Page 9 of The Wolf and the Witch

Geralt lost track of time prowling the woods in his four-legged form, with only Ryker in his head for company. None of the scents he came across were familiar or consistent. Ella’s only helpful clue to the witch’s whereabouts was the direction. The cursed Redwoods lay south of the palace.

He expected to come across a search party, but Ella alluded to the damage the witch inflicted in her escape. He doubted the king wanted to lose more Lycans over one witch when he had several covens worth enslaved in his kingdom. Ella never supplied the witch’s name, only that she was a water witch with the ability to make bodies explode by commanding the blood coursing through their veins. The witch held her freedom for four months. Geralt pondered how long the king would hold off looking for such a powerful asset.

Stilling, his ears twitched from the sound of rustling leaves. Something larger than a small animal disturbed the underbrush. He sank low, eyes peering into the dark, seeking the source of the disturbance. Selene’s light shone on him, reflecting off the color of his gray coat. Black would’ve been easier to blend into the darkness. He’d been so focused on hunting his prey that he couldn’t recall when the moon replaced the sun in the sky.

A shiver ran down their fur when the wind picked up the scent of the disturbance. Jasmine with the hint of winter snowflakes caught on his tongue. Mate Ryker snarled in his head. Without thought, they sprinted for the source of the scent, their other half. His fur stood on end, making him appear like a damn porcupine, but he didn’t care. Second-chance mates were unheard of, a myth whispered around campfires. Forcing more speed into his limbs, he growled when he heard his prey give chase. Mine.

Part Two

“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”

? Rumi

The Wolf and the Witch

?*

Greta whirled around, heart jumping into her throat. She thought she’d heard a twig snap behind her, but that wasn’t possible. Other than her, nothing lived in the Redwoods. Placing a hand to her racing heart, she glanced down into a basket of herbs held aloft in her right hand. Some were hardy, capable of thriving in the most improbable environments, like a cursed forest.

Deciding she had plenty of herbs for future spells, she continued striding forward, magick calling to magick. The old weather-down cabin came into view, causing her magick to thrum in her chest. It recognized the protective barrier encircling the cabin, borne of blood. It was her spell, her magick calling to itself, like to like.

Her body froze and hairs raised on her neck when she heard a sound playing frequently in her dreams. A sinister growl shattering the quiet. Fighting a whimper, she dropped the basket and sprinted for the safety of her barrier. Tears streamed down her face and her lungs burned within seconds, but the cabin rested merely a few feet away.

A screeched ripped from her throat when something gray tackled her mid-sprint, sending her careening to the ground. Damp leaves clung to her skin, and she squirmed underneath the Lycan above her. Normal wolves lacked their size and intelligence. It had waited for her, probably even watched her leave.

Its maw opened, clamping razor-sharp teeth around her neck. Paws rested firmly on each of her arms, effectively pinning her beneath the four-legged creature. Revulsion and bile churned in her stomach. At least, it hadn’t eaten her or tackled her in Lycan form. Reaching for her magick, she paused when an unfamiliar voice resounded in her mind. Calm yourself, witch.

Wide eyed, her breathing came faster. She’d never heard a Lycan speak in her mind before. Taking stock of her body, she noted the sharp points of his teeth rested against her neck, barely applying pressure. Slowly, he stretched his mouth wider, slipping her neck from between his teeth. Red eyes rested above a wolf’s muzzle, gazing down at her.

Its fur rippled, followed by the chilling sound of bones snapping. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched fur give way to olive skin, the moon’s glow caressing a handsome face poised above her. Her eyes widen further once a naked male Lycan finished transforming and casually straddled her hips. His hands rested on muscled thighs and a slight tremor racked his body. Flushing, she tore her eyes away from his thighs and the half-hard rod resting between them. Lycans paraded around naked often in the palace. Her nipples had never hardened into tight buds at seeing her captors naked.

He leaned down, running a patrician nose along the column of her neck, inhaling deeply. She held back a squeak, fighting the urge to squirm for a different reason. Tugging on her magick once more, a calmness spread from the center of her chest. She wasn’t a weak witch bound by iron. She held power within her grasp.

“I don’t mean you any harm, witch,” he rumbled against her skin, sending pleasurable shivers down her spine. She resisted tilting her body more firmly against his.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, loathe to fill the woods with her words. Remembering the entity, she brought her palms to push against his bare chest. It rippled beneath her palms and she swore sparks flew from their point of contact. Dearest Hecate, what is this?

“Stop that, witch.” His hands came to rest against her own. She jerked them back, scowling up into emerald eyes, heated with something she didn’t want to define.

“Get off me. I have to get back to the cabin.” He didn’t budge, forcing a growl from her. He chuckled before slowly sliding off her and reaching a hand down to help her up.

“Bite me,” she snapped, rising to her feet without help.

“Is that an invitation?” His full lips stretched into a dazzling smile. Her magick pulsed in her chest. Her hands flew blindly to her sternum. He shot her a quizzical look.

“Are you hurt, witch?”

“My name is Greta, not witch!” Patience worn thin, she strode away from, pausing only when she remembered her basket. His chest warmed her front when she twirled back around. He shot a quick hand out, fingers digging into her hips, bringing their pelvis flush.

“Careful, Greta,” he purred, making her knees buckle slightly. Shaking her head, she stepped back, surprised when he didn’t fight it. Sighing, he brought a hand to rake through dark hair reflecting the moon’s glow. Goddess, he was handsome, she thought absurdly.

“What’s in these woods?” he asked, a solemn expression gracing his face. A square jaw clenched and his eyes flashed briefly, reminding her exactly what stood in front of her. An animal. Stepping back some more and ignoring his question, she cast a glance behind her.

A snarl whispered across her skin, causing her to jump, bringing her breast firmly against his chest. Turning her back to him was a mistake.

“I thought I asked you to stop that,” he whispered in her ear. He inhaled harshly again. She fought a full-body shudder, not wanting her harden nipples to brush against the warmth seeping through their clothes.

“Stop what?” It came out more as a gasp than a whisper. She berated her body’s response. Lycan, she reminded her body. Scars still marred her skin from their abuse. But we’ve never hurt you. That voice in her head was akin to a bucket of ice water seeping through her clothes and threatening to paralyze her limbs.

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