Witch Hunt

by Layla Nash

  I had to pull at the hem of the coat to get it free from where Miles sat on it, then shed the damn thing so I could breathe. It was too warm out for a jacket. The alpha ignored it and draped his arm along the back of the seat, possessive and relaxed and completely unconcerned. It was so damn infuriating I wanted to laugh. What kind of cosmic joke was he? Surely the universe was trying to tell me something by putting Miles Evershaw in my path.

  “Don’t you think taking four cars is kind of overkill?”

  His arm moved just enough so he could slide his fingers into my hair, not quite tousling it but instead rubbing my scalp until it was almost endearing instead of just annoying. “Nope.”

  “I have a lot of yard work they could do for me instead of just standing around,” I said. “Can I put them to work?”

  “They’re already working,” he said. He squeezed the back of my neck and tugged on my completely disturbed ponytail. “Keeping your ass safe. Don’t distract them.”

  I slid down the seat so I could re-do my ponytail without elbowing him in the face—although he would have deserved it. “No one’s trying to kill me, sugar. Maybe if they’d focused on keeping your ass safe instead, none of us would be in our current predicament.”

  Todd laughed but coughed pretty quickly to cover it up.

  Miles ignored him and wrapped the new ponytail around his fist as he leaned closer, his eyes so intense they made my stomach swerve out of place and drop out the bottom of the SUV. He tugged on my hair again and murmured in my ear, “But that’s why I’ve got you. Sugar.”

  The SUV suddenly whipped into a hard right turn that sent both Miles and I sprawling.

  “Sorry,” Todd said, deadpan. “Pothole.”

  Miles muttered really unkind things under his breath about his cousin, though he sat up and stopped fussing with my hair. I’d never have pegged Miles as the kind of guy who’d go in for PDA in front of anyone, much less his family. I wanted to tease him about it or at least egg him on a bit, but before I could figure out the best way to needle him, the SUVs pulled up in front of my house. Plus I didn’t want Todd to roll the SUV when he tried to make us slide together or collide at the lips.

  I exhaled in relief at the thought of finally stepping into my garden and reached for the door handle next to me. Before I could do more than crack the door open, Miles leaned across me to whip it shut and lock it. Which left his face very close to mine. His hand cradled my jaw and he looked both very serious and very sweet at the same time. “Never get out on that side.”

  His gaze held me captive with that spark that could have been love blazing right in their center. I managed to whisper, “Why not?”

  “Because all the security will be on this side.” He tilted his head back at his side. “And I’ll be on this side. Someone could drive up on the other side and grab you and go, and I wouldn’t be able to get to you fast enough.”

  It seemed like perfectly sound reasoning. Sort of. If one were really concerned about being snatched off the street in the middle of the day. I would have laughed, but they’d pretty much done that to me. “But no one’s trying to grab me, Miles.”

  “Not yet.” He leaned forward enough to press a kiss on my forehead, then he exhaled and released me. “That we know of.”

  I rolled my eyes and shoved him toward the open door. “For God’s sake, Miles, no one’s going to kidnap me. I don’t have enemies like you do.”

  “That’s where you might be wrong,” he said. Miles got out of the car and blocked the door so I couldn’t get out until he’d looked around and his team cleared the area for any possible dangers. Then he held my hand to help me stand, putting his arm around my waist as we walked up toward the front porch.

  “Don’t start being an overprotective asshole,” I said. I ducked out of his embrace and went around the side of the house to the greenhouse and garden. At least my shears and basket and watering can were all still in the ramshackle shed. I didn’t want any of that sheltered bullshit or kid-glove treatment.

  The rest of the wolves dispersed throughout the yard and into the house, with only Miles and Mercy remaining nearby. He observed in silence as I handed Mercy gloves and led the way into the greenhouse. We started watering plants and trimming some back, and I told her which ones to trim and what to gather. It took about twenty minutes of Miles’s silent scrutiny to get my nerves all tangled up, so I handed him the hose and put him to work watering the rest of the plants in the garden as Mercy and I finished gathering herbs.

