Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The last customer finally left, taillights disappearing into the October darkness.
Lily gripped the bar rag tight enough to hurt. The days were racing by and the secrets she promised herself she wouldn’t spill, were eating at her.
The distillery felt smaller with just her and Gray, the copper stills throwing shadows that moved like accusations.
Mating season.
His words from before kept circling back. She’d walked into a wolf pack’s territory at the worst possible time—an unmated female surrounded by creatures who could smell her arousal, her magic, and her lies. And yesterday, he’d told her his wolf had seriously claimed her as mate.
But she was still holding back.
She’d told him about the binding at the bonfire. But he didn’t know the rest. And she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she’d warded this place so thoroughly that speaking the truth wouldn’t draw them here like blood in the water.
“Stop cleaning.” Gray turned the lock with a decisive click. “I think we should talk. Now.”
She kept wiping the spotless counter. “Almost done.”
“Lily.” He crossed the brewhouse floor in three strides. “Look at me.”
The command in his voice made her magic flare. She forced her eyes up to meet his only to realize their amber color had gone molten gold in the low light.
“Yesterday.” He braced his hands on the bar, leaning toward her. “I told you about the mate bond. About what my wolf wants.”
His heat surrounded her, pine and male musk making her head swim. This close, she could see his canines had lengthened slightly.
“And you’ve been thinking about it all day.”
Not a question. Just a statement that burned between them.
“That’s—”
“The truth.” He leaned closer, his breath hot on her neck. “I can smell it on you. Your magic’s been reacting to it. And you’ve been holding back.”
Her back hit the counter, giving her nowhere to run.
“Why does it matter?” The words came out breathless. “You already know about the coven—”
“I know what you told me.” His hand slammed onto the counter beside her hip, making her jump. “That they want to bind your magic. Take control of it. But there’s more, isn’t there? Things you’re not saying.”
Her pulse hammered. He was too perceptive, reading between the lines of what she’d carefully revealed.
“I told you the truth—”
“You told me part of it.” His nose skimmed her jaw, not quite touching but close enough to make her shiver.
"But I can still smell the fear on you. Whatever you're running from is uglier than you let on. That's why my words hurt you so much."
Tears burned her eyes. His senses were too sharp, reading her history in scent markers she couldn’t hide.
“Please,” she whispered. “I can’t—”
“Can’t what? Tell me the whole truth?” His hand came up to cup her throat, gentle but possessive. “Or won’t?”
“Both.” The admission tore from her throat.
“Gray, you have to understand. Magic among witches works differently than pack bonds. Words have power. Names have power. If I speak certain truths out loud before this place is properly warded, it’s like sending up a flare. They’ll know exactly where I am.”
His eyes narrowed. “How many are hunting you?”
She shook her head, pressing her lips together.
“Lily, you need to tell me.”
“I can’t.” Her voice broke. “Not yet. Not until I’ve set protection wards strong enough to mask the resonance. The binding ritual, what I told you about it, that’s real. But there’s so much more I haven’t said. That I can’t say. Not without putting your entire pack at risk.”
Something shifted in his expression. Understanding mixed with frustration. “How long?”
“A day or two. Three at most.” She met his gaze, willing him to see she wasn’t just protecting herself. “I know it’s asking a lot. But if I tell you everything now, unprotected, I could bring them down on Devils Point. And they won’t care about collateral damage.”
“Tell me one thing.” His thumb stroked over her racing pulse. “Is it just the coven? Or is there something worse?”
“The coven is worse than you think.” That much she could give him. “What they want to do to me, the binding I told you about, I didn’t explain what it really means. And I can’t. Not yet. But Gray, if they succeed...” She couldn’t finish.
The noise that rumbled from his chest made her knees weak. Raw fury and protection mixed into something primal that called to her magic.
“They hurt you.” Not a question. He’d seen the evidence, felt her fear.
“They tried to.” Her hand moved unconsciously to her scarred wrist. “They forced me into a ritual I never agreed to. I escaped before they could finish, but—”
“But they marked you first.” His fingers caught her hand, turning it to expose the scar.
She nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in her throat.
“And this scar—it somehow makes you easier to track.”
