Chapter 7
Seven
Felix
Shit. She was losing consciousness. He needed this fucking witch alive. She gave up far too quickly. It was disappointing. A cat liked to play with its prey, after all. And what wonderful prey she made.
Normally, with witches, a bounty would come through from the human government because a witch had broken one of their rules.
Often, that rule involved using unauthorized magic on humans or breaking through the wards.
Most witches followed the rules, but the ones who didn’t, they were his.
It wouldn’t heal the hole that the witches had left when they killed his father, but each one he killed helped.
Before he could decide to let the little witch go, she slumped in his hold, twitching and jerking dramatically from the lack of oxygen.
A groan escaped him as he let her down gently into the water, making sure she didn’t slip beneath.
He hated that he had to be careful with one of them.
She deserved none of his kindness, not that there was any left, and especially not for a witch.
Two fingers pressed against the veins in her throat, checking for a pulse.
It thundered hard against her neck, indicating that, fortunately or unfortunately, she was still alive.
Maybe this was good. It gave him time to think. He thought he couldn’t shift so soon after his monster form, but the way she had manhandled him into the bath was the last straw, and his ego couldn’t take it. He wasn’t going to spend one more second letting her treat him like a pet.
The constellation of freckles on her body caught his attention as the water lapped at his knees.
Some were sparse, some were in groups. Her body reminded him of an artist’s canvas, two small peaks surrounded by a pale night sky.
His gaze traced her belly button before he found the place where her thighs met.
Sheer lace mocked him; he shouldn’t be looking, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away either.
His cock twitched; he wanted to touch her. Shifting always made everything more intense: his hunger, his arousal, the sensations of this witch against his body tenfold in this form.
“Fuck,” he growled, directing his eyes away from this goddamn witch.
The sight of him choking her as she writhed underneath him had awakened something in him that hadn’t stirred in years.
Most women fell at his feet, which was nice, easy.
But the ones he had to chase, literally chase, were his favorite.
Regardless of the way his body reacted to her, he would never defile himself with a witch. Why was he even still touching her? He hated every moment of this.
Another wave of need pulsed through him despite his hatred. He looked to the ceiling to collect himself for just a moment. Stupid bond. That’s all this is, some stupid bonding spell she had put on him. She stirred underneath him. That wasn’t right. An unconscious person shouldn’t stir.
He glanced down. One of her eyes cracked open, just a sliver, but enough to be noticeable.
Their stares met, and she slammed her lid shut as if they hadn’t just made eye contact for a full second.
A part of him found it amusing that in the face of the most dangerous thing to a witch, her grand strategy was to play dead.
“I know you’re awake, little witch,” he said, grabbing her face between his sharp claws.
How easy it would be to break her delicate bones.
The witch glared at him as if he had actually woken her up from a deep slumber, and that his presence was an inconvenience rather than a scare. She was a feisty one.
In a moment of weakness, his body loosened, and she spat in his face. The glob of spit landed between his eyeballs, temporarily blinding him as the witch shoved against his chest and scrambled out of the tub.
The fucking audacity. He was the one to usually spit in girls’ faces—sexually, and consensually, of course.
He could have caught her. One quick grab and it would have been over. But the rush of her breaking free sent a hot jolt through him. He loved the chase. A feral snarl tore from his throat as he went after her.
Giving her a head start, after just a few seconds, he stepped out of the tub with unhurried feline grace. Water slid in rivulets down his torso, pooling at his feet before he followed her like a bloodhound.
“Run all you want, little witch, just remember I hunt better than you hide,” he said, licking his fangs.
He caught her in the lounge before she could make it to the door.
A shadow snaked out, the tendril clamping around her ankle, and he yanked.
She hit the floor with a muffled thump, a hitched inhale tearing from her lungs.
Satisfaction coursed through him while something else hummed in his chest; he couldn’t tell whether it was the bond or the monster within him waking once again.
In an instant, he was over her. His legs locked around hers, pinning them hard against the carpet.
One hand wrenched her arms behind her back, and the other pressed her head to the floor, forcing her cheek into the rug.
Her breath came shallow beneath him, the heat of her skin burning through his wet grip.
If this were anyone else from his den, this would be ideal.
It would be so easy. One shift of his hips, one thrust, and he could bury himself between her thighs.
Oh god, how he wanted to. A shiver of disgust convulsed through him.
What the fuck was he thinking? That was the last thing he wanted.
This witch needed to suffer, and it would be him who made her suffer.
The thought almost hurt. But then, she stilled.
Completely limp under him. Her head lolled to the side.
Was she pretending again? Fainting this time like a scared goat?
Felix jostled her shoulders, searching for any sign of dishonesty.
But no, this time he had really knocked her out; she must have hit her head as she fell.
She lay splayed out on the floor. These witches were so pathetically delicate.
He swore under his breath. At least this time, it actually bought him some time to figure out what to do with the little witch.
Rolling his eyes, he got up off her. He conjured himself some pants made of shadows, it would have to do until he could find something real.
Felix was a talented magic user. Unlike the witch in front of them, shifter magic wasn’t tied to ley lines or familiars; it was born inside of them.
But it was a double-edged sword, a consuming wildfire that many shifters lost themselves to.
Hauling her onto his shoulder, he grabbed her ass to keep her from sliding as her naked body slid against him, despising every moment her skin made contact with his. Unfortunately, it was necessary. This was not how he thought he would be spending his weekend.
He slid her off his shoulder, and she slumped on the floor next to her bed.
His shadows slipped from his palm as he held it up to the witch, and tied them like a collar around her throat; a magical leash that meant she couldn’t do anything but sit like a good whittle puppy.
Felix didn’t mind shifters of other types, but for some reason, he had always had a disdain for the dogs.
They smelled like a wet blanket and were far too eager.
The shadows glided through the air with an ease that made him pause; it was as easy as breathing. Normally, he had to concentrate to not let his power explode, like the lid on an overflowing pot, constantly threatening to boil over. This was far too easy. Why was it this easy?
Shadows wrapped themselves around her ankles before they snaked their way to her wrists and stomach, pinning her to the bed. Some of them obeyed him; others had a mind of their own, slithering possessively around her.
The shadows were simple enough and would serve what he needed.
She wouldn’t be strong enough to break it.
With no familiar, she was even less powerful than a newborn shifter—and he sure as hell wasn’t her familiar.
They writhed and purred as they settled across her body, as if they were enjoying it.
Sighing, he resolved to sit on the chair across from her to wait for her to regain consciousness and formulate a plan.
He had to get out of here, but unfortunately, he had no idea how the fuck to get off a warded island in the first place.
The wards were easy, although they were probably far stronger here due to the ley lines; however, the island part was a bit of a problem.
Sure, he could find a way off. But there was a small inkling inside of him that told him he needed to stay, if only to figure out how she had done this in the first place.
The little witch twitched under his shadows.
Her head lolled to the side, the damp strands of her hair clinging to her freckled face.
His eyes followed the marks he had left on her neck, still red from where he had choked her.
A flicker of regret went through him before he killed it.
A bead of water dropped from her hair onto the swell of her breasts, and it traveled down to the dip in her waist, the curve of her hips, down to the apex of her thighs, still shimmering with the gleam of bathwater.
Involuntarily, his cock twitched again. Why the hell was his body reacting like this?
Disgust coiled in his gut.
Witch. She was a witch. And he was as hard as a rock for her.
Fucking bond.