Chapter 4
Axel cut the ignition on his truck, sitting for a moment, staring at the front of his cabin.
The witch hadn’t been there today. Not that he was hoping to see her again during his weekly trip into town.
He scoffed. The day he wanted to see a witch was the day he’d officially gone mad.
But that didn’t stop his eyes from darting to the table by the window. The same table she sat at last week.
He told himself it was merely her trespassing that had gotten under his skin.
And the fact she was a witch. She’d used her fucking magic on him.
It triggered something buried inside him and he’d lost control.
He hadn’t meant to tackle her. There was no mistaking the raw fear in her eyes.
A woman didn’t look like that unless she recognized the signs of aggression, which meant this wasn’t the first time someone—a male, presumably—had handled her roughly.
His jaw clenched.
This was why he lived in isolation. Why he put ‘KEEP OUT’ signs around his property.
He couldn’t be trusted. The wolf in him was too ancient.
If she had adhered to the signs, none of this would have happened.
There were plenty of places to hike in the Thornbacks.
Plenty of well maintained trails around Redding.
So… Why his property?
When he’d gone back to reclaim her broken device, he couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t like any GPS unit he’d seen before. It was something else entirely. More…scientific in nature.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have smashed it.
Sighing, he climbed out of his truck and slammed the door, opening the bed to remove his groceries. He stored them in his cabin, then grabbed his supplies from Pine and Iron and stomped off in the direction of his workshop.
The weather held a slight chill as autumn approached. The breeze tickled his skin and he caught a faint whiff of chamomile and honey. It carried the distinct zing of witch blood. He paused and sniffed again but the smell was gone. He could have sworn…
No, he shook his head, clearing the scent from his nose. There was no way. No way she was brazen enough to disregard his warning. Not after what had happened last time.
Letting out a low growl, mostly in irritation, he deposited his supplies and went back to the truck. He closed up the bed just as the scent teased him again. He stood a full minute, motionless, his hands gripping the back of his truck, simply breathing.
It was probably the witch blood affecting him so badly. Or so he told himself. He’d been forced into close proximity with witches several times after what had happened, but he’d never reacted quite like this.
He inhaled and felt his pupils dilate, so he counted to ten. It didn’t help.
“Daft woman.” Cursing under his breath, he stomped off in the direction of the smell.
A thousand scenarios crossed his mind, of what he ought to do when he found her. Would she use magic again? He hadn’t been lying. If she tried it, the wolf in him would react. It wouldn’t be pretty.
He traced the scar across his face.
Fifteen thousand acres was a lot to most, but he needed the space. The turnout point she’d used placed her about two miles from his cabin. He assumed it was where she’d parked again.
Knowing he’d cover more ground as a wolf, he removed his clothes. Then he let the change take over. The shift was fast, faster than it was for young wolves. He snatched up his clothes in his mouth and took off, covering the distance at a faster pace.
It was easier to see like this, too. Even though his mutilated eye cast the world in a blur, albeit a sharper blur. One that made it easier to navigate the uneven ground, littered with rocks, forest debris, and fallen trees.
When he was nearly upon her, he dropped his clothes, shifted back and got dressed. He used his nose to find her. The scent of chamomile and honey was stronger here. He tried not to let the distasteful essence of witch poison it.
His steps were silent as he came upon her.
For a moment, he just watched her like he’d done before. She stood in the middle of a small clearing, her bottom lip between her teeth, staring down at a device in her hands. Identical to the one he’d broken. Did she have a whole damn collection of them?
His eyes traced her. She was curvy in a nice way, with an alluring hourglass figure. Her hair was a lighter shade of brown than his, with more gold and red in the strands. She had a soft, round face and large, hazel eyes.
It was a shame she was a witch, really. He might have found her attractive. More than he’d found anyone in a very long time. Not that he was interested in that sort of thing anymore. And why the fuck was he even thinking about that right now?!