  He did not look at all pleased.

  He even complained a bit under his breath, since apparently some of his guys outside gave him shit about watering my plants. And Mercy giggled the whole time we gathered herbs. I tied up bundles of all the regular herbs I’d need for spells to remove curses and conduct cleansing rituals, then went through my mental archive of more unique spells to see what else I might possibly need. I hadn’t done much work with hexes and curses after learning how to make them, since I didn’t want to stack up bad karma, but they took a lot of effort to undo. I needed to check some books upstairs before we left, just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

  I hummed under my breath and filled the basket, then nodded at the door. “I need to get a few outside and then we should be...”

  I trailed off as I caught sight of Miles standing in front of the poisoner’s garden section, and a knot formed in my throat. Hopefully he hadn’t touched any of the plants, although... I handed the basket to Mercy and made my way over to where the alpha stood and studied the tangle of spiny and prickly and bright plants. I cleared my throat and edged around him to move the small gate so I could retrieve some wolf’s bane, snakeroot, and larkspur. “You didn’t touch anything in here, did you?”

  “No,” he said. After a long silence of watching me trim the plants and retrieve twigs and berries with my gloves, he went on. “It smells familiar. Like the poison.”

  “That’s nightshade over there,” I said, pointing. “Which is what they used the first time on you.”

  “And you grow it.”

  My chest ached and my heart beat a little faster. I’d completely forgotten how it might look to him. “It’s fairly common among witches. We use it in spells.”

  “And in hexes?” His voice sounded odd.

  “Sometimes.” I waited for the accusation. Another question. Anger or anything except silence.

  Instead, he made a thoughtful noise and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re ready to go?”

  “Not yet.” I exited the poisoner’s garden and went back to the shed, wrapping those plants up separately so no one would get sick from handling them, and tucked the bundles into another bag just in case. I left my gloves on a hook near the back so I wouldn’t use them again for a while, then brushed my hands on my jeans before nodding at the house. “I need to get some books from inside. Then I’ll be ready.”

  Miles wandered after me as I climbed the steps to the back porch to enter via the kitchen, and remained on my heels as I climbed the two flights of stairs to the workroom that was right across from my attic bedroom. Something tight in my chest uncoiled when the comfort and familiarity of my room settled around me. I could breathe again, and everything felt right in the world. I needed to sleep in my own bed again; as comfortable as his house was, it wasn’t my house.

  I shut all the drama and feeling of impending loss out so I could focus on the workroom and the bookshelf with a variety of spell books and grimoires and notebooks, the collected wisdom of my family tree. Part of me thought that might have been why Estelle would try to get rid of Miles, so she could get me to only pay attention to the family legacy, the books, the study of magic... I kept the books because they went to my mother, as the eldest daughter in her family, and they passed to me after she died. Estelle had always wanted to get her hands on them, even if she wouldn’t ask outright.

  Everything else faded away as I pulled a few of the books down and paged through them, searching for a hint of what might h
ave hexed Miles. In the quiet and calm, I almost forgot I wasn’t alone.

  Chapter 49

  Miles

  He followed her into the house and up the creaky-ass stairs despite knowing that the witch grew a field of poisonous and toxic plants in her backyard—like it was normal. And how the fuck was he supposed to know if all witches had gardens like that? He didn’t know many witches, and he sure as hell wouldn’t ask the other two he knew whether they also kept a backyard full of dangerous shit. The fact that she happened to grow the same poisonous plant that had been used against him the first time added to that little spark of doubt in the back of his mind. Surely if she’d poisoned him, she would have kept him away from the garden. Or maybe not. Who knew how witches thought?

  Evershaw studied Deirdre as she stood in the rather spartan room with shelves on the wall, a sink and long counter, and two long work tables. She made thoughtful little noises to herself as she read and flipped pages, periodically scratching a note onto a scrap of paper. He listened to the old house long enough to know that he could still track the sound of her breathing through the creaks and groans of the worn boards and drafty windows, and instead of lurking in the doorway over her shoulder, he wandered into the other room on that top floor.

