Chapter 5
Morgan
Ugh. I want to scream.
He’s impossible.
Of all the people to be stuck in a house with for nine months, why does it have to be him? The grumpy werewolf will drive me insane.
Sylvan’s scent chases me as I step outside onto the back porch. There is no part of the house that doesn’t smell like him, so going outside is my best option.
After our argument this morning, I gave him space.
Losing an entire pack is one of the worst things that can happen to a werewolf.
It makes me wonder who his pack is, though.
Or was. Something so horrific would have been on the news or the papers.
I would have heard about it, right? Although if it happened when he was a child, maybe not.
I’m not sure how old he is, but I know I’m likely younger.
He says they were slaughtered.
So someone killed them.
Another pack? A Shadow Seer? That sort of witch makes my skin crawl. I’ve never run into one, thankfully, and hope I never do. The magic they have is unnatural. To even contain such magic requires submitting to darkness, and that only makes them more dangerous.
Witchy family dynamics are completely different. There were so many times growing up I wished I was part of a pack. Especially after my parents died. Instead of having other adults around that wanted to care for me, I ended up with a grandmother who resented my very existence.
Being back in Hex Ridge reminds me of all those nights I spent crying myself to sleep, wishing I was anywhere else. There’s so much pain that echoes from my past just by sitting on this porch. I used to hate myself, and it took leaving to accept that I deserve better.
More than once, I’ve thought about going through the house and gathering everything she threw at me at one time or another. I could burn it all out in the forest. Maybe I’ll finally get rid of the wooden spoons she spanked me with.
It’s silly. Of all the things she did to me, that sticks out the most. At some point soon, I decide, I’ll go through the kitchen. I have enough money to buy some new stuff. Or I can ask Sylvan to do it, since he has control of the Foxglove money.
Ugh. What happened to Sylvan explains why he is packless, but I’m not sure how he ended up here.
Or how he met my grandmother. He’s a mystery, and one I can’t find any information on.
A few internet searches turned up nothing.
He has no social media. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he doesn’t even exist.
For about five long seconds, I felt bad about pushing him. But then he was an asshole again, and most of my sympathy shriveled up. I’m learning that Sylvan can’t help himself in that regard.
Even so, the closer we get to dusk, the stronger my pull to him is.
I’ve been wet since this morning. The aching started with the sunrise.
A fever licking at the back of my neck, beckoning me to give in to my needs.
I’ve been practically walking around the house naked, which I thought would drive him away.
Instead, there were moments where he looked at me like he was going to shift into a werewolf and eat me on the spot.
This heat is going to be a tough one. My only hope is that it’s quick.
Usually, the full moon isn’t too big a deal for me.
I order in food and stay cozied up on my couch with my vibrator and a show to binge.
If all goes well, my heat lasts about twelve hours and then I’m back to my normal self again.
But I don’t have my couch or my apartment or any of my belongings.
Nothing to make a nest with. I’m back in the home I vowed to never live in again—vibrator-less and suffering.
The good news is that I was smart enough to pack some of my favorite outfits, just in case. I’m a lover of all things gothic and dramatic, which means—yes, I packed my favorite murder robe for my visit for my grandmother’s funeral. Why wouldn’t I?
I tighten the silk sash around my waist. The sheer fabric flows around me, the long bell sleeves lined with black feathers at the end.
They’re so soft against my skin, and it feels good.
I feel like myself, which I need after the hell of this week.
I want to think about good things, like my beautiful expensive robe.
Bougie goth. That’s what my friend, Verena, always calls me.
Well, she actually calls me her little bougie goth bat, since the first time we met was because I rescued an injured bat from the street and brought it into her clinic at midnight.
Verena operates a twenty-four-hour emergency clinic for animals and still, to this day, swear she’s never seen someone so close to a breakdown over a wild animal in her life.
I love Verena’s magic. Everything she touches heals. A broken bone? Fixed in a blink. A scraped knee? A snap of her fingers.
She also never treats me any differently for my magic.
She appreciates the small things I can do.
Whenever we hang out, she always asks me to make her a cup of tea because I make it just right every time.
We’ve been friends for eight years now, and I already miss her.
