Page 59 of Witches and Wine
“A lot going on, such as a mating bond with a gorgeous red-haired lady witch?” Tambie grinned and hopped on her heels, moving behind the bar.
Squinting at her and her profound damnable intuition, I grabbed a keg with one hand and placed it in the kegerator with ease. “How the Tartarus did you know we accepted it?”
Tambie clapped her hands and squealed—a high-pitched bout of shrieking to rival a siren or fuck, to rival abanshee. “I just assumed, but I know now.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled, grabbing the other keg and hoisting it in. “We accepted it, yeah, but?—”
Tambie gasped and felt around my body, pulling my shirt up and exposing my back. “You haven’tclaimed.”
Snarling, I batted her hands away and yanked my shirt down. “No, I haven’t, and I can’t be sure she even wants that, butwhyare you checkingmefor a mark?”
“Isn’t that how it works? She’d bite you, too?” Tambie fiddled with one of her antlers, tilting her head to the side.
Shaking my head, I connected the tubing for the carbon oxide tank. “She’s a witch. She doesn’t biteme. Shit, I don’t even know if witches can claim in the same way.” I was stammering, and I knew it, feeling like a tool.
“I don’t know, that sounds positively delicious to me,” a female voice said, her tone all too alluring for my comfort.
Vila, the succubus. Fuck me sideways.
“This conversation doesn’t concern you, Vila,” I clipped, throwing the door to the kegerator down and locking it.
Vila frowned and leaned her forearms on the bar top, purposely squishing her tits together beneath her low-cut, skintight black dress. “It’s such a pity Chelsea would want nothing to do with it. Why would she have ever accepted a mating bond with abeastin the first place?”
Turning toward her, ignoring Tambie’s pleas of protest, I caged Vila in with my arms, glowering down at her and huffing out of my nose. “What did I just say?”
Disregarding any imposing nature, Vila reached for my horn and stroked it just as I felt a familiar presence from—mymate.
Following behindtwo witches leading me to a cottage nestled in a wood thicket hadn’t been on my to-do list today, yet here I was. They didn’t give off threatening vibes that I could tell, but considering a pixie was dead and one they had a connection with to boot, I remained cautious. We hadn’t spoken at all during the walk, which in itself already put me on edge. I’ve always been a talker and built a career around it. Nonetheless, I respected their wishes for silence and used the time to keep vigilant of my surroundings.
An empty pit had formed in my stomach from Dion’s absence. I had no basis for comparison, considering I’d never accepted a mating bond before now, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the physical ache from us being apart. Perhaps it would improve with time? Or the more harrowing alternative—it could get worse. Pressing my hands to my belly, I summoned my magic, attempting to lessen the hollow feeling, but I failed.
“It’s new,” the taller witch said, pausing long enough to give me a weak, reassuring smile. “It’s going to feel like a part of your soul is missing for a while until the bond can settle.”
I gulped and curled some of my rogue hair behind my ear. “Do you have a mate?”
“Yes,” she replied, walking again, the cottage within arm’s reach now. “A demon. He works in Bacchus on the weekends.”
“What a small world, huh?” A meager, nervous laugh pushed from my throat as I stood on the threshold to the cottage, the witches waiting for me inside.
The shorter witch lowered her hood, a pair of chocolate-colored eyes peering at me. “You’ll come to find it’s not so small after all.”
Gulping, nerves pricking my skin, I took one step, and an invisible weight pushed on my head and shoulders, making me stagger backward. It was enough to make me grab the doorway. Otherwise, I’d have fallen onto my ass. “Is this a trick or something?”
The two witches exchanged bewildered glances. “You can’t get past the ward?”
Grimacing, I slid another foot forward, that same pressure intensifying. “Apparently not. I feel like a giant thumb is crushing me.”
“Youarenew.” The shorter one folded her arms. “Use your magic. Show the shield who you are. Tell itwhatyou are, and the pressure will lift.”
Grunting from the strain, I widened my stance and held up my palms, calling to my magic. My eyes pinched shut, and piece by piece, I began to relax, starting at my feet and working to my head. My power misted from my skin with little effort, curling in the air around me, lashing the ward, and then caressing it. After several more seconds of the shield deciphering the power I possessed, it finally lifted, and I opened my eyes.
“Very good,” the taller witch said, smiling. “You’re a quick study.”
“Or just stubborn and prone to hyper-focusing,” I countered, smirking.
The two witches parted and invited me inside with beckoning arms. There was a towering unlit hearth at the back of the space, wooden, dusty floorboards, a chandelier with black candles, and a simple table with three chairs. As I moved closer, the pentagram drawn on the floor with salt came into view, and I had to stifle a gasp. It had already begun to feel real, but seeing this, being in this space with two other witches, it started to resemble a fever dream.
“Is this where you practice and conjure spells?” I crouched near the pentagram.
