Page 30 of Witches and Wine (The Mythical Mates of Arcane Cove #1)

Invigorating. There was no other word I could think of to describe the way being bonded to Dion made me feel.

I never realized how incomplete I was until accepting the bond with him.

I’d thought it was due to my wiry personality and tendencies to overthink everything in my life, but those hadn’t.

I think that was the best part about this entire situation.

Not only did I inherit a mate, a lifelong partner, but I didn’t lose any of myself in the process.

I’m a better version of myself with him, and I’d found my true self as a lunar witch.

I’d awoken the next day curled into my mate’s arms, my hand lazily dangling from one of his horns.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t extremely fascinated by them.

It also astounded me that he felt compelled to keep them hidden until recently, as if the sight of them would appall me when I positively loved them.

We’d made love again because we couldn’t seem to get enough of each other before Dion ported us to the sheriff’s office soon after.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting it to look like, but I didn’t imagine something out of the American Old West. It was a quaint building with wooden paneling and three posts holding up the shingle overhang above a dark brown door.

The word “sheriff” was displayed in all capital letters in the same font one would associate with the Old West. A stone chimney puffed smoke from the roof, and wooden stairs with a simple banister led to a second floor of an attached part of the building.

A giant oak tree shaded the building with its vibrant green leaves and sturdy trunk.

As we made for the entrance, I pointed at a hitching post. “Is that for a horse? Does he ride?”

Dion shrugged and held the door open for me. “Herb’s an older soul, if you couldn’t tell by the building design, and doesn’t own a car, so I’d say yes.”

“He doesn’t ride it in porcupine form, does he? I feel like that’d be dangerous for the horse?” I asked, the absurdity of how it sounded out loud no longer phasing me.

Once I stepped inside, Dion entered behind me, chuckling. “I’d like to see him not only mount a horse but stay on the saddle as a fucking porcupine.”

“Don’t you go pokin’ fun at me, boy. I’ll quill your ass,” a gruff male voice thick with an American southern accent said.

Dion leaned on one of two wooden pillars situated between several desks, chairs, and a wall of four separate holding cells. “Pipe down, you prickly old timer. It’s called a joke.”

A shorter male, standing a height between me and Dion, emerged from a backroom, his gait wide as he walked, legs slightly bowed.

He wore a tan ten-gallon hat, dark blue duster, boots with spurs, and a silver sheriff’s star pinned to his blue filigree satin vest. A leather belt slung over his hips, a single six-shooter hanging on his left side.

He had his thumbs hanging from the belt, and if a human could ever look somehow like a porcupine at the same time, that would be Herb.

His nose was broad and close to his face, nostrils thin and the width of his nose.

Herb’s eyes were so dark they almost appeared one color, glossy, with wrinkled eyelids.

The way his salt and pepper mustache stretched to each side simulated quills.

“Lookie you with your bits out.” Herb pointed at Dion’s prominently displayed horns.

I couldn’t be certain if it was my pride for his horns or his, given our connection now, but I had to pin my thighs together when he stroked one with a smug grin.

“Figured it was about time. Besides, they itch like a flea-infested werewolf when I keep them hidden.” Dion winced and scratched where the horn met his forehead.

Already missing his skin pressed to mine, I curled my arm through Dion’s and brushed our shoulders. Dion kissed the side of my head.

“Well, to what pleasure do I owe this rare visit, Dion?” Herb hitched his belt, and his wiry mustache bristled.

“We wanted to warn you that Rumpelstiltskin is in town for the foreseeable future,” Dion answered, his hand finding my lower back and pressing his palm there in a claiming gesture.

“Rumpelstiltskin? What in tarnation is that meddling warlock doing in the Cove? Figured he’d hate it here.” Herb shuffled through papers chaotically sprawled on a desk at the head of the room.

“He’s been cursed and apparently can’t leave here unless the sorceress lifts it. Be prepared for a lot of complaints.”

Herb’s wide, stubby nose twitched as he nodded. “I see, I see. I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m afraid there’s much bigger fish to fry than a trickster playing a few pranks now and again.”

Dion’s hand stiffened at my back. “What do you mean?”

“A pixie was murdered last night.” The hair sprouting from Herb’s head hardened and raised.

“Murder? Here?” Dion pointed at the floor, surprise evident in his tone.

“Not here in the sheriff’s office, but out in the woods where they host their little festivities.” Herb jutted his thumb behind him.

“I didn’t mean here as in right here, Herb. I meant the Cove. There hasn’t been a murder reported in years, right?” Dion asked, his growing impatience stirring anxiety in my gut.

