The Witch and the Wolf, page 28
A smile curves her lips and her gaze falls to my rock-hard cock. “You know this won’t keep me for long.”
“Only need a few minutes,” I growl stalking toward her.
“It’s cute when you forget I can cast spells without my hands.”
I open my mouth to tell her I haven’t forgotten anything, but there’s no point. I’m already the size of a pop can. I lift a paw and let out a long-suffering sigh. A chihuahua? Why is it never a Pitbull or a Shepherd? Those are some badass dogs I can do some damage with.
But no, she has to go small every damn time.
I let out a ferocious yip and head through the trees, racing toward my secret stash before she can curse her way out of the chains. Unfortunately, it takes me longer than I’d planned to get to my rucksack, not having counted on being slowed down by tiny legs, and she blocks me.
“Ready to yield, mate?” She drops to her knees in front of me and holds her hand up, a fireball glowing in her palm.
I sit and lift my paw, giving her the most irresistibly adorable look I can manage. If she’s going to turn me into a tiny terror, I’m going to use every tool at my disposal.
“You know I can’t stand it when you look at me like that.” She reaches for me, picking me up and holding me to her face, rubbing her cheek against my fur. I lick her until she’s laughing, then I launch myself over her shoulder and tumble to the ground behind her.
As she turns to watch me, I shove my body into a hole at the base of a tree where I dig through my rucksack until I come up with the antidote her aunt prepared for me in case of this exact scenario. I take the flask between my teeth and run out of the tree before breaking the seal and lapping at it.
She watches me grow big, and laughs. “Those traitors! Which one of my witchy sisters helped you?”
I reach into the tree trunk and extract an anti-magic collar, snapping it over her neck before she can cast any more spells.
“All of them.” I drag her to me and tear her wedding dress from her. In seconds, I’m lifting her up and slamming her down onto my cock, crushing her in my embrace.
She digs her nails into my back and accepts the rough mating, lifting her hips to meet mine. I tip her back in my arms, baring her breasts for my hunger. My incisors lengthen and I do the thing instinct has been driving me to do from the moment I accepted that Magdalene was mine.
Sinking my teeth into her breast, I tear through her flesh until I taste blood. Her screams of pain are brutal to hear, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll never find the guts to try again. I can bear hearing her agony only once; I will never put myself in a position to hear it again. This is the last time I will willingly harm my mate.
Even as I think it, I feel the wound mending around my bite. She’s fighting the anti-magic collar with her incredible magical strength.
I lift my head and grip her by the neck, holding her face up to mine. “You will not heal yourself, Magdalene. You will accept my bite and you will wear my mark for eternity.”
She shakes her head, her wide blue eyes staining with black as her rage surfaces. “I… can’t… it hurts…”
“You must.” I tighten my hand around her neck and shake her until I see a spark of anger in her gaze and she focuses on my face. “Take your pain and rage out on me.” I release the latch on her anti-magic collar and allow it to fall to the ground.
I see denial in her eyes right before I’m hit by a blast of magic so strong it nearly knocks me off my feet. Still buried inside her, I wrap one arm around her waist and one around her upper back, anchoring her while she curses me out, raining dark magic down upon me.
Her curses land like bullets and I grit my teeth, taking everything she throws at me. My guts feel like snakes, writhing around inside me. My flesh feels like its burning and peeling away from my bones. The pain is more intense than anything I’ve felt before but knowing I’m taking it on so she doesn’t have to gives me strength.
She will pour her rage out on me, I will heal, the mating bite will heal but remain and we can move on to the next chapter of our lives together.
Tree branches swirl around us, slamming into me while I protect my mate with my body, my cock locked inside her, my mark shining with blood and saliva.
Then something inside my mate shifts, an energy I’ve never felt before. I’m blasted away from her, my naked body hurtling through the trees before I hit the ground in a painful heap. I drag my flayed body off the forest floor and crawl back to my mate.
