Chapter 2 #2
He gestures at the chair to his right. “Sit.”
I bristle. As an alpha, I don’t like being told what to do. In fact, his tone alone is enough to make me bare my teeth. He ignores me, unbothered. Reluctantly, I drag the chair out and plop down.
Aside from knowing that I’m supposed to be well-dressed for this meeting, I have no idea what’s next.
The instructions said Mr. Byrne would have all the answers.
She placed her trust in him, but I don’t share the same sentiment.
Something I've learned in my life is to never trust anyone. They’ll stab you in the back and smile in your face as you bleed out on the ground after.
Whatever is happening, I don’t like it. I pride myself on my instincts, and every single one of them is signaling something is wrong.
The hinges are annoyingly loud as the front door opens again, followed by a heavy thud and footsteps.
My spine stiffens as her scent hits me first.
I never caught it three nights ago. With the crowd, the smell of burning flesh, and the distance between us—I never realized how incredibly potent Morgan’s is.
Intoxicating. My mouth waters. Her scent is a mix of ripe sweet raspberries, sugar-dipped violets, and woodsy amber.
Needy. So, so needy. I want to drown in her scent.
Fuck. What the fuck is this? The wolf inside me immediately comes to the surface.
My bones crack. The instinct to shift scrapes against my ribs, clawing with such intensity that sharp pain rips through me.
I slam my hands down on the table, counting the seconds as I exhale slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out. Intentionally.
What is happening to me? All the alarm bells ring louder.
Color fades as my vision turns dichromatic, shifting between forms like a kaleidoscope.
This can’t be happening to me. I never lose control.
Ever. It’s not even the full moon. Beyond that, no one has ever drawn this sort of reaction from me before.
The lawyer stares at me as I struggle. “Control yourself,” he mutters. “I thought werewolves can only shift under the full moon?”
Fucking daimons and their hearing. Like werewolves, their senses are heightened. He can hear the way my bones crack back into place.
“I can shift when I please,” I grunt.
The corner of his mouth tugs. “How strange. A very rare ability for a werewolf, hmm? Well, this should be interesting.”
I don’t get the chance to snarl at him before Morgan comes to the doorway.
Her vibrant blue hair spills down her shoulders.
She wears a long black skirt with a sheer lace top and a corset over it.
I’m a respectful alpha, but I can’t stop my eyes from dipping down to her breasts and the way the corset pushes them together.
Black liner creates wings around her eyes, and goddess help me, my thoughts immediately turn to how pretty her makeup would look running down her face.
Black lipstick paints her lips, soft and pliable and—
What the fuck is happening to me?
Fury floods my veins, but then my cock strains against my pants. I look down at my lap. No. No way.
I’m getting hard.
This sort of reaction is completely unlike me. Unnatural, even. A growl burrows in my chest, causing the witch’s eyes to widen and then narrow.
“What in the hell is he doing here?” Her tone is grating.
“Witch,” I snap, trying not to inhale her scent. “What sort of spell are you working on me right now?”
Morgan’s glower sharpens like a butcher knife. “Funny. Mr. Byrne, what is the meaning of this? I thought we were meeting about my inheritance. And I’ve been waiting for three days. I’m ready to leave.”
He points to the chair to his left, directly opposite of me. “Sit, Morgan. We have much to discuss.”
Her brows pull together in a scowl. “Why is he here?”
Nothing but silence. The lawyer simply smiles, his fangs gleaming beneath the dining room chandelier. I’ve become so used to the house’s antics, I barely notice the way they flicker, and how the walls tremble, causing the dishes in the cabinet in the corner of the room to rattle and clink.
If the walls could talk, I’m pretty sure they’re telling Morgan to sit down.
“You’re going to want to be sitting for this,” Mr. Byrne finally adds. “Come now, child. You Foxgloves are so stubborn, but I am merely the messenger. Sit.”
Resentment shines in her eyes, but she finally listens, taking the chair across from me. My cock strains even more now that she’s closer, my blood pumping down instead of where it should have been—my damn brain. I need a clear head, not a hard one.
She must be using magic on me. To distract me. To entice me. Something isn’t right.
Morgan won’t meet my gaze, but it doesn’t matter. We both look at the lawyer.
He clears his throat. “I have not read the contents of this will. Maeve did all of this herself, which was not advised. I pleaded with her to allow me to guide her, but she rejected any form of help. She informed me she intended to do this, so I am as much in the dark as both of you. My sole job here is to open the envelopes, read their contents to both of you, and then file them away at our office—whatever the outcome may be.”
“Okay. Fine.” Morgan shoots me another dirty look, and I return it. What the fuck did I ever do to her? Why does she hate me so much? Why is she making my cock so fucking hard?
Mr. Byrne pulls out a knife and runs the blade over an ornate purple wax seal. It has Morgan’s family crest, a foxglove flower with a crescent moon. The wax cracks and he lifts the flap, drawing out a thick piece of paper with red ink scrawled in the old language.
He clears his throat. “I have not read the old tongue in ages. Give me a moment.”
Morgan throws up her hands with a sigh. Her lips press into a dark line as I try to focus on anything else in the room but her. I choose a glass jar on top of the china cabinet, but frown when I realize three eyeballs are floating in it.
Even after living in this house for two months, the oddities never fail to surprise me. But, that’s a witch’s home for you. I’ve seen all sorts of things here.
One of the eyes moves. The house shudders, and the jar vanishes.
Well, then.
“What?” Morgan asks, turning around. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “The house is playing tricks.”
Morgan shakes her head. “I hate this house.”
The pipes in the walls screech in response.
“I think it hates you too,” I say flatly.
Morgan opens her mouth to snap back, but Mr. Byrne clears his throat to interrupt.
“Both stand up and shake hands,” he instructs.
“No,” I huff.
I’m in no fucking condition to stand up.
More than anything, I want to give into the wolfish part of me desperately clawing at my mortal-shaped body.
The desire to shift makes every breath burn in my lungs, every muscle tense as I fight that instinct.
The full moon isn’t for a few days, so this sudden need makes no sense.
Hell, my erection makes no sense either.
Regardless, I’m in no condition to stand up.
This is her fault. “I will not be standing.”
Byrne’s expression strains with annoyance. “Then use your long arms and reach across the table, Sylvan. Shake her hand.”
Morgan snorts. “Oh, so the wolf has a name?”
I grind my teeth as I lean forward, thrusting my hand out. She casts it a look of disdain, but then leans forward, her palm sliding against mine.
Her skin is smooth like silk. I grip her, turning her hand just enough to see her pulse fluttering in the inside of her wrist. Her scent washes over me again, hitting me so hard my eyes slam shut.
Beyond the scent of sweet ripe raspberries, there is that scent again. The earthy one. My heart thunders in my chest as I realize what it is.
Arousal.
I’ve never scented something so . . . delicious. Her scent calls to me. It’s a drug. The wolfish part of me demands I act, but by doing what?
There is no way I’m going to do what my instincts beg me to do. I may be a beast, but I’m not a monster. I’ve never even taken a partner before, so why would I give in now?
Pain snaps through me, sudden and sharp. Morgan cries out, hissing through her teeth.
“Fuck,” I snarl. Hot barbed wire wraps every limb with pain. It tugs and twists and burns, leaving us both breathless and writhing.
I try to release her hand, but I can’t. I can’t let her go. She can’t let me go either.
Goddess help us, I know this magic.
It’s old and strong and shouldn’t be happening. This sort of magic is against the covenant between witches, wolves, and daimons—and for good reason.
It’s a binding spell.
The witch is being bound to me.