He stepped out into the open. “I thought I told you—”
She sucked in a gasp and dropped her device.
“—not to trespass on my property, witch.”
“Oops.” The little breathy word was out before she backed up a step, taking in his livid expression. He let her see it. Let her see how much he hated her kind. How little tolerance he had for people who didn’t respect boundaries.
“Starting to think I didn’t make myself clear.
” He reached for the knife at his belt, pulling it free.
For theatrics, mostly. He didn’t think he would need to use it.
Hoped he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t dare attempt to harm him with magic, would she?
If she did, he’d be ready. No witch would ever hurt him again.
Her eyes widened, dropping to the blade.
Her scent drenched the air around them. A tang of fear turned the sweetness of honey sour. Good, she should be afraid. Maybe if he did to her what her kind had done to him—
She let out a soft gasp, eyes focusing behind him.
He whirled and saw a large tawny-colored wolf approaching.
No—not a wolf. A shifter. “Fuck,” he swore, keeping his voice low.
Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
The breeze had come from the other direction, disguising the scent.
Now it changed. He smelled not one, but two.
He acted on instinct, closing the distance between him and the witch, coming to block her from view as the second wolf appeared. Both prowled forward, their bodies low to the ground, ready to pounce.
He’d done his best to remain hidden the past few decades. Which meant only one thing. Magnus had found him.
“How fast can you run, witch?” He kept his voice low, not turning to look at her.
“R-run?” The scent of her fear intensified, almost enough to make his eyes water.
“You do know how to run, yes?”
“I know how to run,” she snapped.
“Good. When I tell you to run—you run. Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. If they catch you, you earned it.”
“Asshole,” she hissed. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. He couldn’t help the twitch of his lips, even despite the situation.
One of the wolves growled, then sprang. He jumped, intercepting it with his knife before pushing the heavy body away. The second leapt forward and he was already moving, slashing at its legs.
“Now!” he shouted.
He didn’t look to see if she followed his command. Instead, he dropped his hunting knife and let his body morph, shifting into his natural form.
The change ripped through him in seconds—clothes tearing away from his body. When his paws hit the ground, he was easily twice the size of the other two.
The sound of the witch’s footsteps pounding through the underbrush triggered something in both wolves. Their heads snapped in her direction, bodies coiling to give chase. She glanced back and her eyes widened. Then she picked up her pace.
He threw himself at the tawny wolf, slamming into its side. They went down in a tangle of fur and snapping teeth. The wolf twisted beneath him, snarling, trying to break free—
While the dark wolf bolted, ignoring his struggling companion as it tore off through the trees.
In the direction of the witch.
Fury laced with desperation exploded through him. He clamped his jaws down on the tawny wolf’s throat and ripped. Hot blood flooded his mouth with the tang of iron. The wolf’s struggles weakened, then stopped.
He didn’t wait for it to die. He was already running, paws pounding against the forest floor. He caught up just as the dark wolf closed in on her—she’d stumbled, gone down hard. The wolf’s haunches bunched, preparing to leap—
He hit it like a freight train, sending both their bodies flying.
He caught a flash of her eyes going wide, just before impact. Their bodies tumbled as he tried to get purchase. He was distinctly aware of the noise she made as she jumped to her feet and took off again. Aware of the retreat of her footsteps while he fought with the wolf.
He latched firmly onto its leg and clamped down. Felt the bone snap beneath his powerful jaws. It let out a roar, then bit down on his shoulder, its teeth sinking into fur and flesh. He growled in return as he felt the skin break. His adrenaline was too high to notice the pain.
That would come later.
They rolled around some more, snarling as he inflicted wound after wound, tiring his opponent. Then he kicked it away with his hind legs. The wolf slammed against the tree, back broken, but still alive. That would keep it down for an hour or two, until its healing magic kicked in.
He collapsed, breathing hard. His ears strained. In the distance, he could just make out the sound of an engine roaring to life—the witch’s sedan. Good. She was lucky. Let this be the lesson she needed, to understand exactly how dangerous he was.
