Chapter 10
Hudson
Four days. Four fucking days I’d been pent up in the house. Alone. Every night with nothing but my own hand for company.
And a couple of toys that I may have brought with me.
A guy has needs.
Especially when the two gorgeous men who had come running back into my life had practically abandoned me after giving me the most holy gay experience of my entire existence.
It was fine. I came to town not intending to see them, hear them, or wind up entangled in a weird witch-werewolf-mortal relationship with them, and that was how it should be.
I could take care of myself. I wasn’t stuffing a dildo up my ass while burying my face in the sweats Tyler had borrowed, or falling asleep cuddling the pillow Emery had slept on.
Nope. Definitely not me.
In lieu of depraved solo performances, I’d been gradually cleaning and packing the house, room by room.
I’d made my way through at least two dozen of Grams’ contacts, letting them know that she’d passed.
Half of them had offered to come by with food and other gifts for me, trinkets and traditions for the passing of a fellow witch.
And I was fairly certain every single one of them was attempting to garner favor with the person they expected to become the sole inheritor of nearly five centuries of Garland magic.
The food, I happily accepted—albeit wary of any poisons or other nasty machinations prior to inhaling. The witch stuff, however, I knew better than to take. Magical gifts from witches outside of my family were just favors with an unspoken IOU attached.
The casseroles and pies that kept appearing at my door were nice, but it wasn’t enough to quell the cabin fever creeping in and rotting my brain.
Ever since Emery dropped by to tell me there’d been an increased werewolf presence in Felcove, I’d basically been trapped.
There, in my ancestral home, I had a level of protection I wouldn’t find anywhere else.
Sure, I knew how to take care of myself against wolves.
Better than anyone in my life knew, at that.
Big surprise, the twink can defend himself. Not that Emery understood that, prowling around outside day and night, running the perimeter of the house like a speedy little shadow flitting across the yard. You’d think lifting him from the ground and knocking the wind out of him would’ve clued him in.
Never should’ve told him about the fucking cure. Dumbass.
Honestly, I assumed he knew. Just like the others. I thought maybe he was chasing me to do exactly what the rest had come to do.
To kill me.
Even Grams had no idea of the trouble I’d run into after leaving Felcove.
She knew something was wrong. Always told me to be on my guard and remember everything she’d taught me.
But if I’d told her I’d been attacked on the street, in public spaces, and even in my own apartment, she would have insisted I come back.
She would have insisted I let her protect me, and I would’ve been subjected to exactly what I was experiencing then. A prisoner in my own home.
The sun was descending below the stretch of blue on the horizon outside the window as I laid on the sofa in the parlor.
Sir Hissalot was sprawled out across my stomach while I read through an old tome I already knew cover-to-cover, detailing my family history.
The section on the creation of the Garland werewolves was rather tattered in comparison to the rest of the book.
My own doing. A fascination that had begun after learning Emery had been turned.
I wasn’t sure if Poor Em even understood why I’d always kept him at arm’s length, or why he, too, had been cut out of my life along with Tyler.
With the epiphany that came while lying there wrapped up in both of them, I knew I’d need to discuss it with him eventually.
I’d always known he had feelings for me.
It was the source of those affections that worried me.
Garland werewolves hadn’t been created as a form of punishment. They were the knights to our royalty, as the text described them. Our protectors. Willing souls, lovers, friends, and allies alike who chose to become what they were. A spell born and rooted in devotion.
And with magic, intent breeds outcome.
Often, a wolf would rise and be assigned to a Garland witch, only to fall desperately in love with them. A blind and heedless desire to serve, protect, and, of course, fuck the witch they had pledged their life to.
Emery was a Garland werewolf. I was a Garland witch.
I never wanted that for him. He deserved a choice in who he loved.
But proximity was the real trigger. The effect could be broken with time and distance. The wolf would despair for a while, but eventually their heart would heal, and their vision would clear.
I never left Emery behind to hurt him. I did exactly what Tyler had tried to do for me.
Set him free.
Yet, it seemed as if I was the one completely stuck on them.
I’d come home intending to take care of Grams’ unfinished business, sell the house, and abdicate my claim to the Garland legacy.
