by Jayla Kane
“You’re a witch?” The Sheriff cut his eyes at me from his peripheral vision, never meeting my gaze; it drove me frickin’ crazy, to be honest, but I was starting to get that maybe I didn’t understand what was really going on with werewolves. Now that I thought about it, there were a number of things these people did when they talked that seemed weird to me. I was definitely out of my comfort zone here.
“Yep,” I said, feeling strangely defensive.
“But not a healer,” he said, frowning into the distance. “There’s things about healers in the lore, the old stories, but healing ain’t bringing people back from the dead.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I guess I’m a healer? Maybe? Not a very talented one, if we’re being honest.”
“Witches aren’t typically known for honesty, either,” he said, but his voice was mild, his eyes on Hunter now. “But y’all don’t strike me as typical witches.” He tucked his hands into his belt and sighed, glancing at the wolves on either side of him, their ruffs bristling as they snarled at Hunter. I didn’t think they could even help it. He was a threat, pure and simple, and he stared right back at them, his lips curled over massive canines. “Shoulda known,” the Sheriff continued, easy in his stance. “Mr. Warfield had to evaporate all the trees in this clearing before I could wrap my head around what I was seeing. He wouldn’t fight, see.” The Sheriff rolled his eyes, and the wolves huffed, as if that were ridiculous. “We don’t trust folks who don’t fight. But I got his point after he turned about a dozen fifty-foot pines into dust.”
“He’s a good man,” I started, but the Sheriff waved me off.
“I know what he is,” he said, indifferent. “I’m pretty sure I know what y’all are, too.” He held out a hand to Hunter. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Welcome to Buckeye.” Hunter hesitantly reached out with his mangled claws, and the Sheriff grinned at him for the first time. “Shoulda seen Warfield dodge that handshake. Funniest damn thing I ever saw, looked like a goddamn dance move. Felt like I was asking him to prom.” I imagined Tristan, so careful to avoid human contact, and hid a smile. “Made him do it though,” the Sheriff continued, gently shaking Hunter’s hand. “That’s the deal. You’re one of us, or you’re not.” To my surprise, he turned and offered his hand to me; the wolves on either side instantly relaxed when he released Hunter. I snuck a look and saw his eyes darkening, then quickly reached out and grasped the Sheriff’s hand, giving it a firm shake before letting go and stepping back. He nodded at me, his eyes back on Hunter.
“You’re getting the idea, miss,” he said, and that single word made me wish I was back in the cabin, back doing… What I was suddenly sure I knew I wanted to be doing, and how I wanted to do it. I snuck a quick glance at Hunter, and was surprised when I saw the Sheriff’s silver eyes glinting at me, as if he’d read my thoughts.
Maybe he read Hunter’s.
“Y’all go on now,” he said, the corner of his mouth easing up. The other wolves whined and looked longingly at the food on the other side of the clearing. “I’d invite you to dinner but I feel it’d be more friendly like to just send you on home.” He abruptly turned his back and sauntered off, one hand in the air. “Get along now.”
And then it was just Hunter and I in the snow. I grabbed his bloody, clawed hand and pushed myself against his chest; he was healed in a second, his body thrumming with my power in the space of a breath. I saw his eyes widen as he felt the pain leave him and was glad, not for the first time, for what I could do. “Take me back,” I whispered, and the catch in my voice drew his eyes to my face. “Take me right back, and don’t do anything but touch me, Hunter Black—don’t shower, don’t eat, don’t ask if I’m alright. You take me back to your place, just like this,” I told him, running my fingertips over his wolfen face, “and you fuck me. Right now.”
He didn’t ask any questions. He just wrapped his arms around me and when I blinked, I was looking back at him from inside the cabin.
“Now,” I said again, and reached for his pants.
Chapter Fourteen
Baby
I came so easily for him.
