Feral Heart: A Witch Hospital Romance (The Witches of White Willow Book 2)

by Angela Addams

  Feral Heart

  Angela Addams

  Contents

  About Feral Heart

  Foreward

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  A Conversation with Angela Addams

  The Witches of White Willow

  About the Author

  Also by Angela Addams

  Copyright © 2018 by Angela Addams

  Edited by NovelSharp

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About Feral Heart

  A feral heart might bite but it’s the heart that needs love the most.

  Bas Frank is a tough guy—a witch apart from others, and that’s the way he likes it. He learned young that human witches couldn’t be trusted with magic, after his mother paid the ultimate price. His hatred for human witches has molded into armor over the years, which puts his academic ambitions to the test when White Willow opens its doors for human-born witches.

  When an incident with a human-born witch lands Bas in trouble, he finds himself working in the dungeon, which isn’t as bad as it could be, considering his supervisor, Familiar Keeper Mina Knox, is hot-as-hell and takes no crap. He’s so enamored he falls in instant-lust…before the hammer drops and he learns about her human lineage.

  But even with a lifetime of prejudice screaming at him that she can’t be trusted, Bas finds it impossible to keep his distance. He doesn’t want or expect to fall in love, but Mina’s compassion chinks his armor, and once a shield is weakened, it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down.

  This book is dedicated to Shonda Rhimes, mistress of explosive plotlines and dynamic characters.

  Sometimes we reject love. Not because we don’t want it, but because we don’t think we deserve it. Love is a stubborn thing and even when we try to push it away, when we try to beat it back and cage our hearts, it still finds a way in. A tiny crack, a little hole, and wisps of it invade until you can’t stop it from taking over. No matter what you do, love will always win.

  Hazel, just a witch, Knight

  1

  If there was one thing Bas was good at, besides being a fantastic Healer, it was being a fantastic fucker.

  Everything that went along with fucking was in his realm of expertise, too. Licking, sucking, stroking, pounding, grabbing, spanking, flicking, all of it, he was a pro. Each moan, purr, and scream of pleasure he elicited was like a gold star of praise, even more so when it was his boss making those delicious noises.

  “Bas! You’re killing me, you’re killing me…” Bridget moaned like her body was about to fall apart. “You’re killing me!”

  Her legs were spread, her pussy glistening, her pink little clit plump and pulsing from his attention. He counted three orgasms already and he hadn’t even put his dick in her yet.

  “Can’t get enough of this,” he murmured as he stuck his face back into her pussy lips, delving his tongue deep inside to swirl and pump her with teasing thrusts. His fingers worked her clit and her body writhed, her thigh shaking under his other hand.

  “Fuck me, Bas,” Bridget gasped. “Fuck me with that giant dick of yours.” She gripped his hair, pulling up so that she could nail him with her lusty glare. “I said, stick your dick inside me, now!”

  He smirked. “Yes, ma’am.” With one more long lick of her sweet pussy, he slowly moved away from her. He stood from the cot, taking a moment to look at her gorgeous body. She was built for war, scars marked her creamy skin in various places and he found it so fucking hot his dick pulsed just at the sight of them all. She was battle worn, her mettle tested. Just the kind of tough ass woman he wanted in his life. The fact that she was begging him to pound her brains out just added to the thrill.

  He pulled her ankles until she was just at the edge of the cot. As he rolled his hips into her, her legs over his shoulders, he reached out and gripped her tits—ample and more than a handful, just the way he liked it—then drove deep inside of her until his balls kissed her ass. He moaned. Coated in her cream, he glided his dick into the warm, wet cushion that he could fuck endlessly. Bridget’s pussy was one of the best.

  She didn’t close her eyes, kept him locked in, intensity like you wouldn’t believe and it was so damn sexy when a woman wasn’t afraid to show her lust. She wasn’t afraid to make demands either but right now, she let him take control, let him grind her clit with each expert thrust. She bit her lip, bringing her fingers up to pinch his nipples, twisting. Ouch. Yeah, just the way he liked.

  “Ah fuck,” he groaned again. It was just too damn good. His balls clenched, cum filling him, like a torpedo ready to launch, he had no control. “Fuuuuck.” His moaning felt deep and guttural. Like he was an animal, pounding Bridget’s pussy until every last drop of cum left his dick.

  Her hands covered his, gripping his fingers as he crushed down on her tits. She moaned her own release, her sweet pussy milking him until he was dizzy.

  He didn’t pull out, expecting round two to start almost immediately. She looked up at him, a lazy smile on her lips, her eyes hooded. “Gotta go, Worm. Get the fuck off me.” She put her foot on his shoulder and pushed him back.

