Page 28 of Enemy Wolf

It had been nearly a week since Orson left on that full moon night. The more I thought about it, the more my feelings seemed to get tangled up and confused. Parts of the night were hazy to me, which I could attribute to the moon’s magic and the strength of those orgasms making me lose my mind.

But I remembered enjoying it. A lot. And in ways that had nothing to do with the release of suffering. Orson had kept his distance until he was sure I wanted to proceed. He didn’t even make the first move. I had to kiss him first, and holy shit, nobody had ever kissed me like that. I expected him to be stilted and awkward, but his mouth fit mine like we had been made for each other.

And as I thought back to how he had touched me and tasted me, it seemed he was more in tune with my body than anyone else I had ever been with. I had been moments away from saying ‘fuck the rules, get inside me now’.

But that was when he left in a big damn hurry, looking horrified and muttering about how sorry he was.

If that wasn’t enough to make me swear off all men, especially werewolves, nothing was.

I went back to stirring my potion, trying to swirl all thoughts of Orson out of my brain. But try as I might, the bastard stuck, and not for any good reason.

It was damn hurtful how he left.

What I couldn’t shake was not how thoroughly he pleased me, but how much it hurt me that he had left. It gave me such fucking whiplash. He’d been there when I’d needed him and was completely selfless the entire time. That blanket around his waist never came off once. And then it was like someone did a sudden personality transplant on him.

Or maybe it was the kindness and selflessness that was fake, and the rude, brusque asshole was the real Orson. Yeah, that made more sense. It was in line with just about every other interaction I’d had with him.

To add insult to injury, he hadn’t come to the bar once since that night.

My usual Howling Death regulars came to Stout & Spirit, but Orson was never among them. I had walked my usual trail through the woods, where I’d rubbed his wolf’s belly, and he was never around. In doing all my usual errands around town, I never caught a glimpse of him.

Naturally, that made me feel even shittier about what happened.

I couldn’t dwell on it though, because the safety of the territory rested on my shoulders, and the clock was ticking.

Every night the dragon shifter hadn’t returned, I had breathed a small sigh of relief. At the same time, I knew the reprieve wouldn’t last forever. Stout & Spirit was closed tonight, and it was my first opportunity to make a test batch of his potion on the stove.

It was not going well, and when my front door swung open with a bang, my dread became a cement brick in my stomach.

“Come out, witch. I know you’re here,” he called.

My hands were already shaking so hard, I had to focus to turn the stove off. The mark, which I continued to keep bandaged because it never healed, burned like a hot brand was being pressed to my arm.

The dragon waited for me in the main dining area, drumming long black claws on the bartop as I came out from the back room.

“Well?” he huffed, wisps of smoke escaping his flared nostrils. “Where’s my potion?”

“I—I was able to find all the ingredients, but—”

“But what?” he snarled. “What’s the fucking hold up?”

“I need more time.” My hands wrung together in front of me, and I wondered if there was any way out of this alive for me. “Please understand that no one has made Visakari’s Kiss for hundreds of years.”

“So what? You witches can live as long as we do.”

“It’s just that not all steps were recorded accurately in the grimoire, or they’ve been lost to time. I need to test the ratios of ingredients, find the optimal temperature, the best duration of the boil—ahh!”

The dragon only had to curl a few clawed, scaled fingers to make the pain in my arm unbearable. I clutched the limb to my chest, curling into myself while tears stung my eyes and only whimpers escaped my lips.

“Do you think you can play me, witch?” he asked coldly.

“I’m not, I swear!” I cried. “Please, stop!”

He didn’t stop. My arm burned and pulsed, the pain shooting up to my chest and down into my stomach. I wondered if it would make my heart stop. Anything to make it stop.

Just when it felt like I was about to knock on death’s door, the pain lifted.

I gasped for breath, my vision dotted with all kinds of dark colors. My stomach roiled, ready to empty itself from all the conflicting sensations.

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