Chapter 3
Morgan
Magic singes the air. It carries the same acidity of power I felt the night of my grandmother’s funeral. Horror knocks my heart against my chest as a neon red thread wraps around our hands, forming a shield knot.
It doesn’t matter how much we try to release each other, we can’t.
What is he doing to me?
If I knew any better, I’d fear this was a sign he was my fated mate. Like daimons and wolves, witches experience a sign from the universe when they meet theirs.
Werewolves feel a primal draw to the one. Their wolf wishes to possess and mark their mate immediately.
Daimons crave their soul essence so terribly, they become feral. Especially since most daimons wait decades, or even longer, to find their soulbound mate.
Witches always see the threads of fate, just like the ones wrapped around our hands. But these threads belong to a spell, right? They’re definitely not a sign he is mine.
“Let me go,” I demand, pulling again.
“I can’t,” the werewolf snarls. “I’m trying. What the fuck is this, Byrne?”
At least he’s as furious as I am. We both glower at Mr. Byrne. He winces as he scans the paper.
It’s never a good sign when a daimon makes that sort of expression.
“Oh goddess,” Mr. Byrne whispers. What scares me is that the daimon sounds sincere. Fuck. “Well . . .” He clears his throat again. “Here is what Maeve has written . . .
Dear Morgan, by now you have seen the red flame, and therefore you know you are in danger.
Whether you like it or not, you are a Foxglove, and now the only living Foxglove.
In order to protect you, I bind you to Sylvan, an alpha werewolf, a bodyguard in my employ, who has agreed to protect Foxgloves—”
“I did no such thing.” Sylvan pulls harder away from me and nearly drags me across the table. “I never agreed to this.”
“Stop it, you fucking brute. You’re going to yank my arm out of my fucking shoulder!” I yell.
His strength softens, but he doesn’t stop tugging. “I would never bind myself to a family of witches. I’ve only been guarding Maeve for two months.”
Mr. Byrne continues. “This is my dying wish. For nine months, you are hereby bound together—”
“No.” There’s no way she would do this to us. To me. A dying wish from a witch as powerful as my grandmother is a potent form of magic that I’m certain there’s no counter-spell for. “Why would she—”
“You must live in Foxglove Manor for nine full months together in order to inherit the family fortune. Only then will this contract be voided, and you and Sylvan may part.”
There it is. Even in death, old Maeve has managed to get in one final big fuck you.
The threads fray and break. An electric current shoots through me, leaving me doubled over and gasping. We pry our hands free of each other fast enough I stumble back and trip. Oh fuck.
I have three seconds to spit out a curse before the back of my head hits the floor.
Only it doesn’t. There’s something behind my head—
He caught me.
I’m not sure how Sylvan moved so fast. He hovers above me, one hand behind my head, the other planted against the floor next to me.
His chest heaves, his eyes burning yellow like a harvest moon.
Hatred rolls off him in waves, followed by a cinnamon and whiskey scent that soothes me despite how strongly I dislike him.
This close, I can see that his nose is slightly crooked. A thin, jagged scar at his temple disappears into chestnut brown hair. His hair curls at the base of his neck, but is long on top, parted, layered. Thick brows pull together in a menacing scowl, his lips baring sharp teeth.
I’ve never seen a wolf so on edge before. His skin looks like it could split at any moment, and it’s not yet the full moon. Can he shift without the full moon?
I should be angry that he’s holding me, but I don’t want him to let me go.
It’s absurd. Something hard is pressed against my thigh, but .
. . No. Surely not. I don’t look down, afraid of what I might see.
My body responds in a way that’s humiliating.
My core tightens. Turned on by the very idea that I’ve made him hard.
“Put me down,” I whisper. “And control yourself. Why are your big sharp teeth out?”
Sylvan releases me, allowing my head to smack the hardwoods. I yelp as he straightens, his hand immediately going to the back of his head and rubbing.
He is hard.
The bodyguard has a massive dick, and I can’t look away. His back is facing Mr. Byrne. He meets my gaze for a second, his nostrils flaring. He looks down at himself. His jaw stiffens, and the vein in his forehead throbs.
I’ve never seen someone so angry about being aroused. I fight a shit-eating grin, earning another glare from him.
I sit up, peeking around Sylvan to give Mr. Byrne the most evil glare I can muster.
