Page 18 of The Witch's Werewolf
Despite my concern for Alma, despite the danger and the fright and the worry, I can’t help but notice the feeling that grows in my belly as the wolf chases me through the woods.
I shouldn’t be enjoying the chase. I have no right to. I lost sight of my friend. I should be running straight back to my grandmother’s house.
Instead, I’m running in random directions, purposely getting lost in the trees and the underbrush.
Pretty soon, I have no idea where I am, though I’ve walked these woods every week for a year.
And that makes it all the more exciting.
Timber’s here, and he’s not going to let anything bad happen to me.
Probably.
He would never hurt me.
Most likely.
My mind flashes back to the kiss from this morning. How it felt to be in his arms.
This moment bears no resemblance to that.
He is half man, half beast, and there’s nothing sweet and gentle about him as I look over my shoulder.
He is a cursed monster, and I’m getting a sick pleasure from making him chase me.
I don’t know what he’ll do when he finally catches up to me, but the thrill in my belly is matched by the need.
Whatever spell I put on myself, it hasn’t gone away.
Apparently, I made the spell diminish when my feelings about what happened to Toby took over. That was guilt.
But now, why don’t I feel guilty about losing sight of Alma?
Because she poofed herself away with magic. She’s much more experienced in protection spells than you are, silly witch.
The evidence is undeniable.
And so I run, giving in to the excitement of crashing through the bushes, bounding over rocks, feeling so much more sure of myself than I felt last night, barefoot and all.
Finally, Timber overtakes me in a clearing near the covered bridge.
Pretending to stumble, I let him corner me by some rocks at the creek.
I hope Alma will forgive me for whatever is about to happen to her Red Riding Hood costume.
Timber is over me once again, but this time he’s not taking his time to reassure me.
The human eyes are determined. Wicked, even.
With no further preamble, Timber’s furry, clawed paws push my thighs open like he owns me.
He drags his cold, wet snout over the inside of my thigh, and then his fangs rend my panties into shreds.
There’s only a brief sniff and a growl before his thick, flat tongue sweeps over my heat. Insistent and firm and claiming.
Oh. My. Goddess.
How could something so wild be so careful with his razor-sharp teeth?
