Chapter 9
BENJAMIN
I stare down at the tiny witch curled in my lap, her breaths soft and even, the faintest puff of air brushing against my chest through my flannel.
Her hands—small, delicate things with fingertips blushed pink now that they’ve warmed—are tucked beneath her cheek.
Strands of blonde streaked with blue spill across my thighs, and I can’t smell anything except her.
Butterscotch. Sweet and warm, with a hint of spice that clings to the back of my tongue until it feels like she’s seeped into every inch of me.
I drag a hand through her hair, marveling at how natural this feels—her weight pressed to me, the storm raging on the other side of the frosted glass, the fire popping low and steady before us. It feels right. Dangerous, perfect, inevitable.
Because she’s ours.
My bear’s voice is thick with certainty, leaving no room for doubt.
I glance from the window’s blur of white back to the hearth, flames crackling and painting the walls with gold.
The weight of everything that’s happened tonight finally crashes over me.
By some impossible stroke of luck—or fate—I’ve found my mate.
In a witch, no less. My family is going to lose their damn minds.
How the hell am I supposed to explain this?
What’s there to explain? She’s ours. That makes her family.
I grit my teeth, jaw tightening against the hope threading through my chest. “She doesn’t even want us.” The corner of my mouth pulls downward as her voice echoes in my head—those words after I’d nearly lost myself beneath the mistletoe.
It’s mistletoe. Tradition. Doesn’t mean anything.
I squeeze my eyes shut. It may not have meant anything to her, but it had gutted me. Meant everything to me. The bond had surged like wildfire the moment her lips brushed mine.
Have you forgotten the way she responded? The way her body leaned into yours?
“It was just instinct,” I mutter, even as my gaze drifts over every curve of her face—the slope of her nose, the bow of her lips, the freckles across her cheeks still faintly flushed. I memorize them like a starving man counting crumbs. “A physical reaction. That’s all.”
If she didn’t feel for you, why did she ask you to stay?
“She didn’t want me skidding off the road and freezing to death in a ditch,” I grumble. “She was just being kind. Didn’t want our deaths on her conscience.”
You’re a bigger fool than I thought. My bear snorts, sharp and derisive, inside my head.
I drag a palm over my chest where the ache throbs sharpest. “The storm will clear by morning. Then she’ll go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine.”
The fire dips lower, a scatter of glowing embers pulsing red against the blackened logs.
You know we won’t be able to stay away.
The truth of it makes my ribs feel too tight. I press my hand harder against my sternum, trying to hold back the wanting that threatens to consume me whole. “We’ll have to find a way,” I whisper, though my heart doesn’t believe the words.
Gently, I shift Hazel from my lap, her body instinctively curling in on itself. She shivers, even though the room is warm. I make quick work putting out the lingering embers so none spark and set the house on fire while I sleep—if I can sleep, despite the exhaustion pulling at my eyelids.
With a quiet sigh, I stretch out beside her on the floor, leaving a thin strip of space between us, and tug one of her oversized comforters over us both. My body heat seeps into the space until I feel her relax again.
I lace my hands behind my head and stare up at her plain white ceiling, counting the hairline cracks in the plaster just to keep my mind off the girl inches away.
But Hazel moves in her sleep. She rolls into me, soft face nuzzling my chest, arm looping over my ribs, leg sliding across mine like she belongs there. My breath stutters. The sweetest temptation, warm and fragile in my arms, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me.
See? I told you.
“She’s only seeking warmth,” I whisper hoarsely, even as my arm betrays me, sliding around her shoulders to hold her closer. My nose brushes her hair, breathing her in until the ache burns deeper. “By morning, things will go back to normal.”
But as I stare into the dark, her heartbeat steady against mine, I know the truth. This will be the longest night of my life—lying in the arms of the woman I want more than anything. The woman I didn’t think I’d find in my lifetime. The woman who doesn’t want me back.
Morning comes too soon, sunlight cutting through the frosted panes and scattering across the room in a golden haze.
I blink against the brightness, the remnants of restless dreams dissolving as Hazel shifts beside me.
She stretches, long strands of blonde and blue hair tumbling forward like a silky curtain over her shoulders.
