Chapter 21
Morgan
Hex Ridge is busy for a Monday. The small streets downtown are bustling with witches, and I know everyone is doing their shopping for the September full moon.
That’s the whole reason we came to town to begin with.
I wanted a few candles for some rituals, even though I don’t really have the sort of magic to make it anything special.
We stopped by the coven shop, got our fill of dirty looks, and made our way back to the house.
“What’s this?” Sylvan asks as we pass the market.
There’s a flyer stuck to the glass window already.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, annoyed.
Sylvan’s reflection halos behind me, his expression serious. “What?”
The flier is for a festival I’d put out of my mind years ago. Every November, the House of Hecate throws an event that lasts three days. It’s a giant social slop, and one old Maeve used to rule. But now that she’s dead, I’m sure my nemesis will be running it.
By now, everyone has heard the elder Foxglove Alpha is dead, but they’ve also heard her granddaughter is living in the manor, which means we could end up with some unwelcome visitors.
Sylvan presses his lips together. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? You’ve never mentioned it.”
I turn around and cross my arms. “First of all, I forgot about it. It’s not like I ever enjoyed going to this event. My grandmother used to parade me around as her greatest disappointment. Not to mention some of the creepy old men that would watch me.”
Sylvan growls. “Who? Tell me who. I will kill them.”
His reaction makes me roll my eyes. “I don’t even remember. This was years ago. It’s just a small-town festival, and then there’s some other stuff that happens at the coven house only. It doesn’t matter.”
“If you think of names, you tell me.” His brows pull together. “I don’t understand the point of this event.”
“The coven uses it to generate income,” I say.
“Alphas—witch, werewolf, and daimon—visit from other territories and pay to attend a ritual. It costs a lot of money. On the surface, the festival is free, but if you want to actually attend the real event—you pay. I never went to that part of the event. I wasn’t allowed to. ”
His frown deepens. “I don’t like this.”
“Me and you both.”
“It happens in November.”
I swallow hard with a nod. “Yeah.”
“And you don’t know what the real event is?”
“No. All I know is I was locked in the basement on that night.” I shiver. I’ve buried most of those memories, and I prefer them to stay that way. “It takes place over by the lake, though.”
“Fucking hell, Morgan.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, clearly stressed. “How the fuck did she get away with treating you the way she did? Where were the other adults? Why did no one protect you?”
People passing by us on the street are staring.
I spot some familiar faces. Witches who won’t look me in the eye.
There’s a group of three women I remember talking to every week huddled together and whispering outside the cafe, shooting us dirty looks.
My cheeks turn red as I catch a couple strangers gawking.
In all fairness, it’s hard not to stare at Sylvan when he’s like this.
“Can you keep your voice down? People are nosy here,” I hiss.
He curses under his breath and glances around us. His eyes spark with annoyance. “Fine. We’ll discuss this at home.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. She was a shitty grandparent. End of story.”
“That’s not the end. I wish she would have been buried in the earth so I could piss on her grave.”
Gasps echo around us. I slap my hand over my mouth and fight the urge to laugh.
Really, he’s just as bad as I am.
“Come on, Alpha,” I say, grabbing his arm and yanking him toward the market. “And no commanding people this time. We need to lay low.”
“Impossible to do with you,” he mutters.
It takes about twenty minutes for us to finish our shopping.
We’ve both attempted to put together a menu that we can agree on, although Sylvan will do most of the cooking.
For some reason, he likes to be the one in charge of that.
Part of me thinks the primal possessive part of him likes keeping me fed.
Whatever the reason, by the time we finish and he’s carrying the four bags, we’re ready to be on our way back home and out of everyone’s hair.
We step back out of the store and collectively release a breath.
“What are you going to do after you’re done with me?” I ask as we start down the sidewalk.
His steps falter and I grab his arm, steadying him. He mutters a curse. “Tripped over a rock.”
“Okay.” I don’t believe him for one second, but let it go. “Who’s the clumsy one now?”
“Still you. Every day, I feel you bump into something. Like whatever you stepped on this morning.”
“I left my brush on the floor.”
“Well, don’t do that.”
He annoys me so much. “Sure thing, Alpha.”
“And stop calling me that.”
“Mmm, maybe. I’ll consider it.”
Sylvan scoffs, but doesn’t say anything, so I prod him again.
“So after this?” I ask. “After you leave Hex Ridge?”
“I guess I’ll go on to the next job.”
“Do you have one lined up?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Sylvan falls silent, his jaw stiff. “It’s months away, so it’s not like I really need to think about it yet.”
“Sure.” I don’t know what to fill our silence with now. “Time flies.”
“Yep.”
A little too fast, if anything. It feels like only yesterday that we shook hands over the dining room table and were cursed by my own grandmother. I still remember the vibrance of the crimson string that wrapped around our hands.
“I bet you’ll be glad to be done with me,” I say, ignoring the ache in my chest.
“Of course,” he whispers.
My throat burns. I’m mad at myself for even pushing the conversation this direction.
Of course he’ll be glad to be done with me.
Why wouldn’t he be? My grandmother completely fucked up his life by using her dying wish to bind us together.
The fact that the curse forces him to feel my pain is just another poisoned cherry on top.
I don’t think either of us have ever had a companion like this, forced or not. My dating history isn’t as bare as his, but I’ve certainly never walked to the market with someone and shopped for the week so we could eat meals together. It’s so . . . domestic. And comfortable.
“Have you talked to Verena recently?” he asks lightly.