Herb shifted the hat back far enough for him to scratch his head. “Last I can recall is when that wraith went rabid, and that was over two years ago. Plenty of bad eggs here, but not murderous ones.”

“Any witnesses?” I asked, my magic humming, desiring to help.

Herb shook his head. “If there was, none have come forward.”

“Wait a minute,” Dion started, snapping his fingers. “Do you know who else is new to town besides Stilts? Erebus.”

Herb’s black orbed eyes widened. “That shadowy feller?”

“Yeah. He ran an organized crime ring in Chicago before moving here. No telling what shit he’s already managed to get into.” Dion wrapped a hand over the grape charm on his necklace.

Fury built between us, all of it emanating from my frenzy god. I slipped a hand over his shoulder to calm him.

“I’ll talk to him, Herb. If he’s behind this, I’ll get it out of him even if I have to filet him with my horns.” Dion’s lip bounced in a snarl.

“Now, there’s no need for you to get mixed up in all this, Dion. I’m the sheriff and I can handle it.” Herb shuffled toward an old rotary phone hanging on the wall.

“It’s not a big deal, Herb. Bus and I go way back in the worst of ways. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Dion held his hand out to me, leading us toward the exit.

Once outside, I rubbed my arms, an eerie chill washing over me from the idea of someone being murdered in the town I now called home. “Something’s bothering me, D.”

“What is it?” Dion cupped my elbow.

“We chose not to go to Herb last night to fucking each other’s brains out instead. Someone was murdered while I was riding you, Dion.”

My magic pulsed from my skin, reacting to the guilt I felt.

Dion frowned and traced my jawline with his thumb. “Don’t go thinking in hindsight about something like this, Red. How the shit were we supposed to know that was going to happen?”

Sighing, because I knew he was right, I hugged myself tighter. “If only I’d been given seer powers.”

“Would you honestly want that? The ability to see into the future? Sure, I guess it’d help in the grand scheme of things, but then there’d be no more surprises.” Dion traced his fingers through my hair, catching on a knot that he took care to comb through.

“I know, I know. I can’t help feeling guilty now that I can use my magic. Not that I’m sure what I would’ve done to stop it if I didn’t know it was going to happen.” A frustrated snarl tickled my throat, and I fought the urge to stomp my foot.

“Come here, mate,” Dion beckoned with burly, open arms.

I hugged him and pressed my ear to his chest, calming myself to the sound of his strong, godly heartbeat.

“Chelsea Stewart?” An unfamiliar female voice called out.

“Who wants to know?” Dion asked in a gruff, protective tone.

Lifting my head, I squeezed Dion’s shoulder. Two women in dark grey dresses and hooded black cloaks stood on the other side of the dirt path. They both had long, wavy chestnut hair, and their facial features were so similar I wondered if they were sisters.

My magic settled over my mind, a similar surge of power emanating from the two women but in different harmony from mine.

Witches.

Moving from behind Dion’s body shield, I gripped his bicep. “They’re witches.”

Dion blinked, and his predatory demeanor relaxed, his shoulders lowering from his ears, hands resting at his sides.

“Yes? That’s me,” I answered, still approaching with caution.

The taller of the two women lowered her hood and took a step forward.

Her jawline was angular, matching the lengthy swoop of her nose.

Her sapphire gaze caught with mine. and I couldn’t decipher if her expression were of sadness or hesitation.

“We wish to speak with you about the possibility of joining our coven.”

My heart fluttered at that prospect.

The other woman stepped beside her but didn’t remove her hood. “Something unfortunately took our third from us last night.”

The pixie. She was a witch.

Guilt tried to gnaw at my bones again. Had fate swapped the pixie’s life for mine to give me a coven? At sisterhood? And if so, why me?

The two witches stared at me in desperate silence. The still hooded woman had dark circles under her eyes like she’d been crying, the tip of her nose rosy red.

Looking at Dion, I parted my lips to ask him what he made of this, but he answered before I could edge a word out.

“You should hear what they have to say, Chels. This could be good for you. I need to go talk to Erebus anyway.” Dion shrugged and gave that snarky smile, suggesting that none of this would come between us.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he whispered, kissing my cheek. “Meet me at the club when you’re done, alright?” Dion waved at the other witches. “Be nice to her, will you?”

“She’s our sister, wine god,” the taller woman answered. “We’d never wish any ill-will toward her, no matter her decision.”

“Your mate will be safe,” the quiet one added.

With a tensed jaw, Dion nodded and gave me one final glance with his captivating amber eyes before porting away.