“Yes.” The word came out as barely a whisper. “That’s why I ran so far. Why I need the wards. The binding leaves a magical signature they can follow.”
His fingers traced the crescent mark with impossible gentleness, and she felt that charge of current pass between them, another pull that made her gasp.
“What was that?”
His eyes widened. “You felt it too?”
The sensation intensified, like invisible threads drawing them together. Her magic rose to meet his wolf, recognition singing through her bones.
“The mate bond,” he said roughly. “What I told you yesterday. It’s real, Lily. And it’s getting stronger.”
“Between a wolf and a witch? Are you sure?” Her voice pitched higher. “That’s—”
“Dangerous. Rare. Probably stupid as hell.” His hand slid into her hair, tilting her face up. “I’ve never heard of it happening, but I doubt that means anything. We’re pretty isolated here. Your magic, my wolf—that combination could be volatile.”
“So, we shouldn’t—”
“We shouldn’t.” He pressed closer, his erection obvious against her belly. “But my wolf doesn’t give a shit about shouldn’t. And neither does your magic, apparently.”
The raw need in his voice made heat flood through her. She’d been afraid for so long, surviving instead of living. And here was this wolf offering her something she’d been too terrified to want.
“This is insane,” she breathed, but her hands were already fisting in his shirt.
“Mating season makes everyone insane.” His mouth hovered over hers, close enough she could taste his breath. “But this isn’t just the season. This is real.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I haven’t wanted anything since my brother died. It’s been three years of nothing. Then you walk in smelling like autumn magic and trouble, and my wolf wakes up starving.”
His confession destroyed the last of her resistance. She pulled him down those last inches, crushing her mouth to his.
The kiss exploded through her like wildfire. He growled against her lips, his tongue demanding entry, and she opened for him immediately. The taste of him, all dark and male and possessive, made her whimper into his mouth.
He lifted her onto the counter in one smooth motion, never breaking the kiss. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him against her aching core. The hard length of his cock pressed exactly where she needed it, and she ground against him shamelessly.
Gold threads sparked between them, visible in the amber light for just a heartbeat, reaching from her chest to his before fading.
“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking away to stare at where the threads had been. His pupils were blown wide, more gold than amber now. “Did you see that?”
“The bond.” Her voice shook. “Is it trying to form?”
“It’s more than trying.” He dove back in, kissing her harder this time. Deeper. He licked into her mouth, slow and deliberate, making her clench with need.
She fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, and he made a sound of approval low in his throat. The kiss turned wild, nothing but teeth and tongue and desperation. He bit her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and she gasped.
“You taste like magic,” he muttered against her skin. “Like pure golden sunshine and earth and mine.”
His hands slid from her hips to her waist, fingers spreading wide as he pulled her tighter against him. The movement ground her core against his cock, and they both groaned into the kiss.
“Gray—” she moaned.
He swallowed whatever she’d been about to say, kissing her breathless. One hand moved up her back, tangling in her braid and tugging her head. The new angle let him kiss her deeper, his tongue claiming every inch of her mouth.
When he finally pulled back, they were both panting. But he didn’t go far—his mouth found the side of her throat, trailing hot kisses down to where her pulse hammered.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” he murmured against her skin. “It’s racing for me.”
She tilted her head back, giving him better access, and felt his teeth scrape over her pulse point. The sensation made her gasp—sharp and dangerous and perfect.
“You like that.” He did it again, harder this time. “You like when I bite.”
“Yes,” she breathed, beyond caring about pride or caution.
He bit down on the junction of her neck and shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark, enough to make her cry out. His tongue soothed over the spot immediately, then his mouth was moving lower, kissing and biting a path across her shoulder.
“Tell me you feel it.” His voice had gone rough, barely human. “The pull.”
“I do feel it.” Her magic spiraled out of control, making the herbs in her pockets burn hot. Around them, flowers erupted from cracks in the concrete—white petals and climbing vines, wild and uncontrolled. “Goddess, I feel everything.”
His hands slid under her shirt, callused palms rough against her skin, and she shivered at the contact. When he cupped her breasts through her bra, she arched into the touch with a gasp.