Chapter Thirteen-Bella
“So, is it like dirty-water hot dog dong—long and slim—or like broccoli rabe sausage dong—thick and fat? Come on, what are we talking about here?” Donny asked Evie in a voice that carried across the clearing like she was auditioning for Witch Gossip Hour.
I came crashing into the moonlit space, lungs burning, hair sticking to my cheeks, huffing, and puffing like a third-rate forest nymph who’d failed cardio class.
“Definitely more like the sausage,” Evie replied without missing a beat, “but still long. Thick though, too. Like maybe three of them tied together! OMG, Donny, for fuck’s sake.
The man’s a Shifter—oooh! You finally made it!
” Evie screeched, spinning toward me like I was the guest of honor at a scandal.
“Look who showed up! Snake got your tongue, Miss Maribella?” Donny sing-songed, her grin wicked enough to make a demon blush.
“Shut up,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes before my feet staged a mutiny.
“She’s just jealous ‘cause we were talking dongs, and she hasn’t seen one in a while, right, Bella?” Donny said, smirking like she’d been waiting all week for this moment.
“FYI, Ryan is packing, ladies! And in a Bear-sized way. So, Bella, how long’s it been since you’ve seen a good ding-dong? We talking months or years?”
“Heifers,” I grunted, peeling my socks off with the kind of grim determination reserved for marathon runners and women trying to get out of Spanx.
“Not that long. And if you two are done talking about your men and their puny wangs, can we get down to business? The moon is rising, and we are one month from the summer solstice.”
“They do not have puny wangs!” Evie snarled—literally snarled—at me, her upper lip curling like a Wolf about to pounce.
I blinked.
Well.
That was a lot.
“You okay there, Cujo?” I asked, because apparently my mouth had no self-preservation instinct tonight.
Her eyes widened like she’d just realized she’d barked at me—almost literally—and she immediately softened.
“Um, sorry about the growling,” she muttered, her hand drifting to her stomach like she was checking herself for signs of lycanthropy.
I gave her a curious look but didn’t press. I was too busy shucking my clothes with the speed of a chubby girl who knew the night air wasn’t going to get any warmer.
And yeah, my cheeks were on fire.
Was it because of the frustratingly short yet toe-curling kiss I’d gotten from Conrad like seconds ago?
Was it embarrassment at having my best friends dissect my non-existent sex life in high-definition detail?
Or was it just the fact I’d sprinted across town on a motorcycle with a hot Snake Man like a Witch with her broom on fire?
Probably all three.
“Ease up, Evie. We’ve got work to do,” Donny said, her tone carrying that bossy-big-sister energy she liked to whip out whenever she thought one of us was about to spiral.
That was the thing about us—no matter how much we teased each other, we had each other’s backs.
I might want to occasionally strangle them both with a festive ribbon, but I wouldn’t trade either of them for the world.
“Sorry, really, guys. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Evie said softly, her eyes shadowed.
“That’s okay,” I said with a shrug and a grin to make sure she knew I meant it. “I didn’t mean to be almost late.”
That seemed to reset the mood.
We all shifted into work mode, the air thickening with the warm hum of our combined magic.
This wasn’t just a monthly ritual—it was our duty.
Our privilege.
Evie, our de facto leader, was a veritable Seer Witch.
She could catch glimpses of the future, though personally, I wasn’t convinced it was as much of a gift as she claimed.
If I knew a pie was going to burn before it did, sure, that would be useful—but seeing every tragedy on the horizon?
Hard pass.
Still, maybe that’s why she was mayor, and I was the town’s cookie dealer.
Whatever. I wouldn’t trade with her.
Donny’s magic was a little more like mine—practical, rooted in her work.
As the best hair stylist in Castor’s Corner (and possibly the tri-state area), she could see straight into a person’s soul and give them the cut they didn’t even know they needed.
The kind of haircut that could make you forget you ever dated your loser ex, start a new career, and maybe even run for office.
Me? I fed people.
Nourished them—literally, spiritually, and magically.
Cookies, cakes, croissants, cinnamon rolls—you name it, I baked it. Each treat was infused with a little magic and a whole lot of feeling, gifting whoever ate it with comfort, joy, or the tiniest spark of hope.
