Chapter Twenty-Five-Ryan
I slammed the door to the rental so hard the frame rattled.
Didn’t care.
Should have been curled around my mate right now, full belly, full heart, peace in my bones.
Instead?
I was cold. Horny. Miserable. And alone.
Not that Conrad noticed.
“Dude,” he called from the couch, not even looking up from the massive python coil he had twisted himself into. “You smell like sex and forest. What gives?”
“Fuck. Off.” I stomped past him, stripping my shirt off as I headed for the shower.
I barely noticed the chill as the pipes screamed and dumped liquid ice over my overheated skin.
The hot water heater was still busted—Bella had said something about magical backflow or a tiny volcano in the tank. I couldn’t remember.
Didn’t matter.
I stood under the freezing spray, letting it punish me while I scrubbed every inch of skin with the tiny white bar of Ivory soap.
No scent. No trace. Nothing to remind me of her.
Didn’t help.
I was clean.
But I wasn’t okay.
When the soap bar slipped from my fingers, whittled down to nothing, I let it go.
Let it circle the drain and disappear, like the last hour of my life hadn’t changed everything.
Because it had.
I’d tasted her.
Had her trembling and gasping on my tongue.
And then I’d left.
On purpose.
Which was probably the dumbest, most painful thing I’ve ever done.
But I had to.
Because if I stayed, I would’ve claimed her right there in that damn salon chair, in the heat of her magic and mine.
I’d have knotted inside her and bitten her and never let go.
And she wasn’t ready.
Hell, she couldn’t even say the word mate.
I yanked on a clean T-shirt and sweats, combed my fingers through my damp hair, and trudged back into the living room where Conrad was still mid yoga pose—coiled into what looked like a sentient pretzel.
Snake Shifters, man. No shame.
“What’s up?” he asked, not even glancing away from the TV, which was playing some black-and-white movie about two lovers who couldn’t make it work.
Fitting.
I dropped onto the armchair across from him with a heavy grunt.
“I need to woo this woman, Con. I just don’t have a clue how.”
That got his attention. He straightened slightly, human torso emerging from his twisty lower half.
“I thought you were in after tonight? You reek of her magic and croissant crumbs.”
“She won’t admit we’re mates,” I said, rubbing the heel of my hand against my sternum like I could press the ache away. “Says we’re fuck buddies, at best.”
“Ouch.” Conrad winced. “She said that out loud?”
I nodded once.
He gave a low whistle and untangled himself with the grace of someone boneless. “Damn. So, what now?”
“I don't know. That’s the problem. I’ve never wooed anyone before. Not like this.” I leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“She’s got walls. Not little ones either. Like castle battlements. With magical firepower and maybe a catapult.”
“You like her that much?”
“She’s it,” I said simply. “There’s no one else. There never will be.”
Conrad exhaled slowly.
“Then you’re gonna have to be patient, my dude. Witchy women don’t like to be cornered. But if you find out how to make one see reason? Let me know. My future mate still doesn’t acknowledge me unless it’s to zap me when I open my big mouth.”
I cracked a half-smile. “Donny doesn’t zap me.”
“Yet.”
“True.”
Silence stretched between us. I could still smell her on my skin, even after the cold-water punishment.
Her magic had wrapped around mine and sunk in deep.
There was no shaking it.
No going back.
I needed a plan.
Not just a strategy to win her over, but one that told her I saw her.
All of her.
Not just the smart-ass Witch with the attitude and killer curves—but the scared, proud, loyal woman underneath.
“Flowers?” I said aloud, brow furrowing.
Conrad snorted. “She’ll think you’re apologizing for cheating on her with her sister or something.”
“True.”
“Cookies?” he offered.
“Her bestie owns a bakery. She can get them anytime.”
“Fuck.”
More silence.
Then, like lightning hitting a pine tree, I had it.
“I’m going to make her something special,” I said, sitting up straighter.
“Oh?”
“A gift. Something real. No spells, no charm. Just me. My hands. My time.”
Conrad gave a low whistle again. “You’re gonna woodwork her into loving you?”
“If I have to. But not wood. I’m thinking flour and butter,” I grunt.
Because that’s what Bears do.
We build.
We fix.
We protect.
And even if she didn’t believe in fate yet, that was okay.
Because I did.
And Donatella Andrews was mine.