Page 17 of Wishing for a Werewolf (Ferndale Falls Forever #2)

Rune

My pencil moves over paper, adding shading to the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips. Even with my keen fae eyesight, Autumn’s too far away for fine details, so I scatter little dots of freckles over her cheeks from memory.

I meant to sketch the four witches together, but as soon as I started, I drew Autumn, only Autumn. She sits in three-quarter profile, the light of the window catching on her long wavy hair and making it flare like fire.

Goddess, I’m eager to be burned, to run my fingers through her red locks, to catch her by it and tip her head back so I can nip at her neck…

The pencil gives a wooden creak of protest, and I relax my grip before I accidentally snap it in two.

“Not bad, hound,” Shadow says as he slowly appears beside me on the town green.

The cat sith are some of the slipperiest fae, since they’re the only ones able to walk the shadow roads.

These hidden pathways crisscross all the realms, shortening distances and letting the werepanthers spy on others while remaining unseen.

I grunt.

“Stop scowling. I mean it. You have a natural talent. One I lack.”

“You tried to draw?”

He grins. “I did after I saw you doing it. Let’s just say I won’t be doing that again anytime soon.” His smile fades as he stares at his hands. “Maybe if I’d been able to start when younger…”

There’s a note of longing in his voice, one that strikes a similar chord in my chest. Like me, Shadow grew up trapped in his animal form, unable to shift while the doors of Faerie remained closed. Being a man is as new for him as it is for me.

“Stop worrying.” I bump my shoulder against his. “If you’re as bad at drawing as you say, I doubt more years would make any difference.”

A burst of laughter escapes him as Shadow turns startled green eyes on me, one hand pressed to his chest. “Did you just make a joke? Are you finally loosening up? Am I rubbing off on you?”

My lips twitch, but all thoughts of humor fade the moment I check on the women. Hannah and one of the other witches walk backward down the sidewalk outside of Slice of Life, their movements unnaturally jerky. Inside, Autumn crashes down onto her chair in an abrupt motion unlike her natural grace.

“Something’s wrong,” I growl.

“Kayla!” Shadow says, disappearing from view.

Damn cat’s going to walk the shadow roads and get there before me. I’ve never envied his ability more as I shove my small sketchpad into a pocket and race after him.

I barrel through the door, cross the café, and step into the bubble cast by the silencing candle burning steadily in the middle of their table. Shadow appears beside me. The werepanther must have listened for a few moments to gather information before making himself visible, which suits me fine.

A flicker of relief crosses Autumn’s pretty face the moment she spots me.

Seeing that look from her warms my chest, making it tingle.

Whatever’s happening to her, I want to fix it.

I want her to look at me like this always, as if she’s glad to see me, as if she knows I’ll make everything all right.

It’s more than my usual urge to protect—it goes beyond the physical. I don’t just want her safe.

I want her happy.

“What happened?” I bark, worry making my voice sharp.

“Skye made a w-word, and my magic kicked in,” Autumn says.

“W-word?” Shadow’s green eyes glitter with amusement.

“You know, like we’re having a problem with a w-word swap right now.” Autumn points back and forth between the two of us.

“Do you mean wish?” I frown.

The witches gasp and hunker, Hannah crying out, “Everyone needs to stop saying that word!”

“But nothing happened,” I protest.

“It can’t be every use of the w-word,” a purple-haired witch says. “Autumn’s magic probably activates only for certain sentence structures, like saying: ‘I wish I held my phone in my hand.’” She reaches out, and magic ripples through the air, dissipating as the device appears on her palm.

“Kayla,” Hannah whines, “that was risky.”

“It wasn’t that risky.” Kayla shrugs. “I’m approaching this like entering a new video game. You have to try things to figure out how the system works.”

“You mean when your game avatar gets killed over and over while you try all those new things?” Autumn shakes her head. “We can’t afford to be that daring. This is real life.”

“Which is why I wished for something super innocuous.”

“Let’s worry about testing the theory later, once we get out of this mess.” Autumn jabs a finger toward her waffle. “Because if Skye’s wish expects us to actually ‘have lunch’ again, I don’t think I can do it.”

“I don’t know.” Skye pokes her waffle with a fork. “A stomach ache might be worth it, if it’ll free us of the spell.”

“Do you have to be the one that eats it, or is it only important that the food disappears?” Shadow asks.

“No idea.”

The werepanther catches my eye and tips his head toward the table. “Shall we?”

“Ooh, yes please. Save me from waffle overload.” Autumn looks up at me, and when I nod, adds, “Let me fix it for you.” She pours syrup over the top of the bready pastry, filling the square wells with golden-brown sweetness. Then she slices it into quarters, her knife poised to make smaller cuts.

