Chapter Nine-Ryan
Okay, so hear me out.
I wasn’t stalking Donny.
I was simply observing her general vicinity in a highly protective and mildly obsessive fashion from a totally safe, respectful distance.
You know. Like a gentleman.
Listen, I’m a Shifter, not a Warlock—or Wizard or Sorcerdude or whatever the heck the male version of a Witch is these days—but I knew when something was off. And something was definitely wrong in Castor’s Corner.
The town was humming with weird energy. Like, more than usual.
Jaxson, who was now our official Sheriff and unofficial King of Smug Mated Wolves, had been muttering about activity at the cemetery again.
Ghosts stirring.
Shadows moving.
Creepy cold spots popping up where cold spots should not be.
And as the closest thing this town had to a functioning Fire Chief—okay, technically it’s Acting Fire Captain, but who’s checking titles—I’d been looped in on more of the local weirdness than I ever thought possible when I applied for a simple job helping people not spontaneously combust.
Now I was dealing with haunted grocery stores, exploding glam spells, and Wererats forming a drum circle behind the laundromat. It was a lot.
But the real reason my Bear was pacing like a caffeinated linebacker inside my chest?
Donny.
Donny freaking Andrews.
Witch. Goddess. Chaos tornado wrapped in curves and snark and fireball energy.
She was part of the town’s magical Trifecta—along with Evie and Bella—three badass Witches tasked with keeping our supernatural haven safe.
And every time I looked at her, I felt something ancient rumble in my soul like an avalanche of fate and pheromones.
Yeah. My Bear was convinced she was mine.
Not in a creepy, possessive you belong to me now way—though let’s be honest, I wouldn’t say no if she decided she belonged to me voluntarily—but in the I will throw hands with the entire underworld if she so much as stubs her toe kind of way.
So when Jaxson casually mentioned something unusual stirring in the cemetery—new Ghost, maybe the old one doing interpretive dance again—I knew Donny would be the first to march in, spellbook in one hand and iced coffee in the other.
I also knew she’d downplay it.
Act like she had it handled.
Because she always did.
But even the strongest Witch deserved backup.
So yeah, when I saw her walk into The Tasty Tart during my shift, all hips and sass and hair that made me want to bury my face in it for the rest of my life, I may have slipped out the back.
Casually. Quietly.
Then shifted into my fur.
And padded through the trees lining Main Street, keeping a respectful distance while she walked back toward her salon.
Call me crazy.
I call it caring enthusiastically.
I didn’t growl.
I didn’t drool.
I didn’t even sniff the air like some hormonal teenager on his first heat.
Okay, maybe I did sniff the air a little.
She smells like wildflower honey, and Witchy temptation. You try resisting that.
But here’s the truth. I’m crazy about her.
Like, absolutely unhinged for this woman who doesn’t even know how hard she’s hit me.
My Bear is ready to mate for life.
Me? I’m just hoping she’ll let me buy her a coffee and maybe brush her hair someday.
Fuck you. It’s not creepy.
In the meantime, I’ll be here.
Waiting. Watching.
Not stalking—strategically protecting.
Just in case some new Ghost or Ghoul decides to get froggy.
Because no one messes with my Witch.
Not on my watch.