Chapter Sixteen-Evie
“What did you say?” I asked, pulling back and searching his face.
“You heard me. You just don’t believe it yet.”
His voice was low and steady, no trace of doubt.
He didn’t smirk.
Didn’t try to charm me out of my skepticism.
He just looked at me with those storm-gray eyes with flecks of lightning-silver dancing in them, quiet and sure, like he was giving me space to catch up to something he already knew.
His scent—lemon, basil, and Wolf—wrapped around me like a warm blanket, soothing the whirlwind in my chest.
And just when I thought I might melt right there on the floor—grrrrooooowl.
My traitorous stomach let out a monstrous protest, breaking the tension with all the grace of a fart at a funeral.
“That’s my cue to start the grill, Darlin’,” Jaxson said, and smiled like he wasn’t even the slightest bit thrown.
He kissed me again—just a taste this time, toe-curling and maddeningly brief—then turned me toward my bedroom with a gentle swat to my generous bottom and a kiss to the back of my neck.
I sighed.
One night, I reminded myself.
I could give myself just this one night with the sexy Wolf Shifter.
But whether I was trying to keep myself from falling, or admitting I already had, I simply didn’t know yet.
“Off you go, Darlin’. Go on and get yourself comfortable, then join me in the kitchen when you’re ready,” he whispered against my ear.
His warm citrus-scented breath made me shiver.
Not from fear.
From want.
But somehow, I managed to walk down the hall to my bedroom without tripping over my own feet.
That alone was a minor miracle.
Once inside, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, closing my eyes.
What the frig am I doing?
I had just invited a dangerously handsome Werewolf into my home. Not just into my house—into my space. My world. My life.
“This is insane,” I muttered to the empty room. “Take it slow? Is he kidding me? That walking fantasy of a man is making me lose my damn mind.”
Yep. I was talking to myself. Full-blown muttering mess.
Mayor of a magical town and one smooth-talking Shifter had reduced me to a puddle of hormones.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and groaned.
“Good Gaia!”
What had started out as a reasonably cute outfit had been destroyed by work, stress, and a very unplanned encounter with three furballs who claimed to be ancient household gods.
My once-decent hair was now a frizzy bird’s nest.
My lipstick? Gone.
My mascara? Running a marathon down my cheek.
But dammit, I wanted this night.
Wanted him.
A man—no, a Wolf—who cooked, smiled like he knew all my secrets and wasn’t scared of any of them, and touched me like I was already his.
Twenty minutes later—after the fastest transformation of my adult life (we’re talking emergency-level shower, ruthless exfoliation, tactical perfume deployment, and a full-body pep talk)—I floated down the stairs, nerves dancing in my stomach.
Okay. I walked. Not floated.
Let’s not get carried away. I was in heels, not on a cloud. And unlike some Witches, I wasn’t about to risk using magic to glide into a date with a smexy Werewolf. Not with the whole no personal gain clause hanging over my head like a magical guillotine.
Tempting the Fates? Yeah, no thanks.
Those vindictive bastards already had it out for me.
Anyway, the moment I stepped into the kitchen, I nearly stubbed my toe on my grandmother’s ancient dining table.
But all was forgiven when the smell hit me.
Holy. Shit.
It was heaven.
Steaks sizzling on the grill, garlic butter melting somewhere, roasted potatoes and cheese, bacon and red wine.
I stood in the doorway, trying not to moan out loud.
Jaxson had the back sliding door open. He had the deck all lit with fairy lights I’d strung up and promptly forgotten about.
He was out there now, looking far too good in worn jeans and a fitted tee as he turned the two beautifully seasoned steaks on the grill like he’d done it a thousand times.
I could barely breathe.
“There you are, Darlin’,” he said when he turned and saw me.
He took my hand, no hesitation, just warm and steady and sure.
Usually, I hated being touched without permission.
Most men who tried it got zapped.
But not Jaxson’s hands?
I wanted more.
I wanted all of him.
Every damn inch.
He led me to the outdoor table—my mismatched silverware set out like we were at a five-star restaurant instead of my beat-up deck.
I flushed at the sight of my chipped dishes. Really, I should have gotten them replaced ages ago, but Jaxson didn’t seem to care.
He handed me a wine glass and poured generously from the bottle he’d picked out.
“Thanks,” I murmured, taking a long sip.
I was going to need it.
With a wicked grin and a soft growl, my Wolfman turned back to the grill, and I let myself watch him.
Those broad shoulders.
That easy confidence.
The way his jeans hugged his—stop.
Focus.
After giving myself a mental shake, and pinching my thigh, I was able to answer the question he’d just asked about how I liked my meat.