“There’s no need.” My hand wraps around hers, and I lean over her shoulder, using her grip on the fork to bring a piece to my mouth. The sweet and spicy scent of her hair combines with the cinnamon and ginger of the syrup until I feel as if my senses are on overload.

Yet I only want more, my erection springing to life.

I finish off her food, curled over her, her heart fluttering so loudly I can hear it as I keep her hand locked in mine. Then Skye passes over her plate, and I eat that as well, attempting to assuage one hunger by fulfilling another.

My straining cock isn’t fooled.

Across the table, Shadow eats the last bite of Hannah’s waffle, having tackled Kayla’s first. As soon as all of the food is gone, a jolt of magic shivers through the air in a soundless pop that feels like the release of pressure.

Kayla surges upright, taking a quick step away from the table. “It worked.”

“Oh, thank god.” Autumn slumps in her chair. “I thought for sure I’d stuck us all at this effing table for the next month or something.”

“That would be really freaking awkward with all the coffee we just drank. Speaking of which…” Hannah bolts for the restroom in the back of the café.

“I have to reopen the library,” Skye pushes her chair back and stands, then leans over and places her hand on Autumn’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m good.” The redhead squeezes her friend’s fingers. “You go do what you gotta do. I’m sorry I made you late.”

“Ehh.” The blonde waves a hand in dismissal. “I’ve got an understanding boss.”

“You’re your own boss.”

“And I’m very understanding.” Skye winks and hurries away.

“I’m off, too. Laters.” Kayla stalks out of the restaurant, Shadow on her heels.

Autumn shifts in her chair, and I force myself to step away to give her room to stand. “Thank you for the save.” She gestures toward the empty plate.

“I ate something tasty.” I shrug. “Not exactly a hardship.”

“I still appreciate it.” Then the corners of her lips turn down. “Skye and I researched all morning, but we didn’t find anything that will help with Operation Wish Swap. It’s looking seriously doubtful we’re going to solve this by tomorrow.”

I tip my head and grunt in agreement.

“Why don’t you come by the farm in the morning, and I can write our acceptance letters for Mrs. Greely, so they’ll be ready by the time the mail gets picked up at noon.”

“All right.”

“It’ll be okay. We just have to work together for the fall festival. How hard can that be?” She leans over to blow out the silencing candle, making the soft fabric of her dress tighten across the curve of her ass.

“Pretty damned hard,” I mutter under my breath as my cock springs back to full attention.

The next morning, I do a quick patrol of town before running to the goat farm.

It’s a drizzly fall day, one of those where it rains lightly yet continuously.

Under the trees, the soft patter of raindrops on leaves makes a soothing sound, the wet painting their fall colors in even brighter reds, yellows, and oranges.

Yet I break out of the calm of the forest onto pandemonium.

A huge truck, larger than any human vehicle I’ve ever seen, sits in front of the red barn.

Instead of having walls and a ceiling, most of its length is taken up by a platform piled high with rectangular blocks of hay.

The only thing protecting them from the elements is a large tarp stretched over the top.

“Dad, are you okay?” Autumn gestures wildly at an older man staggering under the weight of a yellow-green block of hay.

She stands right inside the door of the barn, gripping the handle of a flat, low wagon a couple of feet long, and as soon as he drops the hay bale onto it, she heaves backward, pulling it deeper inside.

“Fine, pumpkin.” He doesn’t look fine. He looks like he’s barely keeping up with the younger man working by his side, both their tanned faces flushed and sweaty.

When the redheaded witch returns to the door, she spots me, smacks her forehead, and groans, “God, I completely forgot we were writing the letters this morning!” She spins toward her cottage, then toward the people moving the hay, then back again, her words tripping over themselves in her haste.

“I guess I can leave for a bit. I mean, I have to. We have to make sure the letters are postmarked with today’s date, or Mrs. Greely will give the fall festival events to someone else, and Operation Wish Swap will be a bust! ”

I grip her shoulders and force her to stop and look at me. “How can I help?”

“We ordered our winter hay months ago, having no idea it would be raining today. If the bales get really wet, we don’t have enough storage room to keep them spread out to dry like they should, so we need to get them inside as quickly as possible.”

“I can do that.” I nod toward the two men. “I’ll get the hay into the barn, and they can arrange it as they like.”

“You’d do that?” Hope warms her eyes, her lower lip trembling the tiniest bit.

That tremble kills me, my heart pinching in my chest. Autumn should be fire, a force of nature, not trembling and uncertain like this. It says everything about her and all the burdens she’s been carrying for far too long.

“Go write the letters, my fire.” As I let go of her shoulders, my fingers can’t help brushing over a coil of red hair that’s escaped her bun, its softness bewitching.

“My fire?” she repeats, her voice soft with wonder.

Goddess, I said that out loud.