Chapter Fifteen – Ryder
Fifteen
RYDER
Twenty-four hours ago, I wouldn’t have considered a witch’s comfort, but when she asks for her cloak, it takes zero thought before I’m redirecting myself towards my cabin to retrieve it.
It’s balled up in my nest from being discarded this morning.
Her scent, already penetratingly strong, clings to the entire room, but her cloak makes it worse.
There is no way it’s fading with time when it’s laying on top of the furs.
It’s a stain of black, exactly what this entire mate bond is on my being.
My wolf doesn’t appreciate the thought.
Alone—and the fact it’ll probably be my only chance to do this—I bring the silky material up to my nose and inhale deeply.
The scent of water—lakes and ponds and dew after a heavy rainstorm—fills my nostrils.
While all that makes up Carina’s scent, beneath it is another.
A lighter perfume, the scent of her skin and whatever cream she’s recently slathered on.
No matter how this ends, it’ll be what trails me through life.
Annoyed by my own actions, I twist for the door. The material, while reasonably thick, still feels too thin. Especially considering the speeds I’ll run and the way her little quakes vibrated my sides last night, whether or not she realizes she was shivering at the time.
I discard it back onto my nest, though it’d be better off on the floor, and cross for my chest of clothing, rifling through until I find an article I typically wear when winter temperatures hit.
With my hoodie in hand, I return to find her standing nearby but still maintaining some distance from Xander and Conan. Their conversation dies as I pass them to reach Carina, who brightens at my arrival.
Why the hell is she happy to see me? She has no damn idea how her every breath and blink affects me so fucking much.
I’d hate her…if I was allowed to.
She reaches for what she presumes is her cloak, but I slip the opening of my sweater over her head and maneuver her limbs, all without meeting her clouded expression.
If I look at her, the fact I’m dressing her in my clothing will come crashing down and I won’t survive what my insides are demanding.
It falls midway down her thighs, a couple inches above where her dress stops. That she needs to get the hell rid of because if she spends another night with her legs bare, the wolf won’t be responsible anymore.
Mine.
She isn’t mine, not formally, nor will she ever be. But she’s mine… My witch, made for me, dressed in my clothing.
Fuck. Me.
She pinches at the material on her chest, brows raising with her question, but before she can ask it—before she can point out anything I’m doing—I drop my hands and make them busy behind my back.
“It’s warmer than that silk thing you call protection.”
Then I turn for Xander and Conan, both of whom wisely don’t point out the obvious. Silently, they head out of view to shift.
“You’ll ride with me,” I tell her before following. As if there’d be anyone else she’s allowed near or on.
Xander’s waiting in wolf form with a backpack dangling from his teeth for me to toss my pants into. I do so without looking at him or Conan and return to Carina on four paws and bump my snout into her thigh.
My wolf rumbles, content by her appearance, her scent. My cabin smells like her, and now she smells like me. It’s as it should be. N?kak?stis.
Though she’s only done it the once, she climbs on easily and settles into her place, her hands sliding through my fur. My wolf likes this, but I don’t know how to feel.
The trip to town passes quickly. Xander leads the way, picking the best path that won’t accidentally knock her off, while Conan brings up the rear for protection. A common formation that ensures she’s safe in the middle.
By the edge of the town, Conan carries the bag out of view and Xander follows. A few second later they return as human.
Carina throws one leg over my back and shuffles down my side, her dress getting hiked in the process. I avert my gaze from her thighs and stalk into the woods to change, this time in a shirt and shoes too because being within a human population means fully looking the part.
She’s staring longingly at the edge of town when I return. Some dozen feet away, a string of humans that make me want to bolt line up for pictures by Banff’s town sign.
Humans are strange. It’s a fucking sign. This is why we stay away.
I slide between the other two with a low warning noise they’ll catch but she won’t. She’s in my hoodie and smells like me; they’ll keep their distance if they know what’s best.
“There’s a protection barrier around the town”—she points by the sign, but I catch nothing different—“to keep out shifters, vampires, and other covens. To trick the spell, you’ll all have to be holding onto me as we pass through.”
I grasp her right hand, noting how small she feels in comparison to my own. She’s warm and her hands are a little calloused; I like that they’re not super soft. Soft skin doesn’t last long in the forest.