  He knew the moment he stepped across the threshold that it was her bedroom. It smelled like her, through and through, with that damn cat mixed in just as strongly. The wolf wanted to growl and pee in the corner so the little beast knew who had claimed that territory as his own, but Evershaw managed to resist the urge. That would have been a little hard to explain to Deirdre.

  He breathed deep, picking up hints of perfume and soap and candles and grief. The furniture was painted white, though the paint peeled, and had the weathered look of belonging in an antique showroom or a historic farmhouse. The bedspread and pillows and even the walls were in pastels—bright and airy, springlike. Sunshine. It was all on the surface, though; underneath lingered something else. He sensed it as he moved through the room.

  Very few personal effects decorated the room. There were a few framed photos on the dresser of Deirdre with an older woman who looked exactly like her, but otherwise nothing said the room was hers. If he hadn’t been able to smell her in the air, it could have been anyone’s room. It could have been a staged room from a furniture store or a magazine photo shoot. It made him uneasy that the witch could be so unmoored from her own life. She could have walked away from that room, from that house—or been made to disappear—and there would have been no sign that she’d ever really been there.

  Maybe that was what whoever drugged her wanted—to make her disappear. To lift her out of that house and the neighborhood and the city as if she’d never been there. His lips peeled back in a snarl. Not on his watch. Not fucking ever.

  But he could see how lonely she was just by standing in that room. Everything about it said “solitary.” And even though he understood perfectly well how much someone could enjoy being alone, since he enjoyed his own company almost above anyone else in the world, it still seemed like a hell of a waste. She’d isolated herself in that house, in that attic room above everything else, and locked everyone out with that witch-bitch face. He hated it. He hated even the thought of it. He hated that she’d wasted a second of her life being that kind of miserable.

  The floorboards creaked and he turned to find Deirdre in the doorway, frowning as she looked at two books she held. “I think I’ll need—”

  He took two giant steps toward her and caught her face, kissing her because he couldn’t stand not kissing her for another second. Deirdre made a surprised noise but didn’t back up and didn’t clap him over the head with those massive books. Instead, her eyes drifted shut and her lips parted and he could finally taste the sweet warmth of her mouth. He caught the backs of her thighs and hiked her up so her legs went around his waist, walking until he could press her against the undecorated wall, and he broke the kiss only long enough to say, “Don’t be sad.”

  Deirdre started to ask him something else but he couldn’t wait. Evershaw needed to know she felt okay, that she wasn’t scared or sad or hurting. He sealed his mouth to hers and held her fragile body against his, listening to the flutter of her heart against her ribs and the thump of the blood in her veins. He needed her so much it frightened him. Especially since she could leave. As soon as the geas was severed, Deirdre could walk away and climb those creaky stairs to her little room in the attic and hide away forever.

  She dropped the books and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back just as fiercely. He broke away so he could nip at her earlobe and throat, leaving hickeys all up and down her neck so no one would doubt she’d been claimed. Deirdre’s head fell back against the wall to give him better access. His cock hardened as he felt her move against him, the soft weight of her breasts crushed to his chest and her ass perfectly shaped to sit in his hands. He slid his fingers toward her core and she squirmed, rocking against him in invitation even with the layers of clothing between them. Evershaw groaned. Maybe she had bespelled him.

  Deirdre panted as she ran her nails down the back of his neck. “What brought this on?”

  He grunted and some of his sense came back. He couldn’t fuck her against the wall, and he didn’t want to scare her or make her feel bad about hitting the brakes later. Evershaw took a deep breath and told his wolf side to chill the fuck out, then kissed up and down her neck and shoulder and jaw until he was calm enough to speak in a normal voice. “I don’t like the idea of you up here all by yourself. You need to come home with me.”

  “For a little while,” she said. Her eyes remained closed and her legs wrapped around him, even though it felt like a gulf opened between them. “But this is my house. I love this house.”