Her eyes widen when she realizes just how close she’d been. “Oh no. Please tell me I didn’t—” she gasps softly, fingertips brushing her lips. “I think I drooled on you in my sleep.” Her cheeks flush the prettiest shade of pink as she glances at the spot she’d been curled against me.
I let out a low chuckle, pushing to my feet and offering her my hand. “If you did, I’ll survive. Consider it a hazard of the job.”
Her brow quirks as she slips her fingers into mine, letting me pull her upright. “Job? What job is that?”
“Rescuing damsels in distress,” I tease, though my chest tightens at how right her hand feels in mine. Too right. I force myself to let go before I hold on too long. “How’s your ankle?”
“My ankle? Oh!” She glances down at the bandage, experimentally bouncing on her good foot before testing the injured one.
“Surprisingly, I hardly feel anything. Just a dull ache.” Her expression softens, almost impressed.
“Honestly, I thought I’d be hobbling for at least a week. Guess your snow-pack trick worked.”
Relief eases through me, though I cover it with a shrug. “Looks like the storm’s cleared too. I should probably get back home.”
Her face falters at that, a flicker so quick I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t watching her every move. My heart kicks hard at the sight, and damn me, part of me doesn’t want to leave at all.
“Oh. Right, of course.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, as if trying to mask disappointment.
“Well, I’m glad I could… return the favor.
Offering you shelter after you rescued me.
Even if technically I was only out there because of me in the first place.
” A wry smile tugs at her lips. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things waiting on you. People to see. Farm duties to tend to.”
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. Truth is, most of our work slows after the last delivery of trees for the year. There’s nothing urgent waiting for me—nothing pulling me back except the gnawing ache of leaving her. “Always something to do on the farm.”
Silence stretches, thick and awkward. Hazel worries her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes darting toward me, away, back again.
Tell her. Kiss her.
My bear rumbles low, urging me to close the distance. But then her stomach breaks the quiet with a loud, unmistakable growl.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my goddess. That did not just happen.”
I can’t help it—laughter bursts out of me, warm and unrestrained. “When was the last time you ate?” I ask, though concern quickly overtakes the humor. She’d been running on fumes when I found her, and between the storm, the ankle, and the cocoa, she hadn’t had much of anything.
She winces, sheepish. “Uh… lunchtime?” She pauses, then adds under her breath, “Unless you count a candy bar I scarfed on the drive up. But in my defense, I haven’t exactly had time to go grocery shopping since the move.”
I cross my arms, giving her a look I know my brother would call my don’t-lie-to-me stare. “So basically, you’ve been living off chocolate bars and hot cocoa.”
Hazel lifts her chin, pretending indignation though her lips twitch. “Hey. Don’t knock the essentials.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it. Just warmth. Wanting. More than I should feel for a witch I barely know.
“I could make us coffee, unless you’d prefer more cocoa.” She moves into the kitchen and rummages through a cupboard.
I shake my head and follow. “Move aside. You’re not surviving off candy bars and instant coffee—not on my watch.”
She blinks at me, surprised. “Excuse me? My kitchen.”
I open a few cupboards, finding them mostly bare. “What do we have to work with… ah, flour. Sugar. Cocoa powder. Bananas. Perfect.”
Yes. Feed her. The way to our mate’s heart.
Hazel tilts her head, smile tugging wider despite herself. “You’re seriously about to bake me breakfast?”
I grab a pan from under the counter, shooting her a grin over my shoulder. “Not bake—pancakes. My specialty. You’ll thank me later.”
She crosses her arms, arching a brow. “And what makes you think I even like pancakes?”
“Because everyone likes pancakes,” I shoot back, setting ingredients on the counter.
“And if I don’t?” she challenges, leaning against the wall, her hair falling forward as her lips curve.
“Then I’ll eat them all myself.” I glance at her, catching the way the sunlight glows against her flushed cheeks. For a moment, I imagine her here every morning—messy hair, teasing smile, golden light pouring in. The thought hits too deep, too fast.
I clear my throat and turn back to the stove. “Now sit down before you fall and make me regret letting you out of bed.”
Hazel snorts. “Bossy lumberjack.”
“Stubborn witch.”