Imagine: it is the first time you’ve ever been touched like this, the first time someone has been inside of you—that’s what I was pretending, and it wasn’t hard, because it didn’t feel like… Like I was worried it would. It hurt—that was the first difference. My heels were propped up on the counter and my weight was on my ass and my hands were holding me up from behind and my legs were as far apart as I could get them and… Hunter was so big. So big. He was inside of me after only a moment’s hesitation, and I knew it was different. I knew I had to still be a virgin, maybe, in that second, because when the head of his cock pushed inside I felt my whole body clench. It hurt.
It was different. It was new.
And it was Hunter.
He stood perfectly still for a second, watching me, waiting, and when I was able to open my eyes and nod up at him he came a step closer—just one tiny step—and slid a little further inside. And then he didn’t move his body again. I felt my chest rising and falling, rising and falling, the relief I felt impossible to describe—this wasn’t like before, this was nothing like before—and then my thoughts started to fall away completely, because Hunter reached out and touched me.
He didn’t speak. He could tell I was sorting through a lot in my head, and I think it took a lot for him to stay inside of me; I knew he thought we were moving too fast.
But he’d promised me, and he’d be damned before he broke it.
So instead of withdrawing, he held perfectly still inside of me, letting me stretch, and then he reached out with those strong, long-fingered hands, knuckles swollen and scabbed, and he unzipped my jacket. And then he ran his hands over my shirt while I hissed in a breath—forgetting more, forgetting more things every second—and cupped my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples through the fabric of my shirt.
Imagine: you feel real desire for the first time since the last time he touched you. Like a torch, it illuminates you from the inside, throwing light on feelings you were so scared you would never find again, and there they are—there you are.
Hunter tugged my shirt up over my breasts.
He sighed and ran a finger beneath them to free them from the cup of my bra.
And then he touched me, rough hands on my bare skin, my nipples growing harder and harder, till they ached, and then he slid a little further inside… His thumb brushed my lips and my head was tipping backward and he laced his fingers through the hair on my nape… My eyes are closing, because it feels good now, it feels good to be full of him… His other hand traces over my nipples, teasing them lightly, and then I feel it leave and blink, forcing my eyes open… He sucks on his thumb, his eyes bright, his other hand cupping the back of my head…
Hunter reaches down and circles my clit with the damp pad of his thumb and slips further inside of me, and that is when I know I’m about to cum for him.
That’s when I know for sure everything is different.
I forget someone else was here, once; I forget they existed, that they hurt me and then Hunter ripped them to shreds. I forget all of that. I can only think about what is happening, right now, and it feels like I am having sex for the very first time, with the man I love: he is spreading me open, dipping in and out, faster now, his thumb careful and sure as he guides me over the edge. My nipples beg to be touched, to be licked by him, but I can’t find the words to say it—my eyes are closed, my heart is slamming in my chest, and I hear the sounds coming out of my mouth but they aren’t words.
My mouth misses his mouth.
My body needs his body.
“Cum for me, sugar,” he whispers, and I have no choice in the matter, none at all. I slide over the edge, my body clenching as I scream, and my only coherent thought is that I am so glad it was him. Hunter, my lover—I am so glad he is the one to do this for the first time with me. For me.
It lasted less than five minutes. Maybe thr
ee. He pulled out of me as soon as I was done and immediately picked me up, his hands under my ass and clutching my waist, heedless of the jeans still caught at his knees; he carried me back to the bedroom and sat me on the edge of the bed, then carefully finished undressing me while I fought to stay conscious. I haven’t had an orgasm since the last time he gave me one; my whole body was asleep. It isn’t exhaustion that I feel right now, though—it’s overstimulation. I blink at the snow outside, the bright white sparkling in the moonlight, and notice the tracks of blood on Hunter for the first time as he’s easing my jeans over my ankles. “I got it,” I murmur, and start yanking my clothes off; he backs away, watching me.
And I realize he is afraid.
