Page 6 of The Wolf and the Witch

A night gust of air shifted through their gray fur and paws crunched through fallen leaves and branches alike. Various scents drifted to him on the breeze. He followed the familiar scent of chrysanthemums. Trickling water teased his ears. Staying downwind, he approached a weathered oak tree with neat carvings etched into the bark. He sat on his haunches a few inches shy of a wreath of red chrysanthemums. His head lowered to rest on his front paws, the water lulling him and brushing some of the stress of the day away into the ether.

Precious moments of tranquility were difficult to capture, but sometimes Selene blessed Geralt with one when he needed it the most. His eyes blinked lazily and his mind wondered to his daughter, Abbigail. Running the pack and the businesses attached to it funding their way of life often distracted him from worrying about his only child. But resting in front of the tree memorializing his late mate directed his thoughts to his daughter.

Two years passed since she mated the Lycan king, Michael. Six months had flown by since the last time he’d heard from her. A parent’s intuition suggested something was wrong. Logic said it wasn’t unusual for newly mated she-wolves to immerse themselves in their new pack to the point their old one was an afterthought. But he’d assumed he possessed a closer relationship with his only pup than most.

His former mate, Angel, died shortly after gifting him the most precious thing in the world. With the help of his pack and Helen, he’d raised Abbigail on his own. Objectively, he thought he’d done a decent job while grappling with the debilitating loss of a mate. Shaking a furred snout, he shifted to his paws, stretching his front and hind legs. Evelyn would’ve been a pleasurable distraction, he thought at Ryker.

She’s not ours, his beast snarled back. Grumbling internally, he padded away from the chrysanthemums and adjacent stream. Second chance mates weren’t rare. Merely a strong enough connection was required for a Lycan to choose another mate and mark them. Selene’s generosity toward Lycans wasn’t limitless. The moon Goddess granted every Lycan a fated mate, but only one. If they rejected their fated mate or they died, the bond was permanently severed. Granted to each matebond, fated or chosen, was one chance. Ryker refused to waste a chance on Evelyn.

He forced thoughts of Evelyn to the back of his mind on the route back home. When the sprawling log cabin that served as the packhouse came into view, he stilled. Scenting the air and listening intently for sounds coming from within the wooden walls, he stalked toward the stairs leading to the front door. Helen and Gabriel were the only occupants inside the house. After several hours interacting with the pack, he desired solitude.

Bones snapped, and fur receded when he reached for his human skin. Breathing through the brief pain of shifting, he rested on hands and knees, allowing his body time to adjust. Feet pounded down the steps. Gabriel’s earthy scent invaded his nose when the male stooped to his level, a bundle of clothes clasped in his hands.

Shooting his friend a grateful smile, he rose to his feet, ignoring his body’s minor complaints, and pulled on the gray sweatpants and plain white shirt his Beta supplied. When Gabriel opened his mouth, Geralt shook his head sharply.

“Tomorrow, Gabriel. Tonight, I’m going to my room to get some rest. I recommend you do the same.” Side-stepping the other male, Geralt didn’t wait for a response. The old steps creaked beneath his bare feet, teasing a smile to his lips. Before his first shift, when all his heightened senses came online, he used to wonder how his father always knew where he was in the house. Now I know, dad, now I know. He hoped his father heard the whispered words in his head through a phantom mindlink.

The Messenger

Striding toward the packhouse, Geralt released a sigh, his muscles complaining with each step. Damp grass brushed the soles of his bare feet, sweat trickled down his body, and the sun shone weakly upon him. The morning was still young, and he’d had the brilliant idea of running himself ragged before dealing with the day’s task. Physically, he appeared no older than 25 thanks to Lycan genetics. But, mentally, the years ate at him, weighing on his bones. He was quickly approaching his second quarter of a century.

Reaching the back of the packhouse butted up against the surrounding woods, he slipped into the habit of scenting the air. Stilling, he sorted through the scents of packmates passing through the house. Tension tightened his limbs when he recognized Ella’s scent. He broke into a sprint, rounding the front of the old log cabin and the steps leading to the wrap-around porch. He took them two at a time, careless of the image he painted to any Lycans witnessing his hurried scramble.

With an impatient snarl, he hurled the door open, honing his nose on Ella’s scent, seeking her location with his senses since she didn’t share a pack mindlink with him. Helen gaped at him from the open doorway of the kitchen, hand poised mid-slice with a butcher knife. A dead deer took up the entire island. He momentarily forgot his urgency at the sight of a carcass dirtying up his home.