  “Huh?” This was not status quo. Bridget was usually good for a few rounds before she pulled rank. He let his grip slide from her breasts, his dick slipping out, glistening with her cream, pulsing and in denial that the pleasure was over so soon. “What’s the deal?”

  “What’s the deal?” She scoffed. “We’ve got work to do. You need training. Your Sin Eater hasn’t been reporting good things lately.”

  Bas felt the slap of that. “My Sin Eater?” He snorted. “Like that matters.” He turned his back on her though, because he couldn’t hide his expression and he knew that wouldn’t go over well. The fucking Sin Eaters they’d been assigned were an instant buzz kill and his in particular was maddeningly silent, judging him with every shift of her hood. She hadn’t said a word to him in the weeks she’d been trailing him. A silent stalker. It was almost impossible to slip away from her for his little fuck-fests with Bridget. “Her opinion is meaningless.”

  “Not meaningless and you’re wrong, Worm, it does matter.” Bridget’s tone had an edge, like she was annoyed she even had to explain this to him. “And you’d better get your shit together.”

  He didn’t like being talked to like he was a misbehaving child, especially not just after they’d been on a level playing field.

  “Or what?” Bas whipped on his tank top, running his hand down his stomach as he did. He’d meant to hit the gym that morning but Bridget had caught him on the way and pulled him into one of the intern sleeping rooms. They
fucked often, wherever, whenever. Escaping his Sin Eater was a game she liked to play just as much as he did. Bridget never stopped them from enjoying themselves even at the expense of training time. Sometimes, it seemed, she got off on the watchful glare of his cloaked and silent shadow. So why she was getting her panties in a knot now, he couldn’t understand.

  Bridget tossed his black scrubs at him, the waft of rosemary making him cringe. Fucking human magic warding against bad mojo. Their new Great Mother had insisted on incorporating human magical lore into their lives at White Willow since she’d arrived. Her sympathy for the humans was appalling and the constant reminder, the pungent smell of herbs on his scrubs was nauseating, reminding him of things he would rather forget.

  “Or what?” Bridget did one of her laughs, dipped in sarcasm. “Well, how about you get fired? You’re on probation, remember? Mother Stone doesn’t give a shit how good you are, or how good you think you are. It’s all about what the Sin Eaters’ report, and yours reports a lot, apparently…and it isn’t good.”

  “So do something about it.” Bas turned toward her as he slipped on his pants before tying the drawstring quickly. “You’re in charge of the Sin Eaters, right? Tell her to back off.”

  Bridget wasn’t looking at him though—her back was to him and she was running her fingers through her hair. “Everything she’s saying is true. You’re arrogant. You’re lazy. You make mistakes and you’re governed by your prejudice. The humans are coming to White Willow today.”

  “You mean humans other than the Sin Eaters?” Bas didn’t even try to keep the disdain from his voice. Hazel had warned him that White Willow was opening its doors to magically ill humans, the Pagans who practiced things they shouldn’t and got sick from it. Suffering served them right. They didn’t understand magic, so why give them a pass for abusing it?

  He was scheduled to work the ER and was probably already late for his shift. He had no interest in treating the humans though, so he was in no rush to clock in. Normally Bridget didn’t give a fuck either.

  “You know what I mean.” Bridget turned to face him finally. Her eyes were fierce, like she was looking for a fight. “You better cut out your attitude or Mother Stone is going to cut you out of the program.”

  “Like I said, do something about it. Put me on your service. I’ll go on your next mission with you. Get the fuck out of here for a while.” He reached out to her, intent on capturing her in his arms, burying his lips against her neck so he could ramp her up like she liked.

  She swatted him away. “Fuck off. You’re not going anywhere. You’ve got things to learn and when I get back, I expect to hear only good things.”

  He stepped away and folded his arms. “You’re ditching me?” He knew she was leaving later that day to go into the field. He’d fully expected he’d be going with her.

  “You need to cool it. Reassess why you’re here.” Her eyes softened a bit and she laid her hand on his chest. “You’re addicted to me. Not that I blame you.” She winked.

  “And I’m the one with the ego?” He laughed, trying to pull off nonchalant when really he felt he was being discarded. He didn’t take rejection well. It turned him into an instant asshole. Okay, more of an asshole than usual. He and Bridget had been going at it since they’d met. Didn’t matter that she was his supervisor—they’d hit it off from the beginning, gotten to know one another in the physical sense when the interns had been all forced onto a field mission a few weeks before.

  “Listen, Worm.” She was smiling still, like what she was about to say was going to make him happy but he knew it was really pity. “This is for your own good. Shape up or Mother Stone is going to ship you out. I’m dosing you with tough love.”

  He hated that bullshit. Tough love? More like no love. “Yeah, whatever.” He pulled back, putting some distance between them. “You do what you gotta do. I might be here when you get back.”