A golden aura surrounds her, lifting her off the ground and cocooning her while a private storm swirls around her, wind whipping through her hair. Her head is tilted back and her arms are floating at her side, her blackened fingers pointed at the earth as magic continues to flow out of her.
It’s exactly what happened when we first initiated the mating bond, when I reached into her soul and allowed our spirits to meet. Maybe this is what happens when a witch and a wolf shifter bond.
Suddenly I’m lifted off the ground and floating toward her. She reaches for me as I reach for her. Though she looks as though she’s still in a trance, she wraps her arms around my waist and presses her face to my chest. As we float to earth together, I feel a stirring deep inside.
Her spirit, a wispy black smoke, is searching for mine. A deep blue essence in the image of my wolf bounds toward the black smoke and hurls itself at her. In an act of unity, our spirits become one, twining for eternity.
Epilogue: Menagerie
NINE YEARS LATER
RUSH
I sit on the edge of the swamp in my wolf form, watching the child wade into stagnant water, his flask clutched in his hand as he searches for tadpoles. He makes a sound of frustration as he tries and fails to catch his prey. The urge to burst through the brush and help him is strong, but he won’t allow it.
My son, Zenneth Wolven-North, is a seven-year-old Warlock.
He prefers solitude, only coming to his family for meals and a warm place to sleep. It’s been a struggle for me to give him the space he needs to grow into the man he’ll one day become, but Magdalene assures me that he’s happy and healthy as he is.
Magdalene is more okay with our son’s anti-social behaviours, but then, she understands magical folk. Warlocks prefer a solitary existence, no matter how much their parents love them. I grew up in a wolf pack, surrounded by four brothers, two parents and countless cousins. We lived in a village filled with wolf shifters. Though I was always more of a lone wolf than any of my brothers, I knew my pack had my back if I needed them. I hope my son will know that too as he grows.
“Yes!”
His happy shout draws my attention and I snuffle my relief as he holds his flask up to the light, examining the creatures captured within. He climbs out of the swamp and sits on the ground, gathering his spell bag to him. Magdalene gave him her old leather spell bag with the stitched-on wolf for his fifth birthday and it’s become his greatest treasure.
One day, hopefully far in the future, Zenneth will walk into the swamps and not return home. He will embark on a solitary immortal life of sorcery and witchcraft. It is the way of Warlocks, or so I’m told. I don’t know what I’ll do when that day comes, but for now, I’m content to watch over him, protecting him as he fulfills the promise his mother and I see in him every day.
As I continue to watch, he lifts his small hands and mutters an incantation. The magical energy swirls around the area and I watch in fascination as he draws all manner of creatures to his side. It’s his favourite spell, one his mother taught him early. He uses it every time he comes out here by himself.
After assuring myself that he’ll be fine, I turn tail and head back to the tower, entering the clearing to find my wife and two of our daughters rolling around in the grass.
Magdalene is on all fours, pretend barking and laughing while our twin daughters, both in their wolf forms, lunge at her, fake nipping at her clothes. Magdalene grabs both of them and tumbles backwards onto the grass in a pile of flailing limbs.
Victoria hops to her feet and, catching sight of me, hurtles in my direction barking like her tail is on fire. Clarissa leaps up, staring around quizzically until she spots me too and follows her sister. Victoria is a yellow streak as she races toward me while Clarissa is a rust-coloured klutz who trips twice before making it to my side.
Climbing to her feet, Magdalene smooths down the ass of her jean shorts and affectionately watches as we tumble onto the grass, me pretending my three-year-old daughters are capable of taking down a full-grown shifter. They’re allowed to play rougher with me than their mother, and they don’t hold back, snapping at me and pretending to tear out my throat.
When my neck is good and soaked from their drool, I push them away and let nature to take over, growing to my full human height as I stride toward my wife who holds her arms out to me, her lips stretching in a wide grin.
We linger over our kiss, sparks igniting as our lips meet, the world fading to a pinpoint as a feeling of rightness comes over me. It’s the same feeling I’ve had every day since I married this woman; that feeling deep in my soul that tells me everything is exactly the way it should be.
