Page 19

The unfamiliar voice saying those words is like a punch to the side of the head, and my eyes snap to the man who dared to say them.

A bloke about twenty stands in a group of other men of similar ages, red faced and grinning.

He holds a pint to his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him standing, waggling his thick dark eyebrows suggestively.

“The fat one?” another asks, disgust lacing in his tone.

White-hot rage begins to filter in. There are other reasons to put down the pretty pest, the least of which is how she looks. She’s annoyingly stunning.

“Sure, she’s fat, but she’s right pretty in the face,” the drunken idiot says, swaying slightly as he takes a step away from the group and toward the old jukebox in the corner.

Everyone knows to stay away from it as it only plays eighties hair metal, The Dubliners, and Sinéad O’Connor. I stand, forgetting my drink on the bar, and intercept him before he gets to the jukebox.

“Not on your life, mate.” The growl in my tone is unnecessary but slips out all the same.

The drunken fool looks like he’s about to wet himself as he looks up at me. Even being this human in appearance, I’m taller than most and far more muscular than him. His friend that insulted my pest stands, his own cheeks burning from his drinks.

“Let the man play his songs!” he hollers.

I roll my eyes, leaning across the older machine to keep either man from getting to it. My leather jacket squeaks slightly against the dusty glass displaying the CDs and vinyls inside.

“No.”

“‘Down by the Sally Gardens’ would be a good craic right now.” The drunkard laughs, his drink sloshing onto his shirt.

“Dubliners? How original.” I hold out a hand and gesture back to his table. “Take a seat and stay there, before I make you.”

“Outta my way, meathead.” He attempts to pull me off the jukebox, and it’s all the permission I need to grab him by the scruff and dangle him a foot off the ground.

Sparks of magic ignite under my skin, but I grit my teeth and force it down.

Instead, I turn all the built-up ire I’ve been neglecting onto this unlucky arsehole.

I toss him like a rag doll onto his table, sending pints to the floor.

Glass shatters and drinks soak the floor.

Some of my rage dissipates, but I want to make them bleed for talking about my pest.

The bar is suddenly quiet, the soft sloshing of the wasted alcohol onto the floor the only sound until someone clears their throat behind us. I don’t have to turn to know it’s Eloise. There’s a smugness to the sound that makes me grit my teeth.

“Never speak of her again,” I growl, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from actually spilling any blood.

It would be too easy, and Darius would lose his mind.

I cast my gaze around, unflinching and unapologetic, before storming out of the shitty pub.

MARCUS

When I find my feet carrying me toward Charlotte’s room, I don’t stop them.

I can’t fight the urge to be near her. With the mission starting tomorrow, I need to get all the time in with her I can—if she’ll take me.

I scared her because, of course, I did. I never know when to stop talking, but normally that both gets me into problems and solves them.

How was I supposed to know she had no idea she was a witch? It’s strange that some supernatural beings spend most of their lives not knowing what they are, like Char has. My poor witch. The poor, beautiful woman who is my mate.

I press my hand firmly against my chest, trying to stop the hurried beating of my heart. She’s going to see us as hers soon enough. I just know it. We’re meant to be. The fates decided that long before any of us were even a thought in the universe. Or something like that.

When I stop in front of her door, I shake out my hand before hovering my fist in front of it, the courage to knock slowly draining from me.

The last thing I want to do is push her further away.

But she’s been spending time with the local witches and learning about herself, so she might want to speak with me again.

Even if she has been mostly avoiding me…

all of us, really. Julius has been making her breakfast and keeping her company, but whenever she sees the rest of us, she bolts to her room and locks the door.

“You can do this,” I say with a nod, hand drifting to the door and stopping short as my knuckles meet the wood.

The gentlest knock I’ve ever made sounds softly in the hall and, hopefully, in her room.

There’s no way she heard that, but I did try. I swallow hard and step back, wings restless against my back as I try to keep them tucked, to make myself smaller so she won’t be afraid. So she won’t run again.

When her door opens, my jaw drops. She’s in a towel. So much more of her bare skin is on display than I would dream I’d be seeing this early into the courtship. If I can ever call it that.

When she sees me, she startles, gripping the towel tighter to her body. “Marcus, what are you doing here?”

“In the hallway? Just…walking.” I give her a soft smile.

“Just walking in the hall in front of my room because…?” Her words are breathless, her cheeks pink, and her eyes are all over me.

I should feel objectified, but it makes me feel confident. I push out my chest a little and flex the muscles in my arms just the slightest bit.

“Yeah, just patrolling the castle. It’s part of the job,” I say, leaning back onto the heels of my bare feet.

“Just part of your…protection duty or whatever?” she asks, eyes finally coming up and meeting mine.

My breath lodges in my throat, cementing my airways and leaving nothing but the flavor of her on my tongue. I ache to bring her close. I want to smell the sweat of the day on her skin, bring her to the bathroom, and be the one to wash it all away.

I nod, swallowing thickly.

“Yep, exactly as you said. How has…Eloise been with your teaching?” I ask softly.

She bites her bottom lip, and I hiss softly.

I want to pluck the tempting flesh from her teeth and lavish it with attention from my tongue.

She’s too rough on herself. She’s so delicate and soft and should be protected.

It’s my nest’s job to protect our mate, and even with the smallest things, I’m failing.

“It’s been OK, confusing and overwhelming if I’m being honest.” She slumps against her doorframe.

The towel parts slightly over her plush thigh, revealing even more of her creamy skin for my greedy enjoyment. My knees wobble as the urge to drop to the floor and worship the uncovered inches of skin rises powerfully in my chest.

I’ve never had a mate before, and inside me, it feels like the most potent magic to exist.

“I bet you’re doing an incredible job, though. You seem so smart,” I blurt.

She laughs, and her cheeks darken, that shade of pink making me wonder what color her nipples are.

I lick my lips and swallow again, shifting from foot to foot.

“I do my best, but I’m better with a paintbrush than with any sort of books and research.”

“Darius could help you. He’s the oldest, and he has interacted with more witches than the rest of us combined,” I say, trying to be helpful.

Charlotte makes a face at the mention of my alpha but offers a little nod. She rests her head against the doorframe, looking me up and down before blushing even harder.

I grin at her ogling and overtly flex. “It’s OK, Char, you can look all you’d like. I feel like I’ve been working my whole life to perfect my physique just for you,” I say honestly.

Her eyes widen, and she digs her teeth harder into that poor bottom lip. I can’t stand it.

Swooping in closer, I gently free the abused bit of flesh from her teeth and run the pad of my thumb soothingly over the indentations she made. Her lips part, and I feel her sharply inhale against my fingers as I stroke over her lip.

“You’re so soft. I’m obsessed with the way you feel,” I whisper, voice dipping low and husky.

A moan slips from between her lips before she wraps them around my finger and gently sucks. Her tongue rolls around the digit, and the magic drains out of me just so I can be softer for her, warmer and more pleasant on her palate. She hums, and it penetrates me straight to the core.

My dick becomes rock hard.

Pun intended.