Page 15 of The Wolf and the Witch

? Khalil Gibran

Look at Me

Beeping. Insistent, constant beeping pulled Greta from the deepest dream. It was a lovely dream. The Lycans never attacked, and she continued her training as a future coven leader, her mother strolling alongside her through the woods, pointing out various plants. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, reality crashing with the force of a tidal wave. She wished she’d stayed asleep.

Overlapping voices, murmuring quietly, became a chorus to the beeping. Greta’s lips attempted forming words, but cotton replaced her tongue, nothing coming out of her mouth. More tears leaked out, panic settling into her limbs. She tried lifting her hand and her fingers twitched.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re awake. Gabriel, quick, get the doctor,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up, a quiet authority in the tone.

Greta’s eyes wouldn’t open, but she could feel wetness on her cheeks. Her last memory was of a Lycan snapping sharp teeth at her throat.

Unus. Duo. Tres. Greta counted to three in Latin, trying to calm her racing heart, the beeping increasing in intensity the more she freaked out. She heard the click of a door opening, shoes scuffling across the floor, and then a warm hand touched her forehead. Someone peeled open her eyelids, revealing a blurry shape floating in her line of sight.

“Someone alert Geralt that the Luna is awake,” the male voice said, the man manhandling her eyes. She wished he’d quit touching her. A drop of her tears must’ve touched his skin, because he let out a hiss, snatching his hand away from her. Greta almost forgot about the spell she’d cast years ago, turning her bodily fluids into weapons against Lycans. She did it as a precaution against being raped while enslaved.

She’d had to slaughter two goats under the light of the full moon, not an effortless task in a palace filled with Lycans capable of devouring a goat in one sitting. She received thirty lashes when they discovered the goats were missing, but the price had been worth it in her mind. None of Selene’s creatures could defile her.

A familiar scent drifted into the room, stirring something within her. She recognized Geralt’s voice when he barked, “Everyone, get out.” Her whole being tugged at her to get closer to him, an emptiness within desiring to be filled. Dry lips finally moved, forming a garbled version of his name.

“I’m right here, witch,” he said near her head. When he placed a hand on her forehead, she released a sigh, his touch relaxing an invisible thread of tension inside of her. Her magick moved sluggishly, but pressed against her skin, seeking him. She frowned, feeling as if a tired, feral cat scratched beneath her skin.

“You were out for a while, witch. You gave me quite a scare,” he whispered. She could hear the faint smile in his voice. When familiarity formed between them, she couldn’t decide, but she felt at ease with only his presence filling the room, except for the wild magick flaring and subsiding in waves inside of her. She recalled their brief conversation before they departed from the cabin. She heard his voice in her mind on multiple occasions.

Her blurry vision turned in his direction. Redness filled her line of sight, and she gasped in surprise when he came into sharp focus. She possessed average eyesight, but it was if someone turned on high definition behind her eyes. She could count every strand of hair sprouting along his jaw, a couple of days’ worth of shadow.

“What did you do?” she tried asking him.

Don’t use your words, witch. Think your message at me, he spoke in her mind. Her eyes widened. Furrowing her brow, she tried it, uncertain if he received her messages.

What the hell did you do to me, wolf? Why are you in my head? She thought to him. His full lips stretched wide, a sign he heard her, glittering green eyes locking with hers.

Mate, he growled. One word and her world tilted on its axis, again.

?*

* Steam ahead. Skip next chapter to avoid spice.

Mate

Greta stared at the Lycan who’d loaned her his sight with her mouth hung open. If her mother were alive, she’d say something like “Shut it, or something will fly into it.” But Gabrielle Manson died trying to protect their coven from Lycans, and one of Selene’s creatures called her his mate. Her limbs still felt heavy, but she felt the temptation to pinch her arm to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Mother Hecate wouldn’t be cruel and concoct such a design for her with the fates.

Geralt reached out a hand, using one finger to tip her jaw upward, closing her mouth for her, smirking the entire time. She shook her head in disbelief. You’re mistaken, she thought at him, not acknowledging the very fact they could communicate telepathically implied he wasn’t. She knew Lycans could talk to each other through mindlinks, but she assumed that only extended to those among their kind.

We’re not mistaken, witch. The voice inside her head sounded different somehow, more animalistic. She wondered if there was a three-way connection between her, Geralt, and his beast. Her mind rebelled, panic threatening to set in again. She closed her eyes, refusing the gift of his sight and the strings attached to it.

“Don’t be stubborn, Greta. I’m trying to help. I don’t know what the hell happened when you attacked that Lycan, but you’ve been unconscious for over a week. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in a coma. Let me help you until your strength returns.” Vulnerability laced his words, worming a noose around her heart she tried to ignore. Greta gave him a weak nod, trying to gird herself against him, placing solid bricks down in the foundation of the walls she built between her and other people. Watching fellow witches fall beneath the claws of Lycans killed something within her, a part of herself she don’t believe she’d ever get back.

Shuffling came from her right, Geralt adjusting his position. “Would it be alright if I got in with you?” he asked. Her heart stuttered before starting back up again, the machine going haywire. She heard his quick intake of panicked breathing, but she gave a nod of assent. The idea of being his mate soured her stomach. Her magick, however, clamored within her for his closeness, demanding his presence, refusing to settle without it. It was a sensation unfamiliar to her.

She kept her eyes closed, still refusing his so-called gift, feeling the bed dip beneath his weight. Her slight weight rolled right into the dip his knee made in the thin hospital mattress. Her hands shot out to brace her, one landing on his thigh and the other landing on something soft and fleshy that caused a hiss to escape Geralt. Horror and shock raced through her and she tried rolling away from him, moving her hand off the cock she’d accidentally slapped.

Geralt chuckled, hopping into the bed, landing on braced hands above her, knees straddling her thighs and his quick movements spurring her into opening her eyes. She stared up into his green eyes, the color always sending pleasurable shivers down her spine. It reminded her of verdant trees, earthy and warm, grounding her somehow. She decided she hated the effect his eyes had on her. A Lycan shouldn’t remind her of the gifts of the earth, the original mother of life.

Geralt’s lips stretched wider at the flush crawling across Greta’s face. “Relax, witch. I don’t plan on ravishing you.” His face took on a contemplative expression before grinning again. “Yet,” he added, shifting his weight to the right, trying to settle into a comfortable position on the too narrow bed.

She rolled more onto her left, hoping the distribution of weight would prevent her from rolling into him again. Powerful arms banded across her chest, pulling her back into a lean, hard body. She found her butt pressed intimately against his cock, fighting the urge to wiggle against it. Twice now, she’s placed herself in an intimate position with a Lycan. Words failed her.

If she entertained the idea of him being correct concerning them being mates, it placed her visceral reaction to him under a different light.

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