The next nine months are going to suck without seeing her every week.
My robe swishes behind me as I carry my mug of tea to the rocking chair that’s been here since the house’s foundation was poured. Steam curls up from the bad-smelling brew as I check my texts.
Verena
Did you follow my instructions for the tea? Drink ALL of it.
Me
I got it. I’m about to drink it
Verena
Drink it in two minutes exactly
Me
I knowwwww
I have to get the timing exactly right with the inhibitor brew for maximum effects. She’s told me this like five hundred times today, but it’s okay, because that’s how she shows her love. Verena is always fretting.
Verena
I can’t believe you’re stuck there for nine months. I’ll come visit soon, okay?
Me
Please. Rescue me from the alphahole
She shoots back a few laughing emojis and I snort, putting my phone down on the small table to my right.
The porch hasn’t changed since the last time I sat out here. The funny thing is, I remember that evening. I wanted to watch the fireflies dance around the flowers one last time before leaving for good.
Nothing has changed. Everything is the same in Hex Ridge. The flowers, the fireflies, the town itself.
Maybe it should impress me that a town could feel like it did a decade ago.
Being here again makes me feel like I’m lost in a postcard.
Sugar maple, Eastern hemlock, and yellow birch trees grow everywhere there isn’t a cobblestone sidewalk, an old house, or a quiet street.
Spring is in full bloom, the air carrying a rosy hue of warmth.
It’s beautiful, but it’s too quiet. Going to the market this morning reminded me just how spoiled I’ve become by living in the city.
I already miss the strangers who never even spared me a glance.
A breeze ruffles the garden and runs through the windchimes. I check the time on my phone. Alright, here goes something. It’s been two minutes.
It’s been a long time since I used an inhibitor. Last time, I had a bad reaction to one. Not life threatening, but it made me really sick.
Fingers crossed that isn’t the case tonight.
I take a sip and immediately gag. My stomach turns sour. I’ve never been a tea drinker. I’ve tried to enjoy it, but at the end of the day, it tastes like barely flavored water to me. Except the flavor for this is closer to hot garbage than hot water.
“Fuck,” I sigh.
I can do this. I kind of have to do this, so staring at it like it was a cup of grease isn’t going to help me.
With a groan, I pinch my nose and down it all, shuddering as I swallow. I gag again and slam the empty mug down.
It’s over now. Omega pheromones will now be blocked so I don’t end up begging my werewolf bodyguard to bone me. Hooray.
His insistence that it wouldn’t work on him still sounds silly. What does he mean it won’t work on him? Why is he so special?
I continue to rock in the chair as fireflies flicker along the garden path.
I lied to Sylvan about not being a garden witch.
You don’t need magic to grow a beautiful garden.
The plants hold magic within themselves.
The truth is, I ran out to pick up herbs simply because I wanted to get a blueberry muffin from the shop next door.
The bakery has been around for a hundred years, and they’re as delicious as I remember.
Blueberry muffins are my favorite. I love pulling off the fluffy sugar-crusted top and saving it for last.
Plus, my grandmother never labeled things in the garden, and while I know my plants like the back of my hand—I didn’t feel like wandering around until I collected everything I needed. I also didn’t trust that Maeve didn’t hide poisonous plants out there too.
But now I can wander. Just a little bit. I have about an hour before I need to be back inside—if I’m going to listen to Sylvan and lock myself away like some sort of princess in a tower.
After seeing his eyes flash gold in the kitchen earlier, I decided I will listen.
I don’t like having an alpha around. I especially don’t like that living with him means he’ll see how accident-prone I actually am.
My luck has been this way my entire life.
If there is so much as a bug to trip over in my path, I will.
But that isn’t some sort of cosmic curse, that’s just me not paying attention.
I also hate how he keeps catching me. For the second time this week, that man’s biceps wrapped around me and he lifted all two hundred and fifty pounds of me with ease. Like I’m lighter than a damn feather.
It’s unnerving.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. He is a werewolf. But part of his magic comes from the strength of having a pack, and he’s a lone wolf.
I set my mug aside and march down the steps, kicking my flats off to the side. I want to feel the earth beneath my feet.
The back of my neck prickles.