Chapter 8
Eight
Avery
At first, she thought she’d had another strange dream. A dream about her cat turning into a shifter and trying to murder her.
Until her eyes fluttered open.
A man with cat ears poking out of his hair sat before her on her burgundy Chesterfield armchair. There was no denying who was in front of her.
The chair he sat in was comically small compared to his body of long, corded muscles. He tensed under her gaze. That didn’t bother her, but what did bother her was the way his pants moved as if they were swirling with dark patterns. Strange, almost beautiful. Focus, Avery.
“My eyes are up here, little witch.” The sound of his voice jerked her out of her trance. His tail thumped against the soft fabric of the armchair in a way that suggested he was not nearly as relaxed as he seemed. Her eyes found his; the mismatched stare and large cat ears twisted toward her.
Instinctively, she tried to move away from the danger.
But she realized in horror that she was bound by some sort of shadow ropes.
They were firm and soft like fur as they slithered across her, caressing her in places she would rather not be caressed—never mind that they felt good.
One of them had found itself far too close to her holes.
She tried to move, but they wouldn’t budge.
A sudden spike of fear jolted through her, urging her to run, to scream, to be anywhere other than tied to…
her bed? Yep, she was tied to her bed. Her one place of solace had turned into a betrayal.
If the bed were sentient, she would have had a strong word with it. Maybe she still would.
“Shifter,” she breathed out.
“Astute observation, witch.” His voice was dangerous, but alluring like a bug to the nectar of a Venus flytrap. “What do you want?” he asked.
Warmth flushed her cheeks. Was he sassing her? Narrowing her eyes at him, she sassed him right back. “What do I want?”
“Are you a parrot? That’s what I said.”
She only stared at him for a moment, almost in disbelief that he was asking her what she wanted. She wanted a familiar, she wanted to graduate, she wanted him to put on some damn pants. What she didn’t want was a shifter as a familiar.
“What do you want?” he repeated in the old language.
“What?” The language caught her off guard. How did he know the witches’ sacred tongue?
“Oh, sorry, I thought you might respond in the old language because you didn’t answer my question.” He sneered.
“You know the old language?”
“How uneducated do you think we are? Just answer the question, witch.”
Avery had once been told that shifters were incapable of jokes, and they were only ever serious. This almost proved that theory. Did this one have a sense of humor? What else about the shifters was a lie? Also, they were uneducated. It wasn’t rude to ask.
“In the old language or in English?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that she knew she was getting under his skin. Watch out, bitches, even tied up, she could be annoying. Perhaps she could annoy him enough to let her go?
“Answer the question, or I’ll kill you. Is that language clear enough for you?”
A lump formed in her throat. “Crystal.” She looked down at her bound legs. This situation was quite a pickle, and she didn’t quite care for pickles. “I wanted to summon a familiar.”
“That much is obvious,” he said. “Let me rephrase the question, then. How did you summon me?”
Leaning forward, she tested the holds again, almost yelping as one started to kiss her ass, literally. “You think I meant to bind a shifter?”
“I really have no idea about your intentions, hence why I am asking.”
Rude. So incredibly rude. Although she supposed it made sense, if she had been kidnapped—catnapped?
—across time and space and bound to a shifter, she might have felt the same way.
Why she wasn’t freaking out more was beyond her.
She was probably dissociating, something her mind did often during stressful situations.
She imagined the little gremlin in her mind cheerleading, ‘two four six eight, time to dissociate!’ at the first drop of adrenaline.
The shifter growled, beckoning back her attention.
In her dissociated brain, all she could think was, were all these shifters ridiculously, distractingly handsome?
Sharp cheekbones. Strong jawline. Dark lashes framed his eyes, which would make most women jealous.
Thick hair that didn’t look like it had a chance of balding in the next twenty years.
His mouth, in particular, was devilishly lush.
She wondered what it could do? Hurt her feelings, probably.
But his eyes, goddess, his eyes, were the most striking of all.
A feeling pooled low in her, one that she most certainly ignored.
No, Avery, you cannot under any circumstances find a shifter attractive!