What the hell am I going on about?
Conan and Xander each touch her other hand and my teeth grind.
From Xander’s look, he’s heard it, and another glance between her and me has him piecing things together.
Incorrectly, since the truth is so unbelievable, but he’s becoming aware of something.
Xander’s perceptiveness makes him one of the strongest hunters in the pack.
Conan, meanwhile, has no idea how close he’s coming to losing his life.
Destroy them.
Carina, unaware of everything going on between the three of us, starts forward. Xander catches my eye again and taps the corner of his, mouthing, Silver.
Fuck. Humans shouldn’t be seeing this, for one, and then Carina will start asking questions if she notices, wondering why my eyes have shifted from their normal blue to the reactionary silver.
I scrunch my eyes tight and trust her not to cruelly walk me into a pole, sucking in air downwind. It’s going to be a long fucking week…
“Ow,” she hisses, jerking in my hold. “Muscles. You don’t have to hold so tight.”
Thing is, I do, or others will take you.
“Sorry.”
Carina walks us past the sign and the spell she spoke about becomes visible. It’s a pale silver shimmer that swallows us up, making the hairs on the back of my neck raise. A mist of water and wind caresses over me until we’re through it, when everything returns to normal colour.
She pulls her arms in closer to dislodge from all of us as her pace increases. “Mom will have felt that. She’ll know I’m not alone. Walk fast.”
“Will she come for us?” Conan asks.
“Not here. Too many humans.”
Carina leads us away from the main road, which is essentially a parking lot of tourists’ cars only moving a couple inches at a time as they claim parking spots, and into the neighbourhood. She turns at a short road with a slight incline and a few scattered houses.
She stops in front of the largest house at the top, because that makes sense for coven royalty. Morgan’s already standing on the front steps, scanning the three us briefly before her expected attack comes.
White sparks come flying, but Carina throws herself in front of us—which throws my insides into a painful lurch I attempt to react to—and tosses her hands into the air. A barrier, the same used by the coven she’s calling Twilight Grove, deflects her mother’s attack.
Panting from the abrupt and quick magick, Carina maintains the shield. “Don’t, Mom.”
Morgan’s lip curls, her glare as sharp as the knives I’m sure she’d appreciate carving my insides up with. “Why not?”
“Because.” Carina’s arms drop and, with them, the shield, which leaves her exposed. “We’re here to talk, and we have bigger problems than this petty fight, and because I’m asking you not to. Trust me.”
She steps towards Morgan and my claws shed. She’s in my clothing; she’s mine to protect. Logically, I’m aware her mother isn’t a threat. Yet, anyone outside myself is a threat to Carina and must be taken out.
Fuck the end of the week. This bond will kill me by the end of the day.
Morgan’s arms drop back to her side as her daughter approaches. She flings herself into Carina’s arms, tugging her closer—away from me. My claws sink into my legs, restraining the simmering anger.
“You’re home,” Morgan coos, kissing her forehead. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ll make tea. You can shower and then explain why they’re here.”
Morgan propels her away, but Carina digs her heels into the ground, eventually dislodging from her hold. “No, stop, I’m fine, but the coven might not be. Look at me, Mom; I’m alright.”
Morgan sees what the rest of us do: Carina in a hoodie that isn’t her own, and her sharp gaze whips straight to me, white lighting up her palms once more. Again, it’s Carina who blocks the attack.
“Mom! Fuck, stop. Please! Let’s go inside.”
Morgan, finally compelled to obey her daughter, turns with a huff and disappears up the stairs and inside the house. Carina follows, gesturing for us to as well.
Conan whistles. “Did she really just…?”
“Yep,” Xander chimes in a tone of admiration that’s about to get his face slammed into the brick siding of her house. He lingers as Conan walks ahead, his gaze going to my claws. “What the hell is wrong?”
“Later.” Maybe never. But definitely not now.
I push past them all and into the house behind Carina, compelled to remain close enough to watch her, despite being fully aware this is her house. Her home. Her ultimate safe space.
The side of me dreaming of keeping her wants to see all of this. To get an idea of what her day-to-day life is like and stand in the space that smells so much like her. To bathe myself in this house—regardless of it being a witch’s scent.