Chapter 25
S afely back in his bathroom at Matherson Manor, Benedict let Lucinda sit him on the edge of the tub. She arched a brow at him, daring him to defy her, but he had no interest in doing so. For a moment, it was too quiet. When she licked her lips, studying his injured cheek, it took everything he had not to grab the back of her neck and bring her lips to his.
“Where do you keep your first aid stuff?” Lucinda asked, all business, as though they hadn’t almost lost complete control of themselves in the woods. Her hair, loose in big curls and falling over her shoulders, was evidence of that.
“Behind the mirror,” Benedict said, trying not to focus on the bare skin exposed by her tiny sweater riding up when she reached the top shelf.
He reminded himself he was supposed to be annoyed at her for stopping him from confronting the wolves. He’d wanted to tear off the furry heads of those who’d hurt the staff, but the thought of endangering Lucinda was unthinkable. He wasn’t sure there would be a pack left if they dared to look at her the way they had at him in the lobby. The thought of them laying a claw on her soft skin—
He spotted a few freckles on her back and cleared his throat, trying not to think about wanting to find and taste every single freckle on her body.
“How much aftershave does one man need?” Lucinda muttered, breaking him from his thoughts.
“Is it a crime to smell good?” he asked, trying to hide a smug grin. He was sure traces of his scent were on her. Anyway, it was only a few bottles; he liked to have options, since he kept his wardrobe so limited.
Lucinda muttered something under her breath and grabbed a bottle of disinfectant. The flush travelling from her neck to her cheeks told him she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended by what had happened in the woods.
“I can do it myself. You don’t have to burden yourself,” Benedict said gruffly, but she shoved him back down.
“You should be honoured to be treated by a healer of my skill.” She stepped confidently between his legs and tilted his chin up to get a better look. He usually liked to be in control, but damn, did it turn him on to have her stand over him.
“I don’t think the green fox felt the same way,” he teased, then winced as she gently wiped a cotton pad over the first scratch. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, distracting him.
“That was years ago. Do you have to remember every mistake I’ve made?” Though her tone was rough, her touch was breathtakingly gentle. “If I turn you green, it won’t be an accident.” He watched her brow crease with concern. “The scratches are deep, but if we can get some of Grams’s balm on it soon, it shouldn’t scar.” She dipped a new cotton pad in the disinfectant. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches. I’m not as neat as Grams with a needle.”
“I trust you, but not enough to take a needle and thread to my face.” He faked a flinch as she went to touch his cheek again.
Her eyes flashed to his at the word ‘trust’. He wished he could hear what she was thinking.
“Stop flinching, I haven’t even touched you yet,” she grumbled, holding his chin in her hand. “We need to clean it. The more you move, the longer it’s going to take.”
That was exactly what he was hoping for. His fingertips brushed each side of her thighs, ever so gently, to balance himself. The soft fabric was nothing compared to the warmth of her skin. He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from such tantalising memories.
Lucinda stared at him, and he realised she was waiting for his permission to proceed.
“Sorry.” He nodded.
Watching her, Benedict enjoyed the way she pursed her lips and blew on the wound, drying the disinfectant, how she got so close without any hesitation. His pain was muted as he brushed strands of fallen hair from her face. She didn’t flinch, as though it wasn’t strange at all for his hands to be on her. He flexed his jaw to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.
“What?” he asked, trying not to fidget as her eyes lingered on every detail of his face. “Do I look hideous?”
“You were lucky they missed your eye,” Lucinda told him, her palm against his cheek.
His eye was the last thing he cared about. All he could focus on was the slope of her jaw, the small dimple in her chin and her long, dark lashes. He kept his attention away from her lips, so close to his, even if every fibre of his being was desperate to taste them again.
She removed her hand from his cheek, and he missed the warmth. The smell of disinfectant lingered in the air as she put the lid back on the bottle.
“Not so hard to let someone help you, is it?” she said, putting the bloody cotton in the bin.
“You didn’t give me a choice,” Benedict retorted. “Following me in the woods was brave, but reckless as hell. You surprised me, Hawthorne; I thought you’d be happy to let the wolvespounce on me.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you when you were so angry, and injured! They could’ve done serious damage. I don’t think you’d be so charming with half a face.”
“I wouldn’t need to be charming if I turned into a wild beast,” he joked as she pressed a damp cloth to his cheek. “I’d have fear on my side.”
“A scratch won’t turn you. I doubt you’ve to worry about sprouting fangs and fur.”
“How can you be so sure?” he said, getting up to stand behind her by the sink as she put away the antiseptic. She stared at him in the mirror. “Maybe you should chain me up just in case.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes and slipped away from him. Benedict swallowed as she lifted one side of her skirt, revealing black stockings with a delicate lace edge.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered.
She rolled her stocking down to her knee. Her pale skin was dotted with freckles. Then he noticed the four faint silver lines on the side of her thigh.
“A wolf did this?” he snarled, anger renewed. His heart pounded, though he wasn’t sure if it was his rage or watching her slip the stocking back over the scar.
“Relax. I only showed you so you’d know you won’t change. Mine was an accident, but far deeper than yours, and I’m still 100% witch. You’ve nothing to worry about,” Lucinda promised, and his heartbeat steadied as she rested a hand on his chest. “Don’t think you can get out of the binding anyway, even if you did wolf out.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, resting his hand over hers. “How did it happen?”
“When Rosie first moved in with us after leaving the woods, I made the mistake of going into her room during a full moon. Without her pack, it was harder for her to control herself.” There was no anger or pain in her words, only sadness. “I should’ve known better; it wasn’t her fault. She still feels awful about it.”
