Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Penrith had been waiting for the call from the moment he’d been pulled from active cases and put behind a desk. There had been much debate about what to do given that Mitchell hadn’t consented to become a familiar. Penrith hadn’t consented to having one either, but that was less of an issue because he was a witch.
He’d had four months to hope and pray that the bond would fade. His prayers had all gone unanswered because he was aware of the wild otherness of the wolf. When he was drifting off to sleep, he felt Mitchell’s pulse.
It echoed through him, demanding his attention.
All he could do was hope Mitchell didn’t request an immediate breaking of the bond, as Penrith was rather attached to his magic and enjoyed his job as a Coven Agent. He did not like being stuck on desk duties with a dark cloud hanging over his head.
He made his way through the building, then down to the cafe, which was the paranormal triage point, and served up coffee for agents, admin, and anyone else who walked in.
The last time he’d seen Mitchell, the wolf shifter had been unconscious in the hospital. Penrith had only been allowed to visit under supervision because of the circumstances of the binding and only when they believed Mitchell needed his mate’s magic. While it sucked, the rules were in place for good reason. They protected shifters and witches, so he wasn’t about to rail against them or argue that he was a special case. He wasn’t. That didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous, though. The wolf didn’t know he held Penrith’s fate in his hands in much the same way Penrith had held his life four months ago.
He could’ve made the choice not to save Mitchell. To decide he was too injured and too far gone. But the wolf had wanted to live. He had proved that by licking the blood.
There had been a few tense moments while he was in the hospital. The Coven had been concerned and counseled him about what it would mean if Mitchell died. They’d given him the option of giving up his magic to pre-emptively break the bond. While at the same time doing everything possible to make sure Mitchell survived.
There was a big difference between survival and living, though.
The elevator stopped on the ground floor, and it took Penrith several seconds before he stepped out. It wasn’t that he was scared of what Mitchell might say. Nor was it that he didn’t know anything about him as he’d read as much of Mitchell’s file as he could—he’d survived over three weeks with the hunters before shifting only hours before being found—then he’d done some more basic internet research.
The twisting in his gut was more like the sensation that came with a blind date, which he also hated. He’d met the wolf and had read the file, but he didn’t actually know the man who was his fated mate. Though he had been relieved to find out he wasn’t the wolf who’d attacked Con. His wolf remains had been found when clearing the site.
He didn’t know how Mitchell would react or how much time he’d need to process the news. He was grateful the Coven had left it to him to tell Mitchell about the bond. Penrith was surprised it had taken this long for Mitchell to turn up at the café and ask to see him. It was as though he was unaware of the connection.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and made his way to the cafe. He needed a caffeine fix before he saw Mitchell. He wished fixing it was that simple, but over the years, he learned nothing was ever that simple, and if it looked simple, it was going to end up biting him on the ass. He’d been bitten enough times that he was hardened or jaded, depending on the day. He glanced at the woman behind the counter and decided he didn’t need the extra caffeine in his system, only the extra few minutes it would take her to make the coffee.
“Black, no sugar, thanks.”
“Are you expecting this to go badly?” she asked.
Yeah, he’d expected this meeting to be conducted in public and under the watchful eyes of other agents. Dragging Mitchell into the Coven proper and making this meeting official was not the way to do it. However, they were surrounded by magic, and if things seemed as though they would go badly, they could retreat into the Coven offices.
“No idea.” He hoped the wolf had an inkling that something was amiss.
She handed him the cup. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He needed it.
It was only after he had taken a sip that he turned to peruse the cafe. Mitchell was where Penrith expected, in the forgotten corner. That wasn’t its official name, though it was where unofficial friendly chats happened when agents didn’t want to freak someone out or weren’t quite ready to haul them in for questioning or any of the other multitude of reasons it was deemed a bad idea to bring the person in.
This was part of a job, yet also personal. He had a fated mate, and he needed to find the words to tell Mitchell. It was maddening that the wolf hadn’t realized.
He should have realized before offering his blood. The thought chased around his mind when he couldn’t sleep.
How had he not realized they were mates, aside from the fact he hadn’t been looking, as he’d been more worried about saving him?
And if he had, what could he have done differently, leave the wolf to die? No.
Mitchell lifted his gaze as though aware he was being watched.