And tonight, the three of us would pour our magic into the wards that kept Castor’s Corner hidden from mortal eyes.
Which, yes, we did completely bare-assed around a roaring pink bonfire.
And yes, it did look like a magical conga line sometimes.
Afterward, there’d be a lemon bar tasting at my place—my latest zero-carb experiment.
I thought I’d nailed it this time, but I wasn’t ready to brag until Evie and Donny tried them.
Last time I got creative with healthy recipes, my cinnamon hot cocoa bombs turned into literal explosives the moment they hit hot milk.
We were still finding chocolate shrapnel in Donny’s sitting room months later.
My bad.
Anyway, I was knee-deep in one of my many obsessions—holistic baking.
Not the fake diet crap that made everything taste like cardboard dipped in regret, but the real deal.
Natural sugar substitutions, whole grains, nut flours, gluten-free blends I’d sworn I’d never touch in my life—parts of my kitchen looked like a hippie’s pantry and smelled like heaven.
It was exciting. Scary. Like dating again after a bad breakup, only this time the relationship was with einkorn flour and monk fruit sweetener instead of some guy who thought turkey bacon counted as romance.
I’d swapped out the white flour completely in my carrot cake last week.
Not one single complaint.
Not even from Mrs. Gennaro, who could detect a missing teaspoon of cinnamon from ten paces and had the resting face of a food critic.
That was basically a Michelin star in my world.
“Light her up, Donny,” I said, moving to my exact spot in our ritual triangle.
And no, assuming the position wasn’t dirty—so once again, please, get your mind out of the gutter.
This was work. Sacred work.
We each stood with feet spread shoulder-width apart, arms open wide, palms up, chins tilted toward the star-smeared sky.
The fire pit in the center of the clearing was just waiting for ignition, surrounded by moonlit pines and the faint shimmer of the town’s protective wards.
We’d stripped down to nothing.
No clothes. No jewelry. No hair ties.
Even my lucky cupcake-print ankle socks had been sacrificed to the ritual.
Naked magic was potent magic—something about energy flow and unimpeded channels.
Plus, the Goddess had a sense of humor about cellulite.
Or so I prayed.
The moment Donny’s fingers snapped and the fire roared to life in a ribbon of shimmering pink flame, the air grew heavy with heat and power.
It licked over my skin, raising goosebumps, the scent of woodsmoke and ozone wrapping around us like an embrace.
“I just want to reiterate Jaxson has a big dong,” Evie muttered, eyes closed like she was talking to the Goddess herself.
I cracked one eye open. “Shhh!” I hissed. “Some of us are trying to focus.”
Because if I lost concentration and accidentally pictured our Wolf Shifter Sheriff’s alleged endowment while I was channeling magic, the wards might just start humming Barry White.
“Ryan does too,” Donny whispered, her voice all faux-innocence, like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to my concentration.
“Ohmyfuckinggawd,” I growled, literally growled, as pink sparks fizzed and popped off my fingertips.
My magic wasn’t subtle—it was basically a glitter cannon with a temper.
“Fine. Yes. Your boyfriends have massive wieners, okay?”
“Eww. Don’t say wiener,” Evie said, her nose wrinkling like I’d just dumped a can of sardines in her smoothie.
I dropped my arms, turning toward them with my tatas swaying in the evening breeze like I was about to stage a naked protest.
“By the Goddess, okay! Fine. No to the word wieners. How about penises when referring to your mates’ nethers?”
“She said penises,” Donny snorted, shoulders shaking, eyes still closed like she was somehow still meditating through her laughter.
“Fine! No to penises,” I snapped, though my lips were twitching. “Then how about this: your dudes have dongs—not regular dongs—but MEGLADONGS. There. Happy now? Can we get on with this, you heifers?”
That was when Evie just stared at me.
Wide-eyed.
Mouth hanging open like she’d just witnessed a Coven elder say glass dildo at the Harvest Feast.
Donny didn’t even try to hide her laughter this time—she let it out in one loud, Witch-cackle snort.
Which was exactly when a jagged streak of pink lightning ripped across the sky.
The hair on my arms stood up.
The fire crackled like it had been insulted.
Uh-oh.
I knew that sound.
That feeling.
That warning.
Somewhere, the Goddess was side-eyeing me.
