Page 106 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
I bailed right the fuck out of the happy, half-drunk crowd and into town where I ended up at the bar.
I sat at the counter by myself, enjoying the festive atmosphere, and the buzz of conversation that I had no obligation to participate in. I had just closed my eyes when I smelled her.
Like books and broomsticks.
Witch.
My eyes shot open, and I spun around, searching the crowd for the source of that scent.
It’d shot straight fuckin’ through me and into my cock.
With a cough, I reached down and tried to adjust myself discreetly, but eh. This was a bar in the goddamn Ozarks, so who gave a damn fuck what I was doing over here by myself?
My eyes searched the crowd until they landed on a woman in jeans and a loose white t-shirt, half tucked in, half hanging out. She was doing the same, looking around as if there was someone in particular that she was searching for.
Her gaze met mine, and a thrill sparked inside of me, like being lit on fire from the inside out. I was burning up; I was dying; I was nothing but ash on the inside.
She made her way through the crowd to stand in front of me. Somehow, without even realizing it, I’d stood up, too. We were facing each other, and my breath was coming in short, sharp pants, my claws protruding from the tips of my fingers. Pretty damn sure my ears and tail were out, too.
“Shit,” the woman said, biting her lower lip as her eyes flicked around the busy bar. It was entirely human in here. Not one wolf, not one witch. Besides us, that is. “Somebody might see.”
She reached down and took my hand, and that was it.
I was broken.
I was broken in ways that I’d always wanted to be broken.
The witch woman yanked on my hand, and I let her have me, let her drag me through the dense crowd—fortunately most of the patrons were too drunk to notice that I was sporting wolf parts—and out into the winter cold.
The woman’s breath came in the same short, sharp pants as my own, fogging in the air before her full lips. They looked pillowy soft and perfect, half-parted, just a bit of teeth showing.
She raised her head to look up at me, and I saw tears. Right off the bat, there were tears.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, trying and failing to look at anything but her green eyes, as vivid as fresh spring leaves and as endless and inspiring as new life. She was full of it, this woman, dripping with magic, ripe with possibility.
I’d never wanted anyone or anything more in my entire life.
“Me?” she asked, letting her gaze drift from mine and toward the darkness of the woods behind the bar. With seemingly great effort, she dragged her attention back to me, and I could see that whatever it was that I’d felt, that zing, that spark, that whisper of magic, she felt it, too. “I’m here because I heard there was a faerie ring close by, one that will drop me off on the other side of the Veil. I need to get as close to the Seelie Court as I can manage.”
I blinked in surprise at that one.
“Faerie?” I choked out, running my fingers through my hair and exhaling. My breath was a cloud, just like hers. “Why in the fuck would a pretty little witch like you want to cross the Iron Veil?”
“I’m looking for someone,” she said slyly, offering up a single shoulder shrug as she tucked a hand into her pocket. She had some ink on her, too, on both arms. Spelled ink, that was for damn sure. Her eyes remained locked on mine as I resisted the startling and very disturbing urge to run my fingers through her hair and kiss her.
Goddamn it, Caine, get yourself together.
And I tried.
I really fuckin’ tried.
“Who.” It didn’t come out as a question. It was a barking order, a command that I had no right to issue. I was irrationally pissed off. Not only did I hate the holidays, but I hated my life, too. My pack, my family, they didn’t fit me the way they were supposed to fit me. Something was off, and I wasn’t sure if it was my witch side or my wolf side or both that hated it here.
“He’s …” she started, but then she shook her head and exhaled again. I wanted to taste the cloud of her breath, see if it was as sweet as her scent, this pungent reek of magic and possibility. We were fated, me and this witch girl. I knew it from that very first second. Or maybe I just wanted so badly for something new and different that I was willing to bet on the first horse on the track. “He’s my soulmate.” Here she paused as a growl rumbled through me and both of her red brows went up. Her hair was thick, a fiery red-orange that cascaded over her shoulders in a gentle wave. She was everything this town and my pack were not.
