Like many, he'd pronounced her name wrong, saying A-slin instead of I-slin as her mother intended, but she didn't bother correcting him, too preoccupied with the notion that she should be running inside to care. There was a glint in the stranger's blue eyes that spoke of malicious intent, and the only reason she hadn't already darted off was the sense that such a move would trigger a violent reaction.
So she merely answered, “Maybe, why? Who are you?”
Despite her clipped tone, he was getting closer with no signs of slowing down. So Aislinn backed up a step—and he reacted.
Quickly, the man rushed forward and reached out, grabbing her wrist in a tight squeeze, then tugged her down the stairs before she could register what had happened. As she stumbled forward, her right ankle twisted painfully in her heels, but she never hit the ground. Instead, her assailant jerked her around to slam against the brick wall, causing pain to shoot through her skull on impact.
Temporarily blinded by it, not to mention fighting to ignore the pain in her ankle, Aislinn lifted her knee to hopefully connect with his groin. Sadly, the blow landed on his thigh in her disorientation, and she simultaneously felt something cold and sharp against her throat.
“Stay still, bitch,” he commanded roughly. “It's your fault Rachel left!”
Rachel? So that's who this is, Aislinn thought, remembering his name was Russell from the reading she'd given his ex-girlfriend—a reading that said he was bad news. Now she was more convinced than ever that telling Rachel to get the hell away from him had been the best advice she'd ever given, and decided a hex was right up his alley.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Aislinn hissed, readying her magic to knock him backwards and escape.
But she didn't have time to summon the force. Instead, Russell's palm connected with her cheek, knocking her head to the side as he snapped, “Shut up! Stupid bitch, you know where she went, and if you don't tell me, I'll fucking—”
The threat was cut off when his throat was snagged in a tight grip from his right side. Aislinn looked up to see Troy glaring down at the human with all the fires of hell burning in his glowing orange eyes.
He wasn't fully ferine, but it didn't make him any less intimidating when he tugged Russell's knife away to prevent him from hurting her. Following the movement, Troy slammed his own fist into the human's head so hard it knocked him unconscious.
Immediately, Russell went limp and collapsed to the cement, but it wasn't enough for the werewolf, who moved in to do even more damage.
“Troy, stop!” Aislinn exclaimed, grasping the back of his jacket.
At her request, he hesitated, snarling on a more guttural tone than normal, “He struck you.”
“But I'm okay,” she argued, “and he could turn this around somehow.”
There was nothing but malice in Troy's voice when he growled, “Not if he's dead.”
“No! We don't need the kind of bullshit that would come with you killing a human, so just let me handle it.”
“How?”
“Get me some of his hair,” she directed, then added more pointedly, “and trust me.”
Troy grumbled, but did as she asked, using Russell's knife to cut off a lock of hair to hand over. But even after he stood, he was still glaring at the human as if wanting to tear him limb from limb.
Aislinn quickly stuffed the hair into her coat pocket and reached up, placing her hand on Troy's cheek to turn his face to hers. Once his orange eyes met her gaze, she saw for certain that he wasn't fully turned, only on the cusp in a manner similar to the way lupines reacted when they were pissed off. He even had fangs in his mouth, but his face was more human than animal.
“Are you gonna be okay?” she asked softly.
“You're asking me?” he responded, and began looking her over to check for injuries.
“I'm fine. I just twisted my ankle and might need some help getting upstairs, but—oh!” she gasped when Troy leaned down to lift her without question.
He put little effort into the movement, and she grabbed his shoulders with both of her legs draped over his left arm as he began carrying her up to her apartment. On the way, she glanced back at Russell, still sprawled out on the pavement, and then turned her gaze to her savior, having to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
I could get used to having Troy around.
Only two things stopped Troy from slaughtering the human who'd struck Aislinn. The first was her request for trust.
The second? His target was unconscious and wouldn't experience any pain.
So he focused his energy on helping his mate instead of murdering a mortal, and scooped her up to carry upstairs. At the top landing, she tugged her keys out and opened the door for them, then reached inside of the entryway to flip the light switch.
Carrying her in, Troy kicked the door shut with his foot and transported her to the couch, crouching to inspect her injury after she was settled. Gently lifting her right leg, it was difficult not to simply stare at how shapely they both were, and Aislinn didn't seem inclined to stop him either—at least, until he took her ankle and gently rolled her foot around.
“Don't,” she rushed out, and at his concerned expression, quickly reassured him, “It's not bad, I just need some tonic.”
She tried to get up, but Troy stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, countering, “Just tell me where it is.”
Aislinn pursed her lips, suggesting she didn't want to be waited on, so he returned his own stubborn look, refusing to bend when he wasn't certain of human resilience, or just how much pain she might actually be in despite her claim that it wasn't much. Thankfully, she seemed to realize he wasn't backing down because she finally conceded, directing him to grab her altar box from the storage room downstairs.
Promising to be right back, Troy stood to retrieve the item, and it was only then that he took the time to look around her apartment. Unlike her car, there weren't fairies and butterflies all over the place, but to someone who was used to the supernatural world, it was easy to tell a witch lived there. The décor gave off a somewhat antique sense, possessing a lot of deep earth tones in the wooden floors and furniture, while the walls were a rich shade of burgundy.
