Chapter 4
Sylvan
The First Full Moon
The morning of the full moon, I feel the pull in my bones. Like a rising tide, every instinct craves release. A release from my body and into my true, monstrous form. A release of my restraint.
Once a month, alphas and omegas suffer through a rut or heat. If you’re a beta, you don’t carry the burden of being bound to the moon in such a way. I often envy betas. They can still experience the pleasurable rush that comes with heats and ruts without the soul possession that takes place.
Tonight, I will be a beast. My body will shatter—from man to werewolf.
It hurts. The desire will burn so hot, I’ll feel sick. Feverish. The need to fuck will be the only thing driving me. If an omega, especially an unmated omega, is in my presence—there will be no resisting each other. My pheromones are too strong.
The last thing I want is for my first knotting to be with the witch who is ruining my life for the next nine months.
I’ve always done my best to stay away from omegas.
I’ve never been with one before. I’ve been so guarded against connection with others, I’ve never even gone on a date.
I’ve touched and pleasured a woman or two, but my wolf never wanted them fully.
There’s always only ever been this desire for my mate.
Because I’ve never even knotted someone, I’ve been left jaded and on the verge of madness during my ruts.
Morgan’s raspberry and violet scent calls to me even now. Even though she’s taken the bedroom on the furthest opposite side of the manor, I smell her. I want her. It’s incredibly frustrating, because I don’t even like her.
We’ve barely talked in the few days since the signing of the contract. I see her in the mornings in the breakfast nook, clutching her cup of coffee like a lifeline. She ignores me. I ignore her.
But, she’s an omega.
I will not be able to ignore her tonight.
I square my shoulders as I make my way to the kitchen. Most of the house has hardwood floors, but it switches to black and white checkered titles once I pass the doorway.
Morgan is already seated at the round table, tucked against the red cushioned bench that was built into the nook.
Behind her, three massive arched windows give the perfect view of the garden and the woods beyond the stone fence.
Sunlight dances around the kitchen, catching prisms hanging from the ceiling and splashing rainbows over the countless plants that grow in every corner of the house.
An iron pot sits on the stove, a couple of sparks popping from the bubbling brew.
I lean over and take a peek as I pass, and wrinkle my nose. Whatever she’s making, it smells awful.
Morgan stirs her cup of coffee with a golden spoon by waving her pointer finger absentmindedly.
The mug is handmade, a midnight blue clay that matches her hair.
She’s got it up in a messy bun today, two strips framing her face, as she scrolls her phone.
She wears black silk pajamas and—goddess help me—she isn’t wearing a bra.
I go still as my gaze falls to the soft outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. My mouth instantly waters.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks without looking up.
Fuck. Not that I’m trying to be subtle, but she’s more aware of her surroundings than I expect.
I slide onto the bench across from her. I’m doing great by not looking at her taut nipples and not thinking about sucking them. I cross my arms. “We need a plan.”
She points at the pot on the stove. “That’s the plan.”
I eye the bubbling pot warily. “And what exactly is that?”
“It’s a pheromone brew,” she says. “It’ll inhibit both your rut and my heat. It should water down the pheromones enough—between drinking that and the wards around our rooms, we should have no issue. You stay on your side of the house, I stay on mine. It’s that simple, roomie.”
“It won’t work on me,” I say stiffly. “And it smells gross.”
I’m met with a flat look. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it will work. It smells gross because it’s strong. I’m not taking any chances here. I even shopped in the organics section at the market. Those are high-quality herbs.”
I try to keep my eyes on her face. On her lips. They’re very soft looking, and my cock perks up. No, that’s not helpful. At all. “Why didn’t you pick them from the garden?”
“I’m not a garden witch.”
“You’re not any kind of witch,” I sigh. “Why can’t you undo this useless contract?”
The spoon clinks harshly against the mug.
She slams her phone down and glares at me.
There’s a spark in her eyes that arouses me.
She’s feisty and angry and willing to fight with me, and the thought of pinning her down beneath me until she submits invades my mind, leaving me all wound up.
It’s all a fucking problem. This furious little witch is not my mate, so why does my body crave her so much?
“I’ve tried. What do you think I’ve been working on while you’ve been doing nothing but eating my food and breathing my air, wolf?”