  “It’s too old and creaky,” he muttered. “Sell it, make a bunch of money, and live with me. Stay with me. Move in with me.”

  She went still, then untangled her legs and stood on her own. She planted two fingers in his chest and pushed him back, so Evershaw retreated. He wanted to bang his head against the wall when he saw her expression. Maybe knowing her a week was a little too soon to ask her to move in. Not that he knew what normal timelines were. They didn’t matter. She was his mate. She needed to live with him.

  The witch’s head tilted. “What did you just say?”

  “Move in with me,” he said. Evershaw didn’t think he’d stuttered. “Your cat is already clawing the shit out of my furniture, so you might as well stay. Bring the rest of your stuff. Redecorate so we can have furniture that doesn’t have holes in it.”

  He was babbling. He knew it. The words kept pouring out of his mouth like a damn volcano spewing lava. And still Deirdre didn’t react. She didn’t smile or make fun of him. She didn’t even spit in fury and wheel around at the suggestion that she leave her den for his. She just stared at him.

  Evershaw couldn’t look away. He needed her. Even if she had to plant a dangerous garden in the empty lot near the warehouse. He’d figure it out. Todd would laugh his ass off, but Evershaw didn’t care. He just needed Deirdre to agree, to move in with him, to make his room her room.

  “I love this house,” she said slowly. “It’s all I have to remember my mom, my grandma, the rest of my family.”

  His chest tightened as it sounded too much like she was winding up to deliver a no. “Then don’t sell it. Keep it. We’ll renovate it and make it so it doesn’t creak as much. Better security. But live with me. Stay with me.”

  He didn’t like having to ask twice. Or trying to tell her twice. She should have jumped at the opportunity. Should have fallen back into his arms all dazed with lust and willingness.

  Her gaze remained on his face, her whole expression a mystery, just as inscrutable as the first time he’d seen her in the cemetery with Smith. Deirdre took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. “I’ll think about it.”

  It was not the answer he wanted, but at least it wasn’t a no. He grumbled and gripped her waist, tugg
ing her closer. “I can live with that for now. But fair warning, I’m going to change your mind.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched and she didn’t resist his embrace. “You’re very confident.”

  “I am,” he said. “Because I’m always right.”

  Deirdre snorted and elbowed him aside so she could retrieve the books she’d dropped. “You’d best slow your roll, ace.”

  Her fantastic ass presented itself as a target of opportunity, and he couldn’t resist—he gave her a good smack, loving the firm warmth of her cheek under his palm. The witch shot upright and whirled to stare at him as her entire face flushed red and her pupils dilated with just a hint of something...

  He inhaled and couldn’t control a grin that slipped free. Just a hint of interest. More than a hint. Whatever she said, the witch seemed to enjoy being pressed up against the wall and getting spanked.

  The witch’s rosy cheeks turned redder still. “What are you smiling about?”

  “I know a secret,” he said. He ignored the way her lips parted in surprise and the quick intake of breath that only made him want to kiss her again, and instead shooed her out the door and toward the stairs. “But I’m not going to tell you what it is until we’re back home. Get moving.”

  She eyed him warily but—miracle of fucking miracles—she wandered down the stairs to the first floor to retrieve a bag of dry cat food and one filled with cans of tuna and cat food and probably fucking caviar for how well she fed the beast. Evershaw glanced into the pantry and other cupboards, his lip curling in irritation. No food for herself, nothing fresh, just a garbage can with takeaway containers and frozen pizza boxes. He needed to feed her better.

  Deirdre shoved the cat food at him, then abruptly dropped to the floor and stuck her arm under the sofa. He frowned at her, once more tempted by that fine ass in the air, but she moved fast enough he didn’t get the chance to spank the other cheek. The witch popped up, her hair flying, and stuffed a handful of furry bits and leather pieces and tails and things that rattled into the bag with the food. He fished around for what the hell she’d been storing under her couch, and found cat toys. At least a dozen. Mouse-shaped, bug-shaped, star-shaped... Covered in leather and rabbit fur and feathers.