“What the hell, Helen? You couldn’t get someone to do that for you outside?” he snapped, regretting his words as soon as they flew out of his mouth. Ryker’s glee flowed down the bond. The beast knew Geralt fucked up. She strode toward him with a glare, knife held at her side. Fortunately, she’d pointed the sharpened tip at the ground.

Helen leveled him with a stare, speaking volumes without uttering a word, one brow raised and lips pinched with displeasure. Bowing his head, he mumbled an apology. Urgency returned, but the she-wolf raised him as her own pup. His disrespect was undeserved.

Helen harrumphed and turned on a heel, marching back to her position behind the marble island. Wincing, he forced his feet forward, bypassing the mess, aiming for the stairs leading to his office. Ella’s scent rested heavily in the air. Anxiety and nervousness soured the smell. Ryker’s hackles rose, and he prowled Geralt’s mind fiercely. An unspoken foreboding twisted his heart, riling his beast.

Stopping outside the wood panel door, his ears picked up Gabriel’s familiar breathing pattern. Ella’s essence clouded the air so heavily he’d missed his Beta’s calming aroma. The earthy smell reminded him of sunflowers, tanning in the sun, and summer days without worries. His shoulders relaxed their stiff position the more he inhaled his friend’s bouquet.

Do you mind grabbing a pair of clothes for me? He sent to Gabriel through the mindlink. Soft footfalls seeped through the door before the male opened it, sliding past him without a comment or a glance at his nakedness. The male was truly Selene’s blessing. He’d have killed Paul several years past if he’d kept him on as Beta.

His cousin, Ella, squeaked on the other side of the door, tan face flushed with a blush after glancing in his direction. Lips twitching in humor, he sauntered into the room. He lacked the desire to make his cousin uncomfortable, but he found no pleasure standing bare ass in the hall outside his office. Walking briskly toward his desk, hands cupped around the family jewels, he slid into the office chair, shielding his lower body from view behind the heavy oak-wood.

Planting his elbows on the wood surface, he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Ella remained seated on one settee facing the desk, brown eyes shifting around the room, eagerly avoiding looking at him. Ryker pressed against his skin, shifting their eyes from the normal forest green to a crimson red. His cousin flinched when her eyes drifted to him, heart rate picking up under his silent scrutiny.

“How are you, cousin?” he asked, breaking the silence. He gnashed his teeth against wasting time with pleasantries when he wanted to ask about his daughter’s well-being. But Alphas and Betas had different wiring. He couldn’t ignore her stiff posture, back pressed so far into the settee as if she wanted to physically escape him by shrinking. If he didn’t put her at ease, he’d get very little information out of her.

“I’m okay. I just thought I’d stop by for a visit. Gabriel told me you went for a run and Auntie Helen is getting dinner ready for tonight.” Prey, Ryker growled in his head. Blunt fingers kept fidgeting with the hem of her white flowy blouse, drawing his eye like any other predator. Doe eyes constantly bounced around the room, possibly plotting escapes in her head. Claws scraped against wood, and he couldn’t get Ryker to settle.

“How’s Abbigail?” he blurted. He wanted her gone, her prey like behavior driving Ryker into salivating. The beast filled his head with images of her soft flesh tearing between his teeth, or the short chase before his claws dug into pliable skin. Hunt.

Damn it. Between running the pack and running to ease the tension in his body, he’d forgotten how long it’s been since his last hunt. Ella stilled, gaze fixed on his claw tips, scraping the surface of his desk. She brought wide, fearful eyes up to his.

He grunted, shifting in his chair and praying Gabriel returned quickly. For an Alpha, the male held an aura of tranquility. He could talk the hottest Lycan down from a temper, Geralt being one of them.

“I will not hurt you, Ella. You can relax.” He doubted his gruff tone complemented the words. Her stillness reminded him of deer, right before the kill.

“S-she’s fine, Alpha.” Rising to her feet, she kept her gaze averted. “I’ll go help Auntie Helen.” Her words were barely above a whisper. Sliding to his feet, he pushed the desk a couple of feet forward in his rush.

Releasing a growl, he stalked toward the fearful Beta, claws elongating and fur sprouting in small tufts along his bare body. The stench of her lie abused his nostrils and enraged Ryker. Kill, it urged him. As Helen’s niece, they shared zero blood relation. Saliva filled his mouth, but he fought back. An out-of-control Lycan was a dead male walking.

“Tell me the truth.” The words filled the air as a guttural growl layered with a second voice. Ryker wanted blood. He ran a tongue along one sharp canine, clenching his fist and resisting the urge to rush forward and tear into the pulse throbbing in her neck, calling to his predatory nature.

Ella visibly shrunk further into herself, brown waves rushing forward and shielding her face.

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