  Her smile faded. “I like you, I do, but your attitude is out of control. You want things to continue with me, you’re going to need to get the Sin Eater on your side. Show her how good you really are so we can keep things going. You’re sexy as fuck, and we have fun together, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So fix yourself, get rid of that giant fucking chip on your shoulder and when I get back, we’ll celebrate.”

  Fix myself? Yeah, right. “Sure, I’ll get right on that.” He grabbed his security tag—another feature that Mother Stone had implemented—and slipped it over his head. Photo ID and magically imbued, the security tag was like a cell phone that would not only alert him to incoming traumas but would also get him where he needed to go via a portal if necessary.

  “ER,” he said as he swiped the card through the air. “And quit calling me Worm. It’s fucking unprofessional, Healer Rose.”

  “Bas, I—”

  But he didn’t hear what she had to say because the portal opened and he stepped through. It closed behind him, shutting her out in a split second.

  Fuck her.

  Bas didn’t need tough love. He didn’t need anyone looking out for him either. What he needed was for everyone to get off his back and let him do what he was good at. Healing witches—the non-human kind.

  2

  “What are you looking at?” Bas grumbled as he sorted through the charts in the urgent care pile. There was nothing dire going on from what he could see. He kept searching though, hoping for a gem among the duds.

  His Sin Eater, whose name he didn’t know—and didn’t care to know—stood a few feet away watching silently. He couldn’t see her face, had no idea how grotesque she was under her hooded cloak but if he had to guess, he’d say she was probably pretty horrific. Her hands, which he’d gotten a brief glimpse of a couple of weeks ago, were marred by huge white bubbling scars that looked like the webbing of a thousand angry spiders. He had to wonder what the rest of her body looked like if her hands were that fucked up.

  She didn’t answer, of course. Her voice was a mystery to him. She’d never spoken to him. Had never indicated that she was actually engaged in what he was doing. He’d never seen her face, her eyes. But he could feel her stare on him at all times. It gave him the creeps. Not only that, but she always had a way of finding him. Like she had some kind of locator spell on him or something. Which she didn’t, he’d checked. Wherever he went, she would appear, hovering just off to the side, sometimes just outside a door, silent as usual and really fucking spooky.

  “Why don’t you go run along to Mother Stone and tell her I’m late? I know you’re a snitch, Sin Eater. Healer Rose has already filled me in.” He sneered before turning his back on the Sin Eater and moved to the bed of his first patient.

  The ER was bustling but not with any kind of trauma that he could see. Just the usual, boring stuff. Magic overdose, injected poison, spell burning. There were no apparent humans among the patient roster either.

  Chanda and Hazel were a few beds over, busy working on the overdoses, speaking calmly, quietly, dosing the patients with an antidote. They had no problem working on the humans. Hell, Hazel had spent years secretly sneaking off to participate in their solstice celebrations, despite the fact that her mother, the former Great Mother of White Willow, was vehemently opposed to Pagans. Hazel and Chanda were both sympathizers and didn’t seem to have any issues with treating humans who really shouldn’t be meddling with things they didn’t understand and had very little proficiency with.

  He stepped toward the bed of the patient whose chart he had in his hand. A witch complaining of sudden hair loss and boils. Classic curse symptoms.

  “You could take care of this, you know,” Bas grumbled toward the Sin Eater. Why he was talking to her he couldn’t say, but he had the urge to lash out and she was the closest target. Bridget’s brush off had put him in a foul mood. “You could save everyone here the trouble and just reverse the curse so I could get to more important illnesses.” Maybe he could venture to the surgery wing and see if any of the Master Healers needed an assist there. He’d don
e it many times before and had landed a few awesome surgical experiences that way. “You won’t though, will you? You’ll just stand there observing, doing nothing,” he grumbled. “Waste of space.”

  The Sin Eaters were devoted to self-sacrifice and martyrdom, two things that he couldn’t stomach much less understand. They were uniquely magical humans whose prime purpose in life was to take away the bad magic that was inflicted on good witches. Of course, they were the ones to determine who was deserving of their devotion. Once they latched themselves to a chosen witch, they offered themselves as vessels to siphon away any “sins”—black or dark magic that the witch may encounter or be cursed with. In return they were given limited but powerful magic of their own. The cost was high though. For every dark spell they absorbed, they were inflicted with some kind of physical trauma. Limbs would rot, flesh would flay, tumors would grow and, in his Sin Eater’s case—from what he could see—scars would form.

  They took immense pride in their ability to ease the suffering of the witches they offered their services to. Some of the Sin Eating clans only devoted themselves to the most powerful of witch families and thus benefit from the wealth and prestige that came with it; others lived a life of poverty, moving from city to city, offering to service those witches who were off the grid and usually forgotten.