That feeling has only grown with the births of each of our children, our home expanding with both love and magic. A lot of magic. We’ve had to add additions onto the house to accommodate everyone, several of which are attached to the tower in a gravity defying spectacle.
“Ew, gross Dad, put some clothes on.”
Magdalene laughs and pulls away from me, turning to greet our eldest daughter, Lillian Good Witch. It’s Friday afternoon and she’s back for the weekend. She spends Tuesday through to Friday afternoons with her Aunt Beatrice, mentoring as a Good Witch.
“Don’t be such a prude, Lils.” Magdalene pulls our nine-year-old into her embrace and then snaps her fingers. I grunt as a pair of jeans magically appear on me. She always makes them just a tad too tight in the crotch.
I wait impatiently for Magdalene to step aside, then drag Lillian into a bear hug, our three-year-old wolf daughters jumping and nipping at us until their favourite sister drops to the ground and gives them each a pet, laughing as they lick her face.
Magdalene wraps her arm around Lillian’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s go inside. You can tell me how Aunt Bea is doing while I fix some supper.”
“She’s awesome! She taught me how to knit grandma’s favourite kind of chain mail and she said she’d show me how to summon spirits next week so I can visit with Lyra Good Witch any time I want.” Lillian’s excited voice continues into the tower as they disappear through the door. “Uncle Fallon! Eighteen!”
Later, after we’ve eaten a supper of roast pork loin for Fallon, Clarissa, Victoria, and me, and butternut squash soup and watercress salad for Magdalene, Zenneth and Lillian, we settle into our weekend evening routine.
Fallon is sprawled out on the hearth rug with an elderly Eighteen, a three-legged cat, and several chickens. Though I would prefer the chickens stay outside, having an adoring menagerie following him around seems to calm Fallon, so we allow it. Magdalene has an excellent scouring spell for the droppings.
Lillian sits in a chair next to the fire, her twin sisters at her feet, one in human form, the other still in wolf form, both looking at her with adoration as she wows them with magical sparkly rainbows and ribbons. Zenneth sits separate from his sisters but close enough to hear them, his precious spell bag clutched to his chest, his wide black eyes watching with fascination. He’ll have all of Lillian’s new spells memorized by the end of the weekend.
Pride swells inside me as I memorize each of my children’s faces. They change so quickly; I don’t want to miss a single detail.
Lillian is vivacious and fun, more like her mother than any of the others. Victoria is sure of herself, fast and fierce. She’ll make a fine wolf shifter female one day. Clarissa is softer, more of a dreamer. She spends more time with me than any of the others, learning from her father while maintaining the softness of her mother.
And Zenneth… our mystery child. The one with the most potential, his high intelligence complementing his skills.
“He’ll be fine,” Magdalene reassures me, reading my thoughts as she drops onto the couch next to me. “He’s more than fine. He’s our son, which means he can’t go wrong. No matter what happens, we’ll watch over him and be there for him if he ever needs us. We’re both professional-level stalkers, so we’ll have no problem tracking him.”
I laugh. “You’re right. Between your crystal ball and my unparalleled sniffing abilities, we’ll make sure he never wants for anything.”
She kisses me, then grows serious. “Nothing means more to me than this family. I’ll use every ounce of power I have to ensure our safety.”
I drag her into my arms, settling her back against my chest where we can watch our family, the warmth of the fire washing over us, the laughter of our children the best accompaniment we could hope for.
I murmur, “I always knew you would break Lyra’s spell.”
She tilts her face up, looking at me quizzically. “But I didn’t break the spell. You remember? I passed out before I could talk to her.”
“You did break the spell,” I insist, waving my hand at the tableau in front of us. “I’m living my happy ever after with my fated mate, which is only possible if the spell was broken.”
Her troubled gaze lands on Fallon. “We don’t know how the spell was broken for us. What about him?”
I suspect the spell was broken the moment she changed; the day Magdalene Good Witch died and Magdalene Rage Witch was born. She changed, which broke the spell and allowed us to fulfill our destiny.