It also wasn't too large. The living room was adjoined with the kitchen where bundles of herbs had been tied up over the counter to dry out. Candles of different shapes and sizes were settled in various places, and there was a cabinet in the corner across from the couch with a permanent altar settled on top where Aislinn probably conducted most of her spells and meditations.
At her direction, Troy headed to a door standing left of the entryway that looked like a coat closet, but actually led down to her storage room. Yet, in getting the sense that Aislinn wouldn't be content to let him wait on her, he explicitly instructed before exiting, “Don't move.”
She quirked a brow as he went downstairs, thankful it took little time to locate the wooden box she'd described because it was sitting on the counter near the sink in plain sight. Grabbing it, he returned to her apartment, walking through the door just in time to catch his witch quickly jumping over the back of the couch as if she'd heard him coming.
Aislinn landed in her seat with a soda can in hand, her high heels haphazardly laying on the floor nearby, proving she'd tugged them off in a hurry to do as she pleased before he returned. Further indication of her disobedience came in the innocent smile she offered to soften his irritation.
Though the look amused him, Troy hid it by rolling his eyes and muttering, “I told you to stay put.”
“There's nothing wrong with my left ankle,” she retorted. “Besides, I wanted something to drink.”
“I could've gotten it for you,” he retorted, walking over to place the altar box in her lap.
“It's fine, Troy, my healing tonic will have it fixed up soon,” she reiterated, retrieving the vial of healing tonic from the box, followed by placing it on the coffee table along with the lock of her attacker's hair.
While she chased a dose
of the mixture with her soda, Troy inquired, “Do you even know who that human was?”
“Sort of,” Aislinn muttered, explaining that his name was Russell, and she'd apparently pissed him off by advising his ex-girlfriend to leave town due to his abusive nature. “It's not the first time someone's gotten upset with me. It just means I need to redo my shop's wards.”
“You've been attacked before?”
He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, and Aislinn sighed as if he was being unreasonable. “No. Usually, people with violent intentions are turned away by my wards, like I said.”
As true as that may have been, Troy wasn't sure her casual attitude suited the situation, pointing out, “He could've killed you, Aislinn.”
Still, she merely shook her head, explaining on a confident tone of voice, “I sensed his intentions. He didn't have the stones to kill me, just hurt me.”
“And that's supposed to make it better?”
Maybe it was his instinctive need to protect his mate, or perhaps he just wanted more rectification than merely knocking Russell unconscious, but he couldn't let this go as easily as she seemed to be able to do.
“Don't get overprotective,” Aislinn started. “I could've handled him myself, you just showed up before I got a chance. Besides, he'll never come back after I use his hair.”
At that, Troy did start feeling a bit better, reminded that most witches weren't helpless and, in fact, could be rather vicious when dealing out retribution. But he wasn't fully convinced, glancing curiously at her altar box with the question, “What are you gonna do to him?”
“Just cast a banishing spell that's handy for dealing with bullies.” Following her explanation, Aislinn turned and scooted down onto the floor where she pushed her legs beneath the coffee table, adding, “I need to cast it now though, otherwise he could wake up and come back. Shouldn't take too long.”
“Sounds like you've done it before.”
“Plenty of times,” she confirmed with confidence, pulling a few items out to settle on the table.
Hearing this, Troy decided to show a little more faith in her abilities and wait to see how this turned out before potentially sticking his foot in his mouth. Protective instincts or not, Aislinn seemed self-reliant, and probably wouldn't take kindly to being watched over.
But that didn't stop him from grabbing a throw pillow from the couch to take to the opposite side of the coffee table and place her right foot upon it.
She looked amused by his concern, asking, “You really think I'm gonna make my ankle worse by just sitting here?”
“Never hurts to be careful. I haven't spent much time around humans recently, and I don't exactly remember how resilient you are.”
Going through her box for the supplies she needed, Aislinn mentioned, “I can't vouch for all of us, but I'm tougher than I look. I can also take care of myself despite what some bigger, badder supernaturals think.”
The comment was obviously meant for him specifically, proving she wasn't oblivious to his doubts, particularly when she added, “So if you wanna make yourself useful, hit the lights, then just watch and learn.”
Troy couldn't help his stare. Aislinn's spirited attitude made his heart thud—and also sealed her fate. Nothing would ever change the fact that she was his mate, but in that moment, it didn't matter.
Mate or not, he wanted this woman.
Hitting the lights at her request, the apartment was cast into a brief darkness that ended when the candles lit themselves under Aislinn's influence. Troy was starting to get used to it, inquiring, “Need anything else?”
She considered it while lighting some incense in one of the candles settled on her coffee table. Once the stem was smoking, sending a sharp, unfamiliar aroma through the apartment, she answered, “Actually, yeah. Go to the window and keep an eye on Russell, make sure he leaves if he wakes up.”
That seemed reasonable, and Troy stepped over to look outside, finding Russell still laying on the pavement near the steps.