Once that magic had no heir, it would fade, and my stupid heart wouldn’t be on the menu for werewolves any longer.
“You’d have us. We’d help you.”
With a groan, I clapped the book shut and tossed it on the ottoman beside the couch. Hissy gave an indignant yowl as I sat upright, forcing him to move. I rubbed my eyes, only tired from lack of activity. “Doesn’t feel like I have either of you right now.”
I couldn’t hold it against them. Emery had every right to shoot me down when I’d admitted to wanting another round with them. I wasn’t staying.
Ty still could’ve kept his promise to call me so we could talk. Not that I was looking forward to a conversation that was going to be mostly one-sided apologies I already knew the lines to. I got why he did it. Why he crushed me like that.
Done with all the overthinking I’d been doing for the better part of the day, I forced myself to get up.
I shot both fists in the air with an overdramatic stretch, grunting as the muscles in my back and stomach unravelled.
My whole body felt like it was buzzing with need—physical, sexual, and magical.
If I jacked off one more time thinking of Tyler and Emery and everything I wanted to do with them, my dick might actually fall off. So, something productive it was.
As I stood to my feet, a knock came at the front door. Growling in my throat, I flopped back against the parlor sofa. I was so tired of talking to people. Maybe if I didn’t answer, they’d leave.
Another knock, more insistent this time.
“Coming,” I sighed loudly, hauling myself back up to stomp through the hall and into the foyer. The moment I glimpsed the shadow beyond the stained glass door, I wished I hadn’t gotten up. Broad shoulders and the blurred outline of a suit and tie waited on the other side.
The desperation it must’ve taken for William Hargraves to appear on the Garland front porch.
Which could only mean that Ty still hadn’t gone home.
Against my better judgement, I wrenched the front door open, my face full of loathing. “I haven’t seen him.”
William’s narrowed eyes raked over me, a sneer on his face. “And yet, you knew exactly why I’m here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have another casserole for me, Mister Hargraves?” I deadpanned, holding out my hand to receive the courtesy I knew the man was incapable of. “I know how deeply saddened you must be at the loss of such a pillar of our great community here.”
William’s upper lip twitched. He leaned forward, glaring. “If I learn my son has been hiding out here…”
“If Tyler needs a place to hide from you, I’ll happily provide it,” I snapped, shoving the door closed in his face. “Good day, Mister Hargraves.”
My whole body shook as I turned away, waiting to hear his footsteps down the staircase.
Finally, the creak of the porch met my ears.
I rolled my eyes, trudging back out to the living room to snatch my phone.
Ty might not have felt like reaching out, but letting him know his ridiculously overbearing father showed up at my front door seemed like a good way to remind him I existed.
Your dad had the nerve to darken my doorstep. Think he’s looking for you. Thought you should know.
I sent the text, staring at the screen to see if he’d respond.
After a few minutes, I gave up hope. I glanced around the parlor, chewing my lip. All of my wallowing wasn’t getting anything done, surprisingly. I really needed to get cleaning.
But who said it had to be boring?
“Okay…” I cracked my knuckles, trying to remember that rush of power I’d felt when Em had pissed me off in the alley.
I lifted both hands, focusing on a single book that lay on the coffee table.
“Let’s do this—” Thrusting out both palms in a push, I screwed my eyes shut, looking away. Cracking one eye open, I sighed.
Nothing.
I tried again with one hand, looking like a dumb kid convinced he had superpowers. “Come on. I threw a fucking werewolf. You’re just a book. Move.” The other hand didn’t work either.
With a groan, I spun away, my big toe connecting with the leg of the coffee table. “Ow, fuck!” Grams’ favorite blue and white porcelain vase teetered in the center of the table. “No, no, no!” It fell over before I could reach it, rolling right over the edge and shattering. “Motherfucker!”
Heaving a sigh, I dropped to my knees, staring at the shards. I reached for the largest piece with a shaking hand. “Sorry, Gr—oh, goddammit!” I sliced my thumb open, dropping the shard and breaking it into several more.
Blood blossomed instantly, dripping down to my wrist. Gritting my teeth with a growl, I fisted my uninjured hand in my hair. “Fucking STUPID!”