And if I wasn’t careful, my next batch of croissants was going to spontaneously combust just to teach me a lesson.
That pink lightning bolt still sizzled in my memory when I muttered a quick apology to the Goddess and cleared my throat.
Any more distractions and we’d be rolling around the clearing in a fit of naked giggles until sunrise.
That wasn’t exactly the kind of magic we were here to make.
“Okay, back to business,” I said, shaking my head and clapping my hands together before the two of them could launch another sausage-based debate.
Resuming my stance, I started the chant in fluent Ork—thank you, Drusilla Bartholomew Frankenstein Yaganova’s Magical Language Academy Version 3.7, and yes, that’s a real thing.
Troll-Tongue might sound like a curse you’d yell after stubbing your toe, but in our line of work? It got results.
Evie joined in quickly, her voice dropping into the low, thrumming cadence we needed, and Donny fell right in step.
Thank the Goddess—because my mind had been drifting to the exact wrong place. Again.
Ever since Conrad rolled into town with Jaxson and Ryan, I’d been distracted.
And not just in the casual “oh, he’s hot” kind of way.
No, the man had my brain doing gymnastics and my body signing up for events it didn’t even train for.
I could handle sex.
I was good at keeping it fun, uncomplicated. But Conrad wanted more.
Be with me, Bella. Accept my claim.
The first time he’d said that, I’d laughed.
The tenth time, I’d practically sprinted out the back door of my bakery.
The man had to be confused. Sure, we had chemistry—dangerously good chemistry—but fate?
Mating? Forever?
That wasn’t real for everyone.
And it wasn’t part of my story.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
“Bella. Focus.”
Evie’s sharp tone yanked me back, and I shut the door on every image of broad shoulders and sinfully full lips.
I threw myself into the chant and the movement, letting the rhythm push everything else out of my head.
The three of us fell into that perfect, ancient groove.
Our magic braided together—Evie’s gold, Donny’s aqua, my pink—curling upward like a living ribbon around the roaring bonfire.
Sparks shimmered in the air, and the scent of charmed cedar and lilac drifted through the clearing.
By the time the power crested, I was breathless and grinning, my magic humming like I’d just downed a double espresso.
“Okay, Witches, I think we did it! Good for another month!” Evie’s voice was bright, triumphant.
Donny whooped.
I dropped into the grass, too wrung out to care that my butt was in the dirt.
The air was cool on my bare skin, and my heartbeat still felt synced to the thrum of the wards.
Evie, always the practical one, tossed me one of her silk robes. “Come on, robe up before you get chilled.”
I slid into it, sighing at the feel of the smooth fabric against my overheated skin.
Wildflowers in deep jewel tones swirled over the dark green silk—it was so Evie.
Then I heard it—the low rumble of engines heading our way.
And just like that, the temperature in the clearing seemed to climb ten degrees.
Evie’s face lit up the second Jaxson’s cruiser pulled in.
She didn’t even wait for him to get the door open before she was moving toward him, and his answering whistle—yeah, an actual Wolf whistle—made her giggle like a teenager.
Right behind him, Ryan rolled up on his bike, all broad shoulders and gruff heat.
“There’s my honey,” he rumbled before lifting Donny clean off her feet.
She laughed in that high, unguarded way I hadn’t heard in years.
I smiled without meaning to, even as something in my chest pulled tight.
They had their people. Their mates.
And me? I had my robe, my lemon bars, and an empty kitchen waiting at home.
I bent to scoop up my clothes, hugging them to my chest.
No way was I asking for a ride wedged between one of my besties and her panting, overprotective Shifter.
I’d walk before I did that.
And if that meant a mile of pink bits in the breeze, well, at least it wasn’t snowing.
Evie glanced over her shoulder. “You did good tonight, Bella.”
“We all did,” Donny added.
“Thanks,” I said, managing a smile.
But as they turned back to their men, I caught Evie’s hand drifting to her belly again.
A thought hit me hard—if they started families, if they had kids, everything would change.
I’d still be here, but I’d be on the outside looking in.
I turned down the path toward home, the sound of laughter and kisses following me.
You made your choice, I reminded myself.
Single was safe.
Single was simple.
But for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t sure if safe was enough.
Everything good starts with a leap of faith.