“Yeah. Of course. We text almost every day.” Well, most days.
She’s been a little busy lately and hasn’t been responding as consistently.
She’s promised to visit in November, though.
I steal a glance at Sylvan out of the corner of my eye.
“You know, she didn’t just ship me all my sex toys. She also shipped me my bondage gear.”
His expression is priceless. Sylvan stops walking for a moment and stares at me. The vein in his forehead ticks. “Are you trying to kill me right now?”
“I’m just informing you,” I say. “You know, in case the boxes show up.”
“Boxes,” he echoes. “As in, you have multiple boxes of this stuff?”
“Yeah,” I say defensively. “I have a couple floggers and blindfolds and vibrators. And some rope. Oh, and spreader bars—”
“I thought you told me you haven’t been with many people.”
“I told you I haven’t had sexual intercourse with many people. It’s not the same thing. I’ll let people tie me up.”
I’m going to hell. The jealousy that flashes on his face turns me on. It’s toxic, I know. I know that. But damn it, I like egging him on.
“You’ll let people tie you up,” he says flatly. “Just random strangers off the street, huh?”
Oh, he’s pissed. It takes every ounce of control to keep myself from smiling. “Sometimes I’ll let them spank me too.”
“Morgan.” His growl is deeper, hungrier.
“I guess if you ever get tired of being with me on the full moon, you could take me to one of those clubs. Like a sex club? A breeding sex club, even. You know—”
Sylvan drops our groceries and pulls me so hard against him, my breath is knocked from me. His fingers tangle with my hair and he pulls my bun free, gripping hard.
“You’re trying to get a rise out of me,” he whispers harshly.
“Is it working?”
He answers me by pulling my head back and exposing my throat. It shocks me. The feeling of his lips grazing over my skin all the way to the pulse fluttering in my neck. We’re still in town and there are people around, but he’s kissing my throat like he’s one moment away from biting it.
He does. I gasp as his teeth scrape against that sensitive spot. The one he could mark as his. He’s marking his territory, I realize, and I hate how much that turns me on.
My head spins as he draws his mouth back, his eyes searing me with frustration.
Every part of my body is on fire. “You just made everyone in town think you’re my alpha,” I say.
“I am,” he huffs. “For better or fucking worse. Let’s go home before anyone tries to start a problem.”
I hide my smile as he picks up our groceries and we start down the sidewalk again. I can feel his lips lingering on my neck. I just wish he would have kissed me on the mouth.
It takes another ten minutes or so before we spot our house at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Well, not our house. The house, of course. We’re not a couple. Or dating. Does living together qualify this our house, right?
Sylvan stops in front of me suddenly. I look up and see why.
There’s a man sitting on our front porch. I’ve never seen him before, but Sylvan seems to know him, based on how stiff his muscles are.
“Well, look who it is,” the man calls.
Sylvan stands still for a moment and then glances back at me. Stay behind me.
I blink. I can hear his voice clearly in my mind, but hadn’t we cut that bond?
Sylvan opens the gate to the front garden and leads me down the path. Once we’re at the base of the stairs, he puts the groceries down and reaches back for my hand. My brows raise, but I take it.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sylvan asks again.
Everything about Sylvan radiates alpha right now. From the tone of his voice, to his posture, to the energy he’s projecting.
The man steps to the side, looking at me past Sylvan. “Is this your witch?”
“Zach,” Sylvan snarls. “Why are you here?”
The man’s eyes are a piercing shade of blue. They immediately fall to where our hands are interlaced, and then his gaze rakes up my body, but it’s not in a creepy way. It’s more of an assessment. He’s curious about me, and even more curious about the fact that Sylvan is holding my hand.
Zach is clearly a werewolf, but he’s not an alpha.
His energy gives that much away. He has stark black hair that’s pulled back into a bun and tan skin, broad shoulders and thick muscles.
He wears a black leather motorcycle jacket and jeans, but no shirt.
I have no idea why he’s not wearing a shirt, but I have a feeling it’s more of an ego thing. He does have washboard abs.
“Well, Sylvan, we need to talk,” he says. “Goddess knows I’ve been hunting you down for four fucking years. You owe me this much.”
“I owe you nothing. You need to leave.”
“I can’t. Not until you hear what I have to say. And it has something to do with your Foxglove witch.”
Sylvan growls, but Zach holds up his hands.
“I’m not going to touch her. I’m no danger to her. Besides, I’m an omega too.”
My mouth drops. He’s an omega?
“I have so many questions,” I blurt out. “I don’t know any other omegas.”
“You can ask me anything,” Zach says.
“No you cannot,” Sylvan snaps. “This is not happening.”
I roll my eyes and yank my hand free of his. I gesture at Zach. “Try to open the front door.”
He frowns. “What?”
“Open the front door.”
“Damn it, Morgan,” Sylvan says. “Do not listen to her, Zach, or so fucking help me . . .”
Zach considers us both, and I feel smug when he listens to me over Sylvan. He reaches for the front door, and it opens by itself.
That’s good enough for me.
Sylvan growls as I go up the front steps. “See, he’s fine. No danger, or else the house would have kept him out. Would you like some water?”
“Do not invite that mutt in,” Sylvan calls after me. “Do not water or feed him. He’s leaving immediately.”
I ignore him and offer Zach a friendly smile. “It’s nice to see Sylvan does have some friends.”
“He’s not my friend,” Sylvan snaps.
Zach chuckles. “No, not friends at all, actually. We share the same father. I’m his half-brother.”