In the meantime, Aislinn tugged a flat bowl from her box, and a few vials. Most of them contained crushed herbs, but the last, which she set aside, was filled with a murky brown liquid.
Mixing the herbs together in the bowl, she began speaking in Latin, and the moment her words sounded, Troy sensed a change in the room as if the air had shifted. Knowing it was the magical energy she was calling forth, he watched the scene unfolding with interest.
Continuing her chant, she finally opened the vial of murky liquid and turned it over the herbs, letting several drops fall down into the bowl. Troy wasn't exactly fluent in Latin, but he picked up on some of what she was saying—including Russell's name—and it wasn't a friendly chant.
Just then, he noticed movement outside, and looked again to see that the human was finally starting to stir. Pushing himself up to his knees, Russell pressed a hand against his head, but Troy decided not to make note of the human's return to consciousness. If Aislinn's spell worked, Russell would take off, and her chant was growing more intense, echoes of her words eerily whispering into the air with a power that sent vibrations through the floor.
Her eyes had also turned starkly white just as all witch's did when they were successfully focusing energy into their Craft, and she lifted one of the burning candles on the coffee table to place the lit wick against the substance in the bowl.
The fire caught quickly, flashing brightly upward in a brief whoosh before Aislinn returned candle to the table, then grabbed Russell's hair. Lifting it before her white eyes, her voice reverberated with energy when she announced in English, “I banish you, Russell, to forever avoid my presence in all forms, at all times, and in all ways. Ita est et nunc et in perpetuum.” It is so now and forever.
She released the lock of hair, which hit the burning mixture, causing the flames to once again roar upward in a bright flash. With it, a foul scent permeated the apartment, and Troy looked outside to see that Russell, who'd just staggered to his feet, was now glancing around dubiously.
“And … there he goes,” Troy remarked in amusement as the human took off, hastily exiting the alley. Grinning, he turned his attention back to Aislinn, adding, “I wonder if he's ever run from something so fast.”
With her blue eyes returning to normal, Aislinn smiled, stating, “Probably not.” Then she cringed and waved her hand, muttering, “I just wish this spell didn't stink so bad.”
“Is it too cold outside to open the window for a while?”
“Not at all,” she announced, apparently prepared to deal with a drop in temperature if it meant airing the place out. “Hit the lights again while you're at it.”
Troy did just that, and a moment later, the lamp on the end table was drowning out that of the candles. It was disappointing considering the flames set such a nice mood, but then again, who could really focus on romance with a smell resembling rotting garbage wafting through the air?
Still, the scent was thankfully clearing out swiftly, and as Troy approached the couch, Aislinn was trying to hoist herself back up onto it. Without pause, he leaned down to lift her up and settle on the cushions sideways, and she didn't seem to mind, even thanked him for the assistance as he turned to sit on the opposite end.
Yet when he glanced at her face, she was giving him a peculiar, even scrutinizing look.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she drew out, “just wondering if you feel any better now.”
Troy knew she was asking about his doubts over her safety, and pulled her feet into his lap without question while considering his answer. He was definitely more convinced, but also got the feeling she thought he'd doubted her in particular, which simply wasn't true.
He'd just have to set her straight on the matter.
Chapter 11
Troy Ashland was more than he appeared to be.
Not that Aislinn could concentrate on her speculations when the werewolf started giving her a skillful foot massage—and she wasn't complaining. The way his thumbs kneade
d the arch nearly made her groan as he answered her question.
“I never doubted you, Aislinn, I just wasn't convinced you were as safe as you let on. But yeah, I feel better now.”
She was glad to hear it, though his concern with her safety wasn't so surprising. If werewolves were at all similar to mated lupines, then Troy probably possessed protective instincts he couldn't easily ignore. Aislinn just wished he hadn't happened upon her on a night where she was actually physically assaulted because normally, her protection wards kept that kind of thing from happening altogether.
But the thought of his sudden appearance during Russell's confrontation prompted her to ask, “When did you get here, anyway? I didn't see you when I drove up.”
“Hodgins told me he was letting you off early, and I came to wait,” he explained. “I just parked on the other side of the building so I wouldn't block you.”
Then her earlier premonition was accurate—a relieving thought after all the doubt she'd experienced over her abilities lately. Additionally, the banishing spell she'd just cast had been much easier to pull off than other more recent magical endeavors. Her focus hadn't been riddled with doubts, and the only reason she could surmise over why was Troy's presence, reminding her of her speculations.
Aislinn wasn't entirely certain, but it seemed as if the werewolf was actually her familiar—an entity a witch forged a connection to that helped to focus their magic and offer it a bit of strength. Not all witches could claim to have such an asset because that type of bond couldn't be created or coerced, it was simply there, and grew as time passed.
The development was certainly unexpected, and she'd have to cast a few more spells with Troy around to be certain, but there it was. Aislinn also wondered if the way he saw her as his mate played a part in it.
Still, until she knew how he looked at whatever was between them, it seemed like a bad idea tell him the truth. Troy might mistake it as a sign of interest, and she had several questions to ask before she could really get an idea of her actual position on the matter of being his mate.
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