“Um, medium rare, but more towards rare,” I replied.
“Good girl,” he said, nodding at me.
And there went the new panties I just put on.
Conversation flowed effortlessly once dinner was served, and I was shocked at how easy it was to be with him.
To laugh. To talk. To share.
“This is nice,” I said, swirling my wine.
“That it is,” he agreed, serving me a plate with perfectly grilled steak, loaded baked potato, and roasted broccoli.
“Now, where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“My mama,” he said simply, like that explained everything.
“I appreciate a man who listens to his mama.”
He grinned. “That’s nice of you to say so.”
Watching him eat was an experience.
I shouldn’t have been turned on by the sight of a man biting into steak, but Gaia help me, I was.
It didn’t hurt that his table manners were perfect.
No snarling.
No slobbering.
No gnawing on bones.
Not that I’d have minded. Not even a little.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair after we both demolished our plates. “How’d you end up running this quirky little town?”
“I didn’t,” I admitted, stabbing a potato chunk with my fork. “The job kind of chose me.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “How’s that?”
“Castor’s Corner was founded by my great-grandfather. A Wizard. His wife was a Witch. They came here from Italy after some angry villagers blamed them for a bad harvest. Don’t ask.” I shrugged.
“Okay,” he replied and grinned.
“They made a home. A sanctuary. And somewhere along the line, the town decided that each generation a living Castor heir should lead it.”
“And the mausoleum? It says Castorini.”
“Yeah. That was my ancestors’ original surname—Castorini. Got shortened when they got here. Like a lot of immigrant names. People didn’t want to learn how to spell it, so… poof. History rewrites itself.”
I paused, suddenly self-conscious.
Not everyone got me. I knew that. And I’d grown used to the blank stares and polite nods when I got a little too passionate about lineage or lore.
But I grew up with a proud Nonna who used to scoff and say Shakespeare didn’t know jack when he famously asked what’s in a name?
According to her, everything was in a name—roots, magic, memory.
We Castors were taught to honor every part of our heritage.
Our name. This town.
The crazy, magical mess we came from.
Still, doubt was a sneaky bastard.
Was I rambling?
Boring him with Witchy trivia?
Drowning the mood in ancestral over sharing?
But Jaxson didn’t look bored.
He didn’t try to interrupt.
He just nodded thoughtfully and said, “Your Nonna sounds like a wise woman.”
My breath caught. “Did I say something about her out loud?”
“No,” he said softly, eyes locked on mine. “But I could hear it. Feel it.”
My heart stuttered in my chest.
“You read my mind?” I whispered, voice trembling.
“No. Not your mind. Just your heart.”
He reached across the table and took my hand again, thumb brushing lightly against my skin.
“How? Why?”
“You know why this is happening, Darlin’. But I’ll go as slow as you need.”
Fuck.
Any plans I had to be sensible flew out the window.
How the hell was I supposed to resist a man—no, a mate—who was that patient, that gentle, that perfect?
My nipples hardened beneath the pretty, flirty dress I’d changed into.
My sex clenched on air, heating from the inside and readying for his sweet invasion.
I licked my lips and decided to listen to my body.
“What if what I want is fast and hard?” I whispered, barely trusting my voice.
He stood, tugging me to my feet with one firm hand.
“Then I’ll give it to you, Darlin’. Just as fast and hard as you want it.”
And just like that, dinner was no longer the main course.
He was.
And I was starving.
Turns out, I wanted it all.
Fast and hard, yes.
But also slow and thorough.
It didn’t matter.
As long as it was with him.
Only him.
Jaxson kissed me once—deep and claiming—before handing me my wine and turning toward the kitchen like we hadn’t just been a whisper away from losing our clothes on the deck.
Everything the man did was magic.
Literal and not.
I sipped the velvety red as he cleaned up, following my instructions and leaving a small plate of supper out for Ivan like it was the most natural thing in the world.
No protest, no questions.
Just a quiet, capable strength that made my insides melt.
When he locked the screen door and turned back around, he caught me staring.
Hell, I wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it.
I’d changed while he grilled—just a soft, simple button-down dress in pale plum that skimmed my curves like a spell.
No bra.
Just panties.
And beneath that flimsy bit of fabric I was just me.
Raw. Wanting. Ready.
And he could tell.
Jaxson froze for a heartbeat, eyes raking down my body with a hunger that made me tremble.
Not in fear. Never that. But anticipation.
Delicious, fluttering heat curled through my belly.
He made me feel sexy, beautiful, powerful.
Like prey who’d decided to seduce the predator.
His gaze burned into mine.