Page 101 of Black Willow Witch
Paisley saluted her. ‘Will do. Thanks.’
‘You have any regrets about taking the Change?’
‘Not one. I mean, it’s still weird having no connection to my magick. But I don’t feel like it’s left a hole behind. Being a werewolf is its own form of magick, really. I find it way more fulfilling than I did living as a witch. And it feels really good to not be seen as the weak link, you know?’
‘I can imagine.’ Emberlyn had worried her friend might later lament her decision, and it was a relief that she didn’t. ‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘Aw, you’re the bestest.’ Paisley held out her arms. ‘Can I have a hug?’
‘No.’
Paisley pouted, her eyes dancing. ‘I know you’re not a hugger, but I’m a werewolf. We need touch.’
Emberlyn poked her in the forehead. ‘There you go.’
‘I said touch, not pain.’ Paisley rubbed at her forehead. ‘I really never got why werewolves were so tactile. But it’s a kind of language. A way we communicate. It feels more natural than using words. We do it to comfort, to check in, to reassure, to express affection, to . . .anything.’ She sniffed at Emberlyn. ‘I’ll bet you let Ripper cuddle you, yet here you are denyingmeone. It ain’t fair.’
‘I’llhug you, sis.’ Kage wrapped his arms around her. ‘Love you.’
Paisley smiled, hugging him back. ‘I love you, too.’
Emberlyn felt her mouth curve. ‘Aw, that’s sweet.’
‘Not really,’ said Kage. ‘I’m only holding her here so she has to smell my fart.’
Paisley’s brow furrowed. ‘What? You can’t be –oh my God, what the fuck have you been eating? That reeks!’ She gagged. ‘I’m going to be sick. Really, I’m gonna hurl. Make him let me go! Now, now, now!’
Ripper was shoving clothes into his duffel when his phone rang. He crossed to the nightstand, his muscles tight, his body feeling charged and restless due to the upcoming full moon. He lifted the phone receiver and put it to his ear. ‘Yeah?’
‘It’s Kerr, you want a ride to the clearing?’
Ordinarily, Ripper would have accepted the offer. He needed to shift; to run off the energy invading his system. The pull of the moon tugged at his skin, sang in his blood and hummed in his bones.
But another pull was so much stronger.
‘I’m not going to the clearing tonight,’ replied Ripper. ‘There’s somewhere else I want to be.’ Someone he wanted to be with.
‘Figured as much,’ said Kerr, a smile in his voice. ‘Say hi to your witch for me.’ The line went dead.
Ripper lowered the receiver back to its cradle.Your witch. He’d grown to like the sound of that far too much.
Once upon a time, the draw he felt toward her had been powered by sexual chemistry. It was no longer a simple case of that. Emberlyn was his own personal magnet.
Ripper returned to the bed and zipped up his duffel. He’d packed himself some gear because he planned to run to themanor in his wolf form. He’d need clothes for when they ate dinner – which would comeafterhe fucked her.
He stripped off his clothes, snatched his duffel and stepped out onto his porch. There, he let the shift take him. Parts of his body shrank, others elongated, bones moved and popped.
Done, he shook his body, settling into his fur. With his teeth, he grabbed his duffel and then took off.
He galloped through the woods, winding his way through weathered trees sporting territorial marks. He kicked up dead leaves, dodged animal droppings, leaped over fallen trees and stomped over clumps of spongy moss.
Branches shuddered with the breeze that raked through and rustled his fur. Brambles and bushes shook as small forest creatures scampered into their burrows. The scents of greenery, animal scat and a hint of ozone laced the air.
Grass slid over his legs as he ran and ran, enjoying the burn in his muscles. He smelled a deer nearby but ignored the temptation to hunt. The temptation of Emberlyn was stronger.
Finally, he arrived at the manor. He nudged open the gate with his head and trotted up the path. His claws scrabbled the porch steps and deck.
He was about to paw at the door, but it swung open. No Emberlyn stood on the other side. He padded into the house, dumped his duffel and then followed her scent, tracking her to the kitchen. She stood near the sink in a silky, mid-length robe . . . and quite possibly nothing else.