“I’ve been asking around,” I say. “It’s not like I haven’t been doing anything.”
In fact, I even called Catriona, who was absolutely no help.
The damn daimon laughed at my predicament.
“Bound to a Foxglove. The most useless Foxglove, too. Oh you’ve done it this time, Sylvan.
” There’s no amount of magic that can undo this contract, according to her, unless done by a witch of the same bloodline.
Basically, Morgan and I are doomed.
I reached out to a few others I know. Not friends, exactly.
I don’t have real friends. But, I reached out to Alpha Jarod of the Salem Pack.
He’s someone I can trust. He kept me alive as a teen and for that, I’m still grateful.
He doesn’t care that I’m an exile, he will still answer my call, and he’s even encouraged me to join his pack a few times—which I’ve always firmly declined.
I can’t obey another alpha, and I can’t jeopardize yet another pack. Not after what happened.
Even so, Jarod didn’t have any answers. He wished me luck and told me to reach out if I needed him.
For the time being, I’m contractually bound to protect Morgan. I did it for Maeve the last couple months without any issues, but I already know the useless witch is going to be far more trouble.
I narrow my eyes as I realize Morgan just told me she left the house without me this morning. “When did you go out for the herbs?”
“Earlier. Why?”
“You need to tell me when you leave the house,” I say firmly.
Morgan immediately shakes her head. “No. Not happening. I’m not doing that.”
Goddess, of course she’s going to be a pain about this. Why does she fight me so much? Why can’t she just accept that I’m here to protect her? “I am your bodyguard. Wherever you go, I need to be with you.”
“You know as well as I do that is completely unnecessary. I don’t have any sort of magic that would be useful to someone. What do you think is going to happen?”
“The curse,” I say. “You know, the one that has haunted your entire bloodline for generations?”
Morgan’s smile is genuine. “It’s not real.”
“The torch was red. You are the only living Foxglove. Maeve sent you a warning—”
“Maeve fucked us both. That curse you’re talking about? All it has ever been is ‘Every Foxglove pays a price for their power.’ Guess what? I don’t have power. Face it, wolf. You were nothing more than a pawn. A well-paid pawn. You should just pack your bags and go anyway.”
I’ve tried.
I don’t tell her that. But the first night, I packed everything up and left the house five times. Every single time my boot crossed the gate in the front yard, I appeared before the front door again.
Every. Single. Time.
“Unfortunately, I’m here to stay,” I say. “And your brew won’t work on me. Therefore, I need you to make me a promise.”
“I’m not promising you anything.”
“Morgan,” I snarl her name as I stand. I plant my hands on the table in front of her and lean over, her lips so close to mine.
So unbearably close. I need to stop looking at them.
Stop thinking about them. “I am serious. I know you don’t like me, but I don’t care.
We are both unmated. Inhibitors do not work on me, they never have.
I will be feral tonight. I need you to promise me you will stay in your room, in this house.
You cannot leave this property without me.
I cannot protect you from anything while in a rut. ”
Her cheeks redden, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “I don’t need your protection,” she whispers. “You can’t cage me in. You don’t own me. I’m not a pet.”
“I don’t fucking care what you think. You may not need my protection, but you have it. You will promise me this, Morgan.”
“Or else what, exactly?”
Her scent. Her damn scent. I can hear her heart beating faster, can almost taste the wetness between her thick thighs. Knowing that she’ll be in heat, she’ll be in pain, an aching sort of pain that I can soothe, and goddess—knowing she’ll be in the same walls as me . . .
I tear away from her. “Promise me, witch.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll stay put. I’ll still take the brew. Hopefully it helps and you won’t smell me.”
There’s no hiding from her scent. In the span of just a couple days, it has invaded every part of my world. The only place that doesn’t smell like her is my bed, and the wolf in me wishes that wasn’t the case.
Fuck.
Maybe I need to chain myself.
The very idea of doing so horrifies me. Chaining during a rut is only for the worst sort of feral werewolf. I’m still in control of myself, but . . .
I’ve never gone into a full moon rut with an unmated omega nearby.
Now, I have to do it eleven times in a row.
“I bought a calendar this morning,” Morgan says. She points at the fridge. “I marked the day this contract is over.”
I raise a brow and go to it, flipping through the months until I see a giant red circle around January 28th. We’re nearing the end of April.