Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

Yes, he did.

She wasn’t wrong when she pointed out that she’d never had the chance to meet his wolf before now. It was a dick move that he’d pulled on purpose. How could he introduce her to his beast when he could barely control himself when he was in his man shape?

Turned out, he should’ve given his other half some more credit. Apart from preening and panting as Shea stroked her fingers through its fur, his wolf was on its best behavior.

Which meant that Colt—in his two-legged form with the man brain in charge—had no excuse for what happened next.

He couldn’t control himself. He blamed it on the meaningful way she complimented his wolf. How easily she accepted them both, man and beast. He’d done nothing to deserve her affection, had spent w

ay too long trying to deny it, and she’d told him his wolf was majestic before actually thanking him.

More than that, Shea had called him Colt.

How was he supposed to resist that?

Resist her?

Colt didn’t know what he was doing and he hoped like hell that wasn’t obvious as he lunged toward her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her so close that her breasts pressed against him just like he had when they were still outside of Bloodlust. He lowered his head so that his lips were mere inches from hers only, this time, he had every intention of closing the gap.

Remembering their conversation regarding consent from like two minutes ago, Colt hesitated, his heart pounding as he watched the shocked expression on Shea’s lovely face turn to something almost… almost hopeful. When she rose up on her heels, tilting her head back just enough that her lips brushed against his, Colt took that as another invitation.

Thank Alpha he didn’t have to bully his way into this one.

Shea didn’t respond at first, probably taken aback at the way he’d just attacked her mouth, but after a few tense seconds where Colt was terrified he’d made a huge mistake, she relaxed in his arms, melting into his embrace.

His witch was kissing him back.

It was sloppy. Messy.

Real.

His whole body was electric. When he felt Shea reach behind him, her hands clutching his ass through his pants, he followed her lead. He lifted his hands up, tangling his fingers in her hair.

He always thought it would be soft. The curls were springy and light and, yeah, super fucking soft. The kiss was amazing, but touching her hair? Knowing that she felt so safe—so vulnerable—in his arms that he could finger her curls and she didn’t even flinch… shit, Colt almost busted a nut then and there.

And that’s when it happened.

Not an orgasm, though the rush of sensation as it hit him was so powerful, it was hard to tell the difference.

Breathing through his nose while his mouth was busy with Shea’s, he got a lungful of the most intoxicating, beguiling, bewitching essence than he’d ever sniffed before. It was woodsy, it was clean, it was heaven-sent.

It was Shea.

Colt twitched like he’d been zapped, his body bucking as his wolf fought to break out again. Her scent—full and rich and with a depth that wrapped around his soul—had come to life out of nowhere and his wolf wanted to bask in it.

Mate, it howled.

Mine, echoed Colt.

Stunned and alarmed by the fierceness of his sudden reaction, Colt broke the kiss. While she blinked up at him unsteadily, he pulled back from the warmth of her embrace, slipping away before she realized that he was gone.

Her scent flared with a tangy note, almost citrus-like, with a hint of salt and a musk that told his wolf that Shea was getting ready to mate. If it was just the musk, it would’ve been impossible for Colt to put any distance between them; his wolf was already snarling as it caught onto the man’s hesitation.

But it wasn’t just the musk.

The citrus told him that Shea was already feeling rejection by the sudden way he pulled back, and the salt was from the tears she would never let him see.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to explain. With his wolf desperate to get close to her again, Colt clamped his mouth shut at the same time as he locked down his body—or, at least, tried to. He could feel his cock stirring, responding to her delicious scent, and he was fucking grateful that her witch sense of decency had him pulling his pants back on.