“How come I never heard of this?” Benedict wondered why the coven hadn’t been informed of a wolf-related incident. He hadn’t even noticed a bandage on her leg. Then he remembered that she always wore longer skirts and dresses. He’d never thought she might be concealing something.
“I begged Mum and Grams not to report it. Her residency in town hadn’t been fully approved yet, and they would’ve cast her out. She shouldn’t be punished because I was careless.” She looked down at her leg. “As you saw, the scars are barely noticeable, thanks to Grams’s balm. Your pretty face will be back to normal in a few days.”
Understanding how far she was willing to go to protect those she cared about made his chest tight. An admirable trait, and one he understood all too well. She might make a good Matherson after all.
“You were kind to take her in. Many in town wouldn’t have.”
“I wasn’t going to let her end up homeless or roaming the woods alone. She was sleeping in the gazebo in the town square when I found her,” Lucinda said.
“Will she ever return to the pack?” he asked, wondering if Rosie had ever considered it. Even though his own family was a mess, he couldn’t imagine leaving them and never returning.
“I don’t think so. Being cast out cuts a wolf deeper than any harsh words or physical scar. It’d be like someone ripping out our element and only leaving us with traces of it.” Lucinda grimaced as she realised what she’d just said.
“It’s not the same,” he said, not wanting her to beat herself up. Part of him was grateful the switch had happened; otherwise they might never have broken down the walls they’d built up over the years. “She’s lucky to have you and your family. Grams is as protective as any alpha.”
“I’d be much more afraid of her. Grams won’t rip your throat out, but she can do worse,” Lucinda agreed with a shiver.
“I thought Hawthornes don’t use dark magic?” he joked.
“You forget that my great-great-grandfather married the last Douglas,” she admitted, reminding him of the only blot in their pristine magical ledger.
“Necromancers. How could I forget?” He tutted.
She chuckled. “My great-great-great - grandmother nearly had an aneurysm about the match, given his lineage, but Aurora didn’t practice herself. She was the last of their name, and this was all before they even came to Foxford. Though we have got the last Douglas grimoire in our private vault– it was brought with us to Foxford. There are more dangerous and forbidden spells in it than I dare to mention, and it was the one grimoire Grams swore never to hand over to the Order.”
Curious to know if she was ever tempted, he asked, “Can you read it?”
“Yes, but I don’t dare to translate it. Nothing good can come from those pages. Grams showed me once, and the drawings alone haunt me.” She shuddered. “And the blood connection is weak, so I’m not sure if my translations would even be accurate.”
“So there is a bit of darkness in you,” Benedict said, inching closer to brush her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t have to worry about corrupting you.”
“I’m not a complete goody-goody.” Lucinda scowled, folding her arms across her chest.
“Ha! Oh, I know. I remember the piranhas.” He was only teasing her. Even if there were traces of darkness in her lineage, she wouldn’t harm a fly.
“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” she said, stabbing his chest with her finger.
He closed the gap between them, pressing her up against the sink. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t try to push him away.
“You’ve no idea.” He rested his hand on her waist, running his thumbs over the inches of bare skin as her sweater rose. “I’ve been on my best behaviour. What happened in the woods is only a taste.”
Watching her swallow, he brushed his lips against hers. She leaned in for more, but he pulled away. The annoyance in her eyes nearly broke his composure.
“What’s spinning around that mind of yours?” He ran his thumb over his lower lip, begging her to confide in him.
“What if this isn’t real?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “It feels real.”
“What about the spell? How can we know for sure? What if it wears off after the binding and we hate each other again?”
“Pumpkin. I’ve never hated you.” It took every inch of his self-control not to kiss her again. Since the woods, he felt like he was starving and she was his favourite meal.
As he leant down, she pressed her lips against his furrowed brow, bringing him back to reality.“We should wait until we do the curse-stripping potion. I need to know what you feel for me is real and not because of some stupid switch.”
“Lucinda,” he breathed, tightening his grip on her hips. She was a fool to believe that any spell or potion could have caused his feelings for her.
“Please,” she pleaded against his lips. “Anything you say is only going to hurt more.”
“Okay; we’ll wait.” He released her, but she didn’t move away from him. “I promise you, with or without this spell, I’ll still want you.”
Her chest rose and fell, as though she was trying to remind herself to breathe. He didn’t want to push her. Even if he could feel her desire for him, he wanted them to be together without fear or doubt.
“You should go.”
“Why?” He hated how hurt she sounded; he didn’t want her to take it as a rejection.
“Because I don’t want to hear you say no if I ask you to stay.”
“What if I want to stay?” she started, only to stop herself. They both knew it was the right decision; she needed time to trust him fully. To give herself to him fully without any hesitation.
“I want you to stay because of me, not because you don’t want to go home and face your mum,” he told her, bringing her hand to his lips.
“That’s not the reason.”
“Okay, but I think you should talk to Wilhelmina. I don’t want her to think I’m keeping you captive.” He winked, cupping her cheek. “Even if I want to lock the door and throw away the key.”
He kissed the small smile at the corner of her mouth, and the soft sigh that escaped her nearly brought him to his knees.
“This’ll all be over soon. We have everything we need to try the potion.” She sounded as though she was trying to reassure herself as much as him.
He wondered why she was pushing the potion so much. The binding should fix them anyhow, and he couldn’t help wondering if she didn’t want to go through with the ritual. Or perhaps she did and wanted to be sure of his feelings for her.
If this was what she needed, then he’d give it to her. He’d give her everything.