Page 13 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

13

SAM

W hen I step outside, the cool night air clings to my skin. The scent of damp earth mingles with the faint tang of pine. I let my senses expand, instinctively searching the shadows for anything out of place. Then I catch something. Faint but unmistakable. Cinnamon. My heart kicks up.

I’ve been craving that scent all damn day. Imagining it lingering on my skin, haunting the air around me. She’s been here and recently. The smell is too fresh to be from this morning, and my pulse quickens as I realize I must have just missed her.

Two minutes. Three, maybe.

Relief tangles with frustration. Why did she come back? Was it for me? Or is she casually strolling through the woods with her new best friend, Helena?

Growling, I sniff the air. The trail leads into the woods, weaving through the trees to my left. I sprint into the shadows, boots crunching the twigs and fallen leaves. The Catskills are massive, vast enough that anyone looking for solitude can find it. But it can’t be solitude she came for, not here.

Moonlight filters through the canopy, casting silver beams on the forest floor. I duck under a low-hanging branch, scanning for movement, listening for the faintest sound as I move. Then I see her. Fifty yards away next to a cedar.

She’s bathed in moonlight, clutching a cluster of leaves beneath her nose. My breath catches. In the middle of a forest, with a thousand questions rattling in my head, and still, I can’t stop staring. I pause, seeing her makes me ache. I’m drawn forward, knowing damn well it’s the stupidest thing I can possibly do.

“Hey,” I call to try and avoid startling her with my approach.

It doesn’t work, she jumps and spins towards me.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, squeezing between two balsam firs and stopping a few feet away. Frustration makes me feel on edge. “It’s not very fair of you.”

“What’s not fair?” she asks, watching me with a haunted look to her eyes.

“Coming here without telling me,” I say, striding closer. Her figure sharpens in the moonlight, every detail pulling me in deeper. “Why’d you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and for a moment, she looks like she might bolt. Her eyes dart away, her fingers twisting the leaves. “I… I wanted to be alone. Needed some time.”

Even though her honesty tugs at me, it still feels like a slap to the face. I also sense there’s something more, something she isn’t saying.

“It’s funny,” I say, forcing a hollow smile. “I kind of figured you’d want some privacy. But I thought you’d choose someplace more your speed.”

“Sam are you kidding?” she asks, shaking her head. “I needed peace and quiet. Where else could I possibly find that if not here?”

I shrug, conceding her point. The woods have always been my escape, too, but the irony of her seeking refuge here, where I’m bound to find her, isn’t lost on me.

“Fair enough.” I say, shrugging. “I guess I should leave you to it, then.”

Her hand falls open, the leaves slipping from her grasp. They make a soft phish as they hit the ground.

“No. Don’t.” Her tone as much as her words stops me cold. “I was going to come talk to you later anyway.”

She lifts a hand to her eyes, pressing her fingertips against her temple as if trying to steady herself. Her breath hitches, barely audible, but the tremor in it is enough to twist something deep in my chest. For a moment, she looks fragile, more fragile than I’ve ever seen her, even when we found the wreckage of her past last night.

“I just… I still… can’t wrap my head around what we found,” she says finally, her voice a thin thread, raw and stretched tight.

The moonlight catches the edge of her profile, highlighting the strain etched into her features. She looks like she’s carrying something too heavy, something that’s been crushing her for far too long.

And there it is. The weight she carries. The one I can see but can’t touch, not without crossing a line I’m not sure I’m ready for. She’s a human, witch or not, it doesn’t change the facts. I know how they are, yet I take a step closer. Following instincts which are warring with my better judgment.

“I’ll bet,” I murmur, stepping closer. The air between us hums, charged with desire. “You’ve been lied to by the people you thought never would. That hurts.”

“There’s more,” she croaks, her voice cracking like dry leaves underfoot. The moonlight catches the sheen in her eyes, pools of silver brimming over. She purses her lips, closes her eyes and whispers to herself more than me. “Here goes nothing.” Her throat bobs, and she exhales, shaky and raw. “I wanted us to be something, and I know that the odds of that went from slim to zero last night. You’re never going to trust me now.”

Her eyes glisten, her lashes spiked with unshed tears. The words punch me, a sharp, unexpected blow. Something claws at my ribs, foreign and unwelcome. This pain, it’s deeper than the body, deeper than bones. Something unseen grips my heart and squeezes, relentless.

I should look away. Shouldn’t let her see this moment of weakness, this flicker that I don’t want to define. Should, but instead, I reach for her. My knuckles brush her fingertips. The contact is as light as a breath, but it ignites something primal.

“That’s not up to you,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.

She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking her head.

“Come on, Sam. Who are you kidding? You don’t trust humans, you trying to tell me there’s any chance in hell you’d trust a witch?”

“I think it’s up to you,” I say, holding her gaze.

Her breath catches. I don’t know what I expect her to say, but she doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. The only sound between us is the wind whispering through the trees, rustling the leaves beneath our feet.

“When I heard you sing,” I continue, watching her closely, “I thought you must be a Siren. That’s why I went to your dressing room. I was going to tell you that, but then you…”

I trail off, unwilling to say what had happened, even this much feels like a confession that I’m not sure I’m ready to give. She blinks, confusion flickering across her face.

“A Siren?” she whispers, like the idea is too foreign to grasp. “Me?”

“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer. Drawn to her despite every bit of reason I have screaming to turn and run. “Sirens, you know, like the ones that would lure sailors in with their voices. The sailors knew better, knew they shouldn’t trust them, but they went anyway.” I hesitate, my pulse pounding. “I want to believe you’re a Siren I can trust, Erica. I really do. So, help me.”

A breath rushes out of her, half-laugh, half-scoff. Then, something changes. She tilts her head up, her eyes searching mine, dark and unreadable. The air between us shifts. Thickens. And then, before I process it, she moves.

Her mouth finds mine, swift and unrelenting. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s heat and urgency, a collision of frustration and longing, of something neither of us can control.

A growl rumbles in my chest. I wrap my arms around, pull her close then press her back with my weight. We come up against the rough bark of the tree, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. Her hands find my face, her thumbs skim over my cheekbones, tracing the line of my stubble. A single thought pulses in my head.

Conquer. Mark her as mine.

I shudder, fighting it, fighting myself. But my restraint is slipping. And I don’t know if I want to hold on.

Five words. Two commands from my beast echo through my insides, fusing with his satisfied rumbles.

Take. Claim. Make her ours.

Refusing isn’t an option. Not with her in my arms, her scent flooding my senses, making it impossible to think of anything but her .

My hand slips beneath the fabric of her blouse, and damn. Silken warmth meets my palm, a softness that threatens to undo me. She gasps, breathless, her fingers tightening on my face, her body arching--

Yes. No.

I’m on the razor’s edge. One step forward, and there’ll be no turning back. One step back, and I may lose her completely.

Which is worse?

Her breath, hot against my lips, is all the answer I need.