I don’t know what he was afraid of—I’m sure I’ll never get those kinds of specifics out of him. He pulled his pants back up, but I know he didn’t finish; they’re unbuttoned, as if he’s not sure I’ll tell him to sleep on the couch or just get the hell out and he might need to move fast. His face is completely unreadable, as blank as it can get. He doesn’t move at all, standing four feet away, his eyes tracking my movements as I strip. When I stop moving and look up at him, he holds perfectly still for what feels like a very long time. “Do you want to shower?” His voice isn’t soft; it’s not sweet. It’s just… Blank. Purposefully, carefully blank. As if he wants to make sure he doesn’t lead me in any direction—as if he has to keep himself separate from me now, and wait. As if I were volatile, or fragile.
As if he’s not.
“Come sit next to me,” I whisper, and pat the bed. Hunter just had sex with me, just gave me an orgasm, and I am completely naked on the duvet, but he is fully dressed and barely flushed. His eyes don’t dart down to take me in, and there’s no lust in his expression. He swallows, hard, and then the mattress dips down beside me as he settles there. I take a minute to study his face, marveling at the absolute absence of any emotion, and then, when I’m ready, I twist my body to face his. When I reach down and grab his big hands and pull them into my lap, it forces his body to twist towards mine. And then we are in the same position we were in that fateful night in the cell, when I knew I could love him.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, his eyes a glimmer in the moonlight. “Nothing.”
“Hunter…” It’s my turn to get nervous. “I know that wasn’t what you were expecting—”
“Baby, it’s fine,” he says, and now there is a softness to his voice, an earnestness, and I look up and find his eyes lock onto mine. His hands tighten on mine too. “It’s fine.”
“But—”
“I want to do whatever you want to do,” he tells me, and I choke back a sob of relief—I needed to hear that again, for some reason; I needed to know he still wanted me at all, some small, torn piece of me still unsure.
“Hunter…” I try to think of how to explain it to him. How to help it all make sense. I peer up at his eyes, trying to find an angle in the moonlight that lets me see the colors I love so much, their singularity so perfectly Hunter. “I love so many things about you,” I whisper, and he freezes, taken completely off-guard. “I love the way you smell, and the way your hands feel—I love your callouses, as weird as that sounds. And I love… I love the texture of your skin, the places where I can feel the scarring from your tattoos. And other things,” I tell him, and his eyes are huge, his attention rapt. “I love your voice. Just the little changes in how you breathe, sometimes, they…” I smile, and realize I am crying a little bit at the same time. “I love hearing you laugh. That’s my favorite.” I stopped for a minute, smeared the tears off of my cheeks, and met his gaze again. “I am not afraid, not any more. Because of you. I know that… That wasn’t what you pictured, before. I know you don’t love yourself when you look like that—when you’ve been doing that,” I said, and he turned sharply away, ashamed of his instincts, of the blood-letting, and then met my face again with a hard line in his jaw. “But I love you,” I whispered, and Hunter Black, the biggest, strongest man I have ever met in my life, sucked in a breath so sharply I knew his throat must hurt. “I love you when you’re like that, and all the rest of the time, too.” We stared at each other. “You said you want it to feel the same? You wanted me to be able to feel the same way you feel, when we’re together?” He swallowed hard, nodded, one tear tracking down his cheek in the moonlight. “Well, I do too. I want that too,” I whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “I don’t want you to be afraid, Hunter. Not of me. I’m not afraid—I’m with you.” He tilted his face into my palm, his breath quick. “How could I be?”
And we stay like that for a little while, his hands in mine, and I know it will be alright.
It will all be alright.
Chapter Fifteen
Hunter
I thought Jake was crazy, once upon a time. I remembered him going on and on, drunk as a skunk, saying we should go to Tijuana one minute and then ranting about Raven the next—I had to grab him just to keep him from falling off the gate of the truck bed more than once. He was all fucked up. Prom was happening the next weekend and the poor bastard was all in his head about it, and then he got so drunk the words started falling out of his mouth. And I knew, knew for sure, for the first time I really felt it in my bones: Jake was in love with Raven Keller.
