Page 8 of Bewitching Her Monsters

She frowns and glances at my neck. “I don’t see a collar, but it could be lost in your thick fur.”

Why she keeps joking about me being a dog, I do not know.

The witch places her hands on her hips again. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

I give her a quizzical look.

“Yeah, I know you can’t talk. But fair warning, I’m going to touch you. Okay?” She cautiously reaches out for my neck, likely to curse me or put a magical chokehold on me.

I give her a low growl to back off.

“Fine.” She pulls away. “I guess any touching will have to wait until we get to know each other better.”

I blink at that comment. Sheisa strange one.

“Let’s get something in you, since you look like you want to eat me.” She shrugs and heads for the fridge. She bends over, rummaging through her stuff, and gives me a marvelous view of her full, juicy ass. “Do you like it raw?”

I cough again.

What is it with this woman and her sexual innuendos? Does this game ever work?

Shit. It probably does. If she were a supe and not a freaking witch, I’d be all over that plump ass. As it is, I want to take a bite out of it for severalconflictingreasons.

She takes her sweet time bending over and pulling stuff out of her fridge.

What would she do to me if I were to shift and grab those wide hips from behind? Would she let me rip the seam of those tight leggings and slam home?

Focus!

I sniff the air for magic…

She must have activated some sort of lust charm for me to be thinking like this.

Sneaky little witch.

But oddly, I don’t scent witch magic in the air. That makes little sense. Why would she allow her enemy into her home without protections in place?

And other than the random andunchargedcrystals on shelves, there’s nothing that screams this is a witch's house. Is this even her home?

I trot around the small but cozy place, sniffing the cushions and inspecting a few photographs. From the scents in the room, I can tell thisisher home. She’s been here for a while. Tucked behind a bunch of other framed pictures, there’s one of her with a guy and some other friends.

My wolf snarls when he sees the male has an arm around her waist. Maybe he’s a warlock who is truly evil, since my wolf can’t be this possessive over a freaking witch.

I admonish him,You can’t like a witch.

“Hey now, whatcha doin’?” From the kitchen island, she lifts onto her toes to see over the couch and what I’m up to. “Oh, don’t get bothered by him. He’s out of my life… mostly,” she whispers the last word.

Hmm. Maybeheis the one who is making her spy on my friends and me. I study the picture again to memorize his face. My wolf is agitated and aggressively bumps it with his nose. The frame falls to the ground, and the glass shatters.

“Oh, no.” The witch quickly yet calmly approaches me. “Step back. I don’t want you to get your feeties hurt.”

My feeties?

Does shereallythink I’m a dog? She must. Either that, or she’s incredibly condescending and has a death wish.

She looks at my front paws to make sure I don’t have any glass on my fur. Picking up the bigger pieces of shards, she piles them on top of the broken frame to collect them. “I don’t know why I kept this picture. Maybe because it reminds me of when I believed Rob wasn’t such an alphahole.”

I have a name for the man. Good.

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