“Eventful,” he sighs. “Would you both return to your seats?”
“You tricked us,” Sylvan spits out. He adjusts himself, the shape of his hard-on disappearing as he tucks it against his waistband.
I’m certain that I’ve never seen one like that.
My cheeks burn as he stalks around the table, pacing back and forth like he’s on the prowl for trouble.
“You made us shake hands. You knew this would happen.”
Power prickles over my skin.
Sylvan is an alpha. And he’s using his alpha voice. Usually, I’m unaffected by such tones, but as he speaks, my blood starts to rush in my ears.
Oh, fuck no. There are so many things wrong with this situation.
For starters, having to be in Hex Ridge for nine months is a big no.
Living in this house again? Absolutely not.
Living in this house with an alpha werewolf?
I’m an omega. I can’t do that. Even if he has a really nice dick, based on the outline I just saw, I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
It’s dangerous for both of us, given I’m unmated and he clearly is too.
“I didn’t trick you,” Mr. Byrne growls. “I didn’t know what she had planned. Stop pacing that way, Sylvan. The last thing I want is a taste of your soul.”
“Is that a fucking threat?”
The veins in his neck strain. This is exactly why I avoid alphas. They’re so touchy. Overbearing. Overprotective. Overreactive.
“We can’t do this.” I get up and drag my chair back to the table. I sit as Sylvan keeps pacing, his muscles rigid, low growls coming from him like a wild animal. “Can you stop? And don’t do that thing with your tone. Just because you’re an alpha doesn’t mean you can boss us around.”
“It doesn’t work on me,” Mr. Byrne chuckles.
Sylvan shook his head. “This is unacceptable.”
“That we can agree on. My grandmother can’t bind me to a complete stranger, let alone an alpha. What will we do on the full moon?”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.
” Mr. Byrne sighs. He frowns as he opens up the next envelope and pulls out three pieces of paper.
Two ink pens appear between his long fingers.
“Her magic has already bound the both of you. As someone who has been bound by a Foxglove, I can guarantee you there is no way out. Up until Morgan, they’ve always been quite powerful. ”
I ignore the sting of his comment and the grumble from Sylvan that follows. “I didn’t know you were bound to the family, Byrne,” I say.
Something dark shifts in his gaze. “Yes, well. You had a capricious witch in your family. I am to serve this bloodline until my end unless I am released.”
“Why would you ever agree to such a thing?” Sylvan asks. “Bindings like this are illegal, and for good reason. It’s against the Covenant for a witch to do this to us. The Council has made it law that bindings should never happen.”
A smile feathers his lips. “And you trust the Council, Sylvan?”
Sylvan flinches, his eyes darkening.
Byrne leans forward, pushing one page in front of me and another toward Sylvan’s chair. “Sit and sign, wolf.”
“I’m not signing shit. I’m leaving.”
Sylvan shoots out of the dining room, only to come back through the second doorway from the kitchen. My eyes widen as he snarls and does it again.
And a third time.
On the fourth time, I laugh. “Can you see why I hate this house now?”
He marches around the table and shoves his hands out at me. “Undo this magic, witch. Undo it. I don’t want this.”
I don’t like that my first thought is how nice his hands are. They’re large and look like they’d feel good rubbing the back of my neck. Snap out of it. “I don’t want this either. But I cannot undo this magic.”
“You have to. I’m supposed to leave.”
“I am too.” A sinking feeling settles in the bottom of my gut as the reality of our situation becomes clear. I look up at the lawyer. His grim expression is not a good sign. “Nine months?”
“Nine full months is how it specifically translates,” he answers.
Nine months.
Fuck.
I’m not going back home for a long time.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone. But the moment you shook hands, the binding took place.”
“And you didn’t know this is what she planned?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I had a feeling she was planning something, but . . . Well, I just assumed it would be something annoying in order for you to receive your inheritance. She really didn’t like you.”
“I know.” That bitter taste returns. My shoulders sink and I look up at Sylvan.
A fleeting thought passes—what does he look like in his werewolf form?
—and I shoo it away. I don’t need to be thinking about him in any form.
“We are stuck in this together. A dying wish from a witch like Maeve is the sort of magic that is forbidden, but my family has never been known for doing things the right way. There’s a reason why I left Hex Ridge ten years ago. ”