Page 17 of The Wolf and the Witch

“Did you cast a spell after just waking up?” A scowl twisted his face. She laughed, lips spread wide, feeling euphoric.

“You weren’t complaining just a few seconds ago,” she remarked. She saw his lips twitch, fighting a smile.

“Fine, but don’t do it again until your strength returns.” Greta ignored his bossy tone, letting her eyes fall shut.

“Greta?”

“Ok, wolf,” she mumbled, feeling sleep call to her once more. His hands rubbed up and down her back, cock resting against her stomach, but he didn’t push for more. Greta let a silly smile creep onto her face, inhaling Geralt’s scent.

The Bond

Geralt sat behind his oak wood desk, chest constricting with the distance between him and his mate, only absently listening to his team talk strategy. He wasn’t sure he was exaggerating when he relayed to Gabriel that it nearly killed him by departing from Greta. The bond stretched taut between them. He’d forgotten the strength of the mating bond since the death of Angel. Even unconsummated, the bond with Greta and the desire to mate now that she was safe consumed him. Ryker remained difficult to leash, but Geralt knew rushing things would ruin any chance of Greta choosing them willingly.

“We can always ask Crescent Moon for help,” Sebastian was saying. A snarl twisted Geralt’s lips, a growl barely leashed in his chest. Sometime during Geralt’s absence, Sebastian, Gabriel’s twin, made a surprise visit. The younger Alpha greeted him at the pack borders while he held an unconscious Greta in his arms.

“Rogue—” Rex snapped before Gabriel shifted from his position near the door, ready to defend his twin.

“Enough!” Both of Geralt’s hands rose to rub at his temples. His cock jerked behind his pants. His nostrils flared and tension seeped into his limbs.

“Get out,” he ordered his warriors, ears picking up the soft steps of his mate approaching his office door. A chord tugged in his chest, drawing him to his feet. Within a blink, he’d pulled the door open, eyes seeking the witch out.

Dark circles made her blue eyes appear brighter and her skin paler. His eyes landed on the reminder of her status in the king’s pack, half healed scars circling her slender neck, collar bones jutting out. We need to feed her, Ryker spoke up in his head.

Geralt stepped away from the door. He motioned with his hand for his team to exit his office. For extra measure, he turned his neck, letting his crimson gaze flare briefly, landing on every member present. They tilted their necks, feet leading them out of his office.

Greta stepped back hastily, placing her back against the wall. An oversized white t-shirt hung off her thin frame, barely showing the hem of denim shorts encasing her long legs. She appeared small, watching with wary eyes as his warriors filed out of his office. Each of them tilted their heads at her respectfully, keeping their eyes downcast. She didn’t possess a wolf, but if she chose him, she would become Luna of his pack, a position left unfilled for over 18 years.

Greta watched them, confusion furrowing her brow. Her eyes shifted back to him once the males disappeared out of sight. Hunger gnawed in his belly, the bond demanding he quiet the hum beneath his skin. His bones felt too heavy, stretching his skin.

He cleared his throat, his hand motioning her to come in. Words failed him. If he opened his mouth, he suspected he’d have his tongue down her throat within minutes. Even in her emaciated state, she tempted him. Possessive rage threatened to boil over at the thought of how radiant she’d look once she lost the remnants of the ravages of starvation and enslavement.

He couldn’t entertain the thought of her future beauty or he’d knot her from behind, bent over his desk, letting her moans ring out for the entire packhouse to hear so everyone would know she belonged to him.

Relief

Greta walked into the wolf’s den—office, she corrected in her mind—wariness hanging off of her. Her back faced him while he quietly shut the door, a soft click of the lock engaging sounded loud to her paranoid senses. She tried calming her suddenly racing heart, but her magick felt feral in Geralt’s presence. The two of them being locked into a room together sent tingles down her spine.

She reminded herself she should feel apprehension, not attraction for one of them. Mother Hecate never answered her prayers when she beseeched the three-fold Goddess for clarity on her status as a Lycan’s mate. Selene and Hecate remained warring sisters since the first Lycan emerged out of a wolf’s skin. The Moon Goddess could not break Hecate’s curse, but she could transform it, gifting the beast the return of his human flesh and a fated mate. It ignited the Lycan’s war on witches.

“How are you settling in?” Geralt asked, soft steps coming closer. Greta kept her back to him. She didn’t trust herself when gazing into his eyes. Her fingers flexed and curled, the memory of waking up alone in her hospital bed souring her stomach.

She whirled on him then, remembering her ire with him. She let him touch her some place she’d never let another Lycan willingly touch, and he disappeared before she awoke. Some part of her knew it to be hypocritical to be upset with him one moment while fighting her growing attraction, but logic fled her when it came to him.

Before she could open her mouth to tell him off, he’d closed the distance between them, banding an arm across her waist. He pulled her into him, claiming her mouth, tongue slipping against her own. She melted into the kiss, rising on her toes for more contact. Both of his arms dropped low to scoop her up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, eagerly grinding against his hardening cock.

Her anger fled, sparks igniting from wherever they touched. Of their own accord, her fingers wove into his short, dark hair. She pulled him closer, needing him closer, beneath her skin. Her magick flared hot, making her cry out into his mouth.

Geralt pulled back, wide-eyed. Greta’s skin burned, something shifting within her, calling out to a missing part of herself. Geralt’s lips split wide, grinning wide enough to flash his sharp canines.

It’s the bond, he spoke in her head. She shook her head in denial, but realized her hips never stopped grinding against him. Her panties felt soaked, lips weeping for the cock behind his zipper. He walked them to his desk, setting her on the edge.

Her fingers abandoned his hair to grip the edge. Geralt dropped to his knees, bringing her legs up to rest on his shoulders, eyes never breaking contact.

“You want relief, mate?” he asked her meaningfully. She sensed he meant more than just feasting on her. The phantom bond felt more solid with every touch between them, her magick screaming for something she couldn’t provide it. It felt foreign.

She sensed she stood on a precipice. Whatever she decided in that moment, she knew her life would never be the same. Sending up a quick prayer to the Mother, she gave Geralt a definitive nod. Who was she to deny the fates, she thought, shifting her hips up for Geralt to slide her shorts and panties off.

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