Why she needed to stay away.
The signs were there for a reason, after all.
Rolling to his feet, he let the shift overtake him, moving back into human form.
He stood naked, panting. His shoulder dripped blood.
So did several slashes covering his torso, including a set of deep claw marks, but they had already begun to close up.
The shoulder wound would take longer. It had made a mess of his tattoos, but that was no matter.
He’d had them inked with the kind that didn’t just disappear on a supernatural body.
He looked at the wolf. It—a male—was unconscious.
He strode over.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the wolf by the scruff and hauled it up. The weight settled across his good shoulder—still heavy as hell. His injured shoulder screamed in protest. He’d felt pain a thousand times worse than this, so he clamped his teeth together and ignored it.
Then he made the hike back to his cabin.
Hours later, the crack of a setting bone rang out into the forest—a spine snapping back into place.
Axel stood from where he’d been propped against the trunk of a tree, waiting.
His opponent was in human form now, having shifted back while unconscious.
It was fortunate, because it made him easier to chain to the tree.
The shifter opened his eyes.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he drawled, both eager and reluctant to get started.
There used to be a time when he did this sort of thing for his previous pack—extracting information.
He’d been good at it, too. It was only when he started to enjoy it that he knew he was cracking, that his age was catching up with him. That his mind was deteriorating.
Animal shifters lived long lives, but he wasn’t a shifter. He was a turned wolf. Turned wolves lost their minds before they ever lost their battle with time.
He studied the male before him. His hair was a sandy blonde. He had the features of a supernatural: uncommonly attractive, built with muscle. But it was the pointed ears that gave him away. Shifters were distant relatives of the fae. Just as elves were. Just as many other races were.
The magic of the fae was what gave them the ability to shift, or drink blood, or whatever else it was that they got up to. Witches were one of the only races that hadn’t come from the fae. Their magic was different. More limited. Unless they delved into blood magic…
The male groaned, blinking several times. “What the fuck?” He began pulling at the chains, hissing at the irritation of iron on his skin.
Axel had kept the chains in the shed as a precaution—mostly for himself. But they were proving useful here.
“We’re going to play a little game.” He tossed his knife into the air before catching it. “I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer. Lie—I cut you. Fail to answer—I cut you. See where this is going?”
“Fuck you.”
He sighed. “How did you find me?”
The shifter spat on the ground, so he lunged, burying the knife in the man’s gut, feeling the familiar resistance as the blade sank all the way to the hilt.
The man hissed, letting out a string of profanities.
He pulled against the chains, caring little for the red welts springing to the surface of his skin.
“How did you find me?” Axel asked again.
Still, the shifter just glared at him. So he stabbed him in the shoulder, payback for earlier. “Let’s try something simpler. What’s your name?”
“Fuck off.”
This time, when he stabbed him in the leg, he twisted and twisted until the screaming began. Until a garbled name finally fell from his lips. Garrett.
“Finally, some cooperation.” He took a step back from Garrett. “Did Magnus send you?”
“Who the fuck is Magnus?”
“You know, Magnus? Alpha of the Pacific Northwestern Pack. Ring any bells?” Garrett’s eyes flared with recognition. “Ah. So you do know him. Good.”
“Might’a heard of him once or twice.” Garrett’s voice was serrated now. From all the screaming.
“Why did he send you? How did you find me?”
Garrett just stared at him. He stabbed again and this time Garrett’s scream made several nearby birds take flight into the forest canopy. He twisted the knife until the shifter began babbling. “I don’t know, man. Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not here for Magnus.”
“Why else would you be here?” He twisted again. And again. “Why?”
“The girl,” Garrett blurted finally. “The witch. Rebecca.”
Axel froze, the knife stilling in his hand. “What in the bloody hell did you say?”
“The witch. We came for the witch.”
At those words, he saw red.