Page 8 of The Witch's Shifter
Just like in his wolf form, his eyes are a brilliant blue. They’re rich like sapphires, with lighter flecks that remind me of ice upon a lake in late winter. His pupils are impossibly black, and they narrow as his eyes adjust to the golden sunlight filling the room.
I’m still frozen, damp cloth held against his forehead. But I’m not sure he even notices. His gaze remains fixed on my face, and I try not to flinch when he lifts his hand toward me. His fingertips are like fire upon my skin when they skate across my cheek.
“It’s you,” he whispers.
Me?
I want to ask him what he means, who he is, why he’s here.
But before I can get a single word out, his eyelids start to droop, and his hand sinks slowly back to his side. Then, with a deep breath, he falls asleep once more.
I’m still sitting beside the couch, frozen, when Alden’s boots thump up the front porch steps. He won’t be happy to see me lingering so close to the man.
Draping the cloth back over the edge of the bowl, I quickly stand and meet Alden in the foyer just as he’s pushing the door closed with his boot.
“Everything okay?” he asks as I take a few logs from his arms.
I give him a small smile. “Everything’s fine.”
We return to the parlor to fill the firewood rack and feed the fire, and the blue-eyed man doesn’t move again.
But the question remains: Who does he think I am?
Chapter 7
Rowan
I’VE GOT MY CHEEK PROPPED against my fist, elbow on the armrest of the rocking chair. Aurora is out in the garden, Alden is taking a nap upstairs, and I’m on babysitting duty.
The man is looking better today; the sheen of sweat is gone from his brow, and the fever flush has gone from his cheeks. His bare chest rises and falls with easy breaths, the sound of his breathing barely audible over the crackle of the fire beside me.
I imagine he’s going to awaken soon, though I’m not yet sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I want him to wake up and get out of here as soon as his legs will carry him. But on the other, I’m worried about how he might react once he finally comes to.
Aurora doesn’t understand how unstable some shifters are, how their animal instincts often override their human ones. She hasn’t seen what I’ve seen—not that I’d ever want her to. She keeps assuring me the man is safe, but I don’t buy it. And she underestimates their strength, their sheer power.
For a brief moment, I imagine the man waking up and crushing Aurora’s throat in his grasp as she’s trying to treat hiswounds, and it makes me reach for my sword where it’s leaning against the wall in its scabbard.
I willneverlet that happen.
A gust of wind rattles the window over the couch, and the man shifts.
My rocking in the chair ceases.
His brow, previously smooth and relaxed with sleep, bunches, and then his eyes open. At first, he looks up at the ceiling, blinking against the late-afternoon sunlight. Evening will be here soon, but for now the light streaming through the windows is bright and golden, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. And once they do, he turns his head and looks at me.
We stare at each other, even though I’m aware that staring a shifter down is something one should generallynotdo. But I can’t bring myself to stop. He’s the outsider here, the one endangering Aurora and our child with every moment he spends on that couch. And I want him gone.
Slowly, and with a small grunt that betrays his pain, the man pushes himself up on the couch. His long hair slips over his bare shoulder, glowing blue black in the light. I sit forward in the rocking chair, muscles coiling, and he narrows his eyes at me.
“Where is she?” he asks. His voice is gravelly, rough. It sends a warning twirling through me. This is already a bad start.
“Who?” I assume he’s referring to Aurora, but maybe I can get him out of here without ever letting him set eyes on her. She’s still out in the garden; hopefully she’ll stay there for a while longer.
“The green-haired one.”
Why does that make angry heat flare through my veins? I try not to let him see how it’s affecting me. “Not here.”
His lips curl down in the corners. Taking the quilt in hand, he tosses it back, revealing the extent of his naked body. Then he puts his feet flat on the floor and stands up. I rise at the sametime and am unsurprised he stands well over me. Shifters are known to be large, and he’s no exception—besides, Alden and I dragged him here, and his weight almost collapsed us both.