“I’m not worried,” I tell her.
I look at Fallon, whose coat is full and glossy, his muscles strengthened from spending time outdoors with his nieces, teaching them how to hunt and run with a pack; all under my supervision of course.
I say with confidence, “We saw Lyra with our own eyes. She’s out there somewhere and I believe they’ll find each other eventually.”
“You remember what happened the first time he tried to mate with her?” Magdalene asks skeptically. “What’s to stop Lyra from cursing him into wolf hell again?” Then she gives me an exasperated look. “And since when are you the optimistic romantic and me the pessimist? There’s something wrong with this picture.”
Laughing, I force her back to my chest, absorbing her heat and drawing her comforting scent into my lungs. “You did exactly what you set out to do all those years ago when I knocked your house down and took you captive. You made me believe in love.”
She grins at me. “You didn’t stand a chance.”
“And neither will Lyra when Fallon finally catches up to her.” I hold her close as I watch my brother. “This time we won’t let him fuck it up.”
An explosion startles all of us as one of Lillian’s new spells goes wrong. Fallon leaps to his feet, sending chickens screeching in every direction. Silence falls over the group as we stare at each other in surprise, then Zenneth starts giggling, which startles us even further. His laugh is such a rare and beautiful thing. It becomes infectious and soon we’re all laughing, including Fallon, who snuffs and dips his large wolf head.
Magdalene attempts to stand, but I refuse to let her go. She laughs, shakes her head and commands her phone to fly from the kitchen into her hand. She’ll spend the next few hours playing games on her device while I nap with the comfort of her body against mine and our children playing around us. Then, we’ll tuck everyone into bed and make our way up to the tower where I’ll worship every inch of my witch.
I couldn’t imagine a more perfect mating.
THE END
Sneak Peek: Wolf’s Eternal Bride
VANESSA
“I am successful. I am confident. I am powerful. I am strong.” I chant the same words while staring at myself in the mirror, accepting and loving the woman I see in front of me.
The dryer buzzes behind me, causing me to jump and bang my elbow on the counter. “Damn it,” I mutter, turning in the tiny washroom and yanking the door open, pulling out my costume and holding it up to the light. Wrinkle free!
I pull it on, tugging it into place, muttering my lines as I lean into the mirror while applying makeup. “Hi, my name is Lucy. I’m a friend of…” I check the card balancing on the edge of the sink. “I’m a friend of Gail’s from work.” I pause, waiting for the other person to speak, then say, “I’m a software engineer. And you?”
Once I finish with my makeup, I turn a critical eye to my hair. It always looks the same, long, straight, and red. Not the pretty auburn red, but the fire engine, carrot-top red. Still, I’m loath to change it. My mother loved it like this and keeping it as it is makes me feel closer to her.
I run a brush through the locks and step away from the mirror, trying my best to get a sense of the full picture in a square frame that only has the capacity to show about a fourth of me at a time.
“It’s not going to win me an Oscar, but it might get me there one day,” I say to myself in the form of a pep talk, but it makes me feel more depressed. I’ve been in Los Angeles for eight years and this re-occurring gig is the only thing I’ve managed to land besides a few commercials and some minor modeling work.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I rush out of the bathroom, snatching up my keys and purse before heading out the door. I live on the fourth floor of a four-story apartment building that was built sixty years ago and never updated. The door won’t close when I try to lock it behind me and I have to put my weight into tugging on the handle while bracing my feet against the floor. Finally, the door aligns and I’m able to slip the lock into place.
Worried I’m going to be late and get a bad review, I cannon down the stairs, apologizing to a startled Mr. Bowerman who’s forced to leap out of my way as he comes up the stairs with an armload of groceries.
I burst through the front doors of the building and rush into the parking lot, yanking open the door to my beat-up 2006 Volkswagen Jetta hatchback. It’s past it’s prime, but it belonged to my mother and I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I’ll drive it until it dies then I’ll turn it into a monument in my living room.
