Page 21 of Black Willow Witch
Once again, a distant howl rang out. Maybe it was one of Ripper’s wolves – they were no doubt thrilled to have their land back.
His clan was definitely the toughest of the three.Seriouslytough. Driving through Ashwood, where the majority of the clan lived . . . it was like entering a movie set for lumberjack porn.
Genuinely, they were badass. You could send a few out into the wilderness and they’d likely build you a village. And they did what the other clans and the coven wouldn’t – they braved Bloodhill to hunt meat for the town. Meat they sold at their butcher’s shop.
They also ran the brewery, tattoo studio, blacksmiths, diner, mechanic shop, a bar, a restaurant and a landscaping business.
All things considered, they would make great neighbors. Especially to someone with her current problems. Providing that their Alpha didn’t intend to be a dick to her, of course.
She didn’t see why he would, really. There were no frills with Ripper – he was blunt and to the point, but he wasn’t an asshole needlessly. And she hadn’t done anything to him.
The witch who’d targeted his clan all those years ago, though?She’dcaused an epically bad situation. As such, Emberlyn could totally understand if he’d keep his distance from her. Especially since she’d cultivated an image of herself that wouldn’t exactly endear her to people. He’d have no reason to assume that not all the rumors about her were true.
She didn’t need people to like or approve of her, she just wanted them to leave her be. If he’d extend that courtesy to her, she’d appreciate it. She had enough drama coming from other angles.
On that note, thanks for this, Grams. Thanks a fucking lot.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sipping her freshly made cup of tea the next morning, Emberlyn tossed her spoon into the sink. She’d slept like the dead last night, which she figured was partly due to her having given the entire house a spiritual cleansing beforehand to rid it of negative energies.
Okay, so she hadn’t cleansed theentiremanor. She’d left out the spooky spare room and basement. Those were her no-go areas, and for good reason.
She’d already chowed down a bagel, so she would be heading to work soon. She’d also take some time to go to her apartment and pack the rest of her things.
The majority of the coven’s businesses partially, if not mostly, tended to the needs and wants of witches. Something Emberlyn thought was particularly short-sighted. When three-quarters of the town’s population were werewolves, it made sense to launch a business that would provide an in-demand service for them.
Hence why she’d started Vautier Laundry Hub.
Werewolves were always fighting. More often than not, it was for the rush of it. They even had a bareknuckle fighting ring for such purposes. Then there were minor disputes that escalated into brawls, one-to-one challenges, group fights or even – though it was rare – battles with other clans.
As such, their clothing was regularly stained with blood, dirt and sweat. More, such clothing was often also damaged – whether during violent incidents or the need to shift very quickly. So Emberlyn’s hub not only laundered clothing, it also offered supplemental services such as repairing tears or reattaching buttons.
The place hada lotof customers. Especially since she’d incorporated a little magick, positively guaranteeing that their clothes would return in perfect condition, smelling of whatever scent they’d chosen, and would be soft enough to accommodate their slight skin sensitivity.
As a small add-on service, she even sold werewolf-specific potions at the hub – some sped up the healing process, some were straight-up energy shots, others aided in fighting the moon’s pull. On and on it went.
At one point, the coven had started their own launderette, thinking to cash in on this niche they’d either previously ignored or simply hadn’t seen. But they hadn’t managed to lure Emberlyn’s customers away, and they hadn’t liked how their electricity kept cutting off, their machines kept breaking or their front door kept sticking.
Yes, she’d had something to do with it.
And yes, the other witches had known that. They just hadn’t had the balls to confront her over it. Instead, they’d closed down their launderette.
Right then, a knock came at the front door. Emberlyn felt her brow crease. It could be Paisley, but she doubted it – her friend wasn’t an early riser.
Whoever it was, the manor didn’t consider them a physical threat to Emberlyn, or they wouldn’t have made it this far. Which didn’t mean that it wasn’t one of her relatives – they weren’t likely to try punching her or anything.
Her pretty porcelain cup in hand, Emberlyn walked down the hallway. When she pulled open the door, her pulse did a little skip. On the porch stood a tower of deliciousness wearing a faded dark tee, worn gray denim jeans and black leather boots.
She blinked in surprise. ‘Ripper.’ It was a wonder that her voice came out even. Because, up close, this werewolf had a way of making her hormones feel faint.
She had a weakness for this guy. Her defenses crumbled in the presence of all that raw male power. Making it harder to fight the attraction, her magick never failed to stir around his apex-predator energy.
He stared at her, holding himself with an unnatural stillness that made her think of an animal ready to pounce. Tension sparked in the air, live and hotly sexual – always did when they stood so close. And she found herself thinking it was a crying shame that he was so wrapped up in another woman.
What would it be like, she wondered, to love someone who loved you . . . but who also loved your brother? Would you pray that that brother moved on so that you’d be free to pursue her? Would you alternate from feeling love to anger to resentment? Would you want to let her go, or would you spend your time hoping she’d one day choose you?
At that moment, his gaze roamed over Emberlyn – from her lightly made-up face to her loose curls, ivory pencil dress, silver triple-moon anklet and ivory high heels. His eyes snagged hers again, heat simmering in their depths. ‘You always look like that first thing in the morning?’ he asked, a little gravel in his voice, sounding so . . . put out.