My father never loved Stacy, and she never loved him. They were friendly sometimes and they understood one another, but it was basically a business arrangement that went sour fast. My grandparents might have loved one another, but I couldn’t remember. Not with the eyes of a man, not as someone who could have understood the difference between obligation and habit, and love.
The way I felt about Baby…
Once upon a time, I thought she put a spark in me, a seed, that she intended to burn me alive from the inside out. On the day I died, I thought it would save me—that what she put inside of me was the only way I would ever understand happiness, the only way I would ever feel anything in life besides well-worn duty. Responsibility. Obligation. The rare tenderness of paternal love for my sister, the affection I had for Jake. Because without her I was made to be alone, made for the wilderness, the emptiness of a life lived wholly alone, completely, deliberately alone.
Now I was sure.
I didn’t need her to tell me how she felt; it didn’t have anything to do with what I felt, as strange as that might sound. My love for her was contingent on nothing else; it existed before we met, before I ever saw her face. It was already planted in my chest, an idea that never could have awakened without her, and when she showed up in my driveway that was it. That was all it took for the seed to grow, for the spark to light. That was all I really needed to know I would love her forever. Just one look, one minute watching her turn on her heel in the late afternoon light.
I was made to love Artemis Keller until the day I died, and beyond—more than once, apparently. Forever.
I was made for this. For her.
“Go shower?” She was still holding my hand, curled up in a little ball on the bed with her knees tucked under her chin; I’d never seen her look so young. She had one palm wrapped around her legs and the other one tightly clenching my hand, so much strength in those little fingers of hers that I thought they might bruise. And I did not care. I nodded and leaned down to kiss her cheek, but she twisted her head at the last minute and our lips met. It’s hard to describe what that tiny moment did to me. For me.
“You coming?” I slid off of the bed, then went around the room and checked the curtains; they covered every window except the biggest one, which had a rod in the middle that gave us some privacy while letting in the moonlight. I thought she’d like that, back when I was setting up the cabin; Tristan, I suspect, never covered the windows so he could keep an eye on everything at all times. It was wise, but as long as the pack kept their word I knew she and I would be safe. And tonight, for once, I had other things on my mind besides my ever-present safety concerns.
That wasn’t the way I imagined it, back when
I held her for the first time, when I realized I had a chance. I imagined us at the mansion, maybe, under some kind of spell that would make sure we were totally private, a bubble around us, no chance of interruption for hours; I imagined laying her down on a big, silky bed, maybe after a fancy dinner or a movie. I never thought it would be when my canines were out, when I had to wait for my claws to retract to touch her flawless gold skin. I never thought we would spend so much time covered in blood.
She was right; it hadn’t been what I wanted. And that was okay. I understood why she needed it like that—I got it.
A part of me was even a little bit grateful—for the first time ever—for my curse. There was no way her body would mistake mine for anyone else.
“No,” she said softly, her head still resting on her knees, her curves hidden. “Don’t be long, okay?”
I realized it was probably better that she not shower for very unromantic reasons, what with my size and all, and went in to the bathroom. She might not want to try again, but if she did she’d need as much lubrication as her body could produce; I hadn’t really anticipated how small she would be. I mean, Baby is not a petite girl. She looked like a fucking amazon warrior, striding across that ring with her chin up. She was only about five nine, but she was so strong, so athletic… But yeah, she was also only an eighteen year old girl, and her body was…
Fucking perfect, I thought, my dick so hard I banged it into the shower curtain. I glanced back at my bed and she was staring up at the moon, a peaceful look on her beautiful face as she rested her head on her knees, her body tucked in tightly. Yeah, that might be it for the night, I thought, and prepared myself to try and sleep in spite of the flexing hormones racing through my body—residual adrenaline, dopamine, whatever that shit is that she does to my brain. Serotonin, maybe.