They were witches’ mortal enemies for goddess’s sake, if not for that, this particular shifter had you bound to a bed.
Best not to think about the fact that she had read this very same scenario only a few days back, although it ended much differently than she was expecting this one to go.
A blush crept across her cheeks as more shadows explored her body. Why did they start to feel good?
“Do I need to speak in the old tongue again?”
The sound of his deep voice jostled her from her thoughts, almost as pleasurable as a hand between her legs. “That won’t be necessary.” She didn’t want to admit it had sounded nice sliding over his tongue. She wondered if his tongue was barbed like a normal house cat’s. Nope. Not going there.
“There was a book in the library that had this riddle in it, and then I solved it and then some…” She rambled when she was nervous.
“And then I did the ritual in the book, and it involved some blood, and then somehow you appeared instead of a familiar and…” The words tumbled out of her with no sign of stopping.
“You used blood magic? Isn’t that forbidden in your witch society?” he interrupted.
“Mmhmm,” she replied quietly, as if confirming it softly would make the deed less forbidden. Where would the doing of the deed with a shifter sit on the forbidden scale? Goddess, Avery, stop. If she got out of this alive, she would definitely be writing that fanfiction.
A dark chuckle came from his sinful lips. “Naughty witch.”
Irritation flared through her; he was playing with her.
Unfortunately, that heat had spread. Stupid handsome shifter.
She had to tread carefully; he could kill her in an instant if she did something wrong.
If she screamed, the enforcers would come.
But she would be long dead by then, and he would likely kill them too.
It was a delicate situation which she approached like a politician rather than the raging whore-monal university student she was.
“Bite me, shifter.”
Not quite what she had intended.
“Got quite a mouth on you, don’t you?” He smirked. “Someone should teach you what to do with it.”
Wetness pooled between the apex of her thighs. No, no, no. I will not let a shifter make me feel this way, Avery vowed. I am a woman who is in control of her emotions. Her eyes, however, were not in her control, and made their way back to his shadow pants.
Fangs glinted in the witch lights as he smiled, looking down on her. She didn’t speak, keeping her lips firmly sealed to keep from screaming. Even from where she was sitting, he was absolutely massive. She never thought of herself as small, but in front of him, she was tiny.
Instead of giving him the satisfaction, she stared directly into his abs, specifically, the deep V that dipped below his pants.
It wasn’t where she wanted to be looking, but some part of her could not face the reality of him.
Of the shifter she had summoned. He was supposed to be lucky.
He was supposed to be the answer to all her problems. Instead, it had just become one giant, complicated clusterfuck of a problem.
Reality became clear to her, though. There was nothing she could do.
She was truly, utterly trapped. At the mercy of a shifter and most definitely not in control of her emotions.
The warmth dissipated, replaced by tears burning at her eyes, forming hot streams on her face as they fell.
It almost seemed to amuse him further, his smile widening at her distress.
Embarrassment brandished her; she couldn’t stop the tears, she never could.
Even something as small as accidentally crushing an ant under her finger was enough to bring her to tears, something she would need to curb if she wanted to be a healer.
The shifter moved from the chair and circled her with a predatory grace, as if she was his prey—let’s face it, she was—then kneeled before her.
“Are you going to kill me?” she said through choked sobs.
“Perhaps,” he said, and that only made her sob harder. “Look at me, little witch,” he said, almost gently.
She didn’t comply. Instead, she shut her eyes like a petulant child, ignoring the request.
Shadows kissed her, dancing gently just out of touching range, scraping the fine hairs on her face. If this were a different situation, she would have enjoyed being tied down, but this really, truly, sucked.
“I said, look at me.” The shifter’s voice was harsher this time, commanding.
Another spike of fear swept through her, sending a prickling pain skittering across her skin at the power in his voice.
Who was this man? Even for a shifter, he seemed to wield a crackling power that she couldn’t turn away from.
The shadows tilted her chin up, forcing her to once again look him in the eye.
The moment their eyes met, the slits dilated, making him seem more human.
She wanted to turn away, close her eyes, but the shadows held steady.
“Good girl.” Features softening, his mouth forming into a lazy smile. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”