted through the room. I stiffened, staring wide into the darkness, a knowing so strong sending my instincts into overdrive. Although he never fully showed himself to me, I knew the spirit was male. Call it a gut feeling.

The apparition moved through my room, something between a shadow and the wind.

The movement settled on my wingback chair as it always did.

I often wondered why he wouldn’t show himself to me.

Most ghosts appeared in full form, whether that be of an adult or a small child, but not this one.

He never spoke, never scared me. I just let him sit.

I figured that if he wanted something he would eventually make himself known. Pulling my covers higher, I closed my eyelids. This was my 'if you won’t speak with me, I’m going to sleep so you can leave now' tactic. Also, mind over matter. Block it out.

Turning onto my side, I slowly counted to one hundred, my breathing slowing with every passing minute. Until something lingered over the base of my neck.

A breath, but not.

I bristled with uncertainty at the unknown feeling. It had to be him.

But I shouldn’t feel him, not like this , should I?

I had never touched a ghost before. But, to be fair, they had never tried to touch me either, so I wasn’t sure if it was even possible. My breath stapled itself in my lungs, my fire element rousing, suddenly on high alert.

My whisper skated through the silent room. “Hello?”

I don’t know why I expected him to speak. He had never once uttered a word. I tried again, my voice stammering into the darkness. “Who are you?” I remained deathly still. “Please talk to me.”

I didn’t move an inch, my limbs paralyzed with uncertainty. The ghosts who visited me usually needed my help, their intentions never to scare or hurt me. But there was a first time for everything.

The hairs on my arms jumped off my skin as a whisper filtered through my ears, so quiet I questioned if I was losing my mind or imagining things.

“Mate . ”

I sat bolt upright, expecting to find a spirit staring back at me, but found myself alone.

An uneasy feeling wound its way into my stomach.

I tucked my knees to my chest, unable to look away from the chair. I expected him to suddenly appear, but he did not. With every nerve on high alert, I willed myself to stay awake, my ears pinned to the still of the night. Waiting. Listening.

When my eyes could no longer stay open, sleep found me.