Penrith sighed. Mitchell had been watched from the moment he’d walked into the cafe. He just didn’t realize. It must’ve been so easy for the hunters to grab him.
Penrith strolled over, pretending he was calm and this was normal, even though it was far from both. Mitchell’s gaze didn’t leave him. Did he recognize him?
Maybe not by face, but by scent.
Penrith pulled out a chair and sat. Magic whispered over his skin, keeping their conversation private from everyone else in the cafe. That didn’t mean a witch wasn’t listening and ensuring he didn’t coerce Mitchell into keeping the bond.
For a couple of heartbeats, Penrith stared at his familiar, and Mitchell stared back.
He was thinner than in the photo on file, and his blonde hair was longer, curling about his ears. But his eyes were still that warm brown that tipped into amber when he shifted. From the photos, Penrith thought him conventionally attractive to the point of boring. Now Mitchell was sitting in front of him, he revised that opinion even though he knew some of the attraction was because of the bond.
His magic was convincing his body that being within touching distance of his fated mate could mean only one thing. His blood heated, and his dick thickened, and the wolf would notice the change in his scent. He was a blood witch, but he had zero control over his dick—something he’d always found annoying and amusing, especially when he could control other people’s blood flow.
“Agent Penrith Flint.” He offered his hand. While none of the patrons could overhear them, they could see them.
Mitchell glanced at the offered hand, paused for a heartbeat, and shook it. “Mitchell Wright, but you already know that.”
Penrith smiled. “I have been following your case.”
That wasn’t a lie. He had been, though not directly. He’d been updated on his familiar’s status, which was annoying. But if he’d gone poking around the medical file or his psych reports, it would not have looked good. So he’d done everything by the book as requested.
Whatever happened from here on was not an accident. He had one chance to make a good impression, so Mitchell didn’t request breaking the bond.
That Penrith had used the bond and his magic to help save Mitchell’s life and then to nudge him through the roughest parts of his recovery may not count for much, even though the Coven had approved the use of magic.
Mitchell pulled an envelope out of the satchel. “This is for you. It’s not much, considering you saved my life.”
“Thank you.” And he meant it. It wasn’t often an agent got a thank you card. “You didn’t need to.”
He watched the wolf, trying to ascertain if he was aware of the bond.
Mitchell glanced away. “I felt like I needed to. Like I needed to come and say something.”
Penrith nodded. That was the bond, drawing him closer. “Do you know what I did?”
“Saved my life?” he asked as though not sure.
How much did Mitchell remember? It was the kind of thing that most people wanted to forget. It was one of those jobs Penrith would like to forget, and he’d seen a lot of shit in his twenty years of working for the Coven.
Beneath the table, he picked at the chipped black nail polish on his thumb. “I meant more specifically.”
Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t remember much aside from you being there. I think I was close to death. And I don’t remember much from my first couple weeks in the hospital either.”
Given the extensive damage to his leg and the amount of healing that had been done along with surgery, that was for the best. While healing magic was very useful, it was also very painful. Sometimes, it was more painful than the actual injury.
Not all of Penrith’s scars were self-made. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m a blood witch.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly that.”
“So you’re like a vampire?”
Penrith laughed. “No vampires are twisted energy witches. They don’t use blood when feeding off people. I use my blood and can use other people’s blood. I can find someone lost in the wilderness because I can sense the blood in the body.”
“That’s how you found me.”
“Correct. It’s also how I stopped you from dying.” Penrith pressed his lips together. Sure, he’d had months to come up with a good way to say this, but he hadn’t found one. He was half hoping Mitchell would leap to the conclusion. So far, he hadn’t. Penrith drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “I gave you some of my blood so that I could use my magic to slow the bleeding of your wound and keep your heart pumping. I gave you the energy to survive until the healer and help arrived.”
And they’d taken their sweet time, even though he’d told them the situation.
Mitchell’s eyebrows drew together, and Penrith willed him to feel the bond between them. To hear the words Penrith wasn’t saying.
“The card seems kind of lame…” Mitchell frowned and stared at the card on the table. He lifted his gaze. “Why did I need to give it to you so bad?”
Because I’m your mate. “It wasn’t about the card. You needed to see me.”
Did he need to spell it out for him?
“Why would I…” Mitchell’s mouth hung open, and he blinked. “Oh shit…you're a witch…you put your blood in me. You…are we…mates?”