Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

Rafe hit the window with his back. The glass was no match for the flying vamp. He went straight through the window.

Shea had pulled herself to her knees while the two males fought, throwing her arms up to shield herself the instant Rafe went airborne. Once the echoes of

the crash died down, she lowered her arms, staring in disbelief at the Nightwalker-shaped hole left in the glass.

A gust of wind blew past. The rest of the pane creaked, then came tumbling down like a glittering, twinkly snowfall.

“Goddess, no.” Her hands covered her mouth, her pained cry muffled behind her fingers. “My window!”

Anguish washed over Colt. Her anguish. He had to go to her. His instincts demanded it.

Colt turned toward her just as Rafe climbed out of the wreckage of the shop window, shaking the glass off of his fancy suit.

“You’ve made your promise,” he called out, sounding not the least bit like he’d just been thrown through a window. “There’s no going back now, witch. You will have him. Once the first exchange wears off, he’ll come for his betrothed himself and even this dog won’t stop him.”

Colt snapped his fangs at the Nightwalker who had the fucking nerve to nod his head at him—almost like he was saying and I’ll be seeing you soon—before sprinting down the empty street.

As Rafe escaped, Colt was split between two very powerful, undeniable instincts: chasing down his prey, or staying behind to tend to his mate.

His mate.

It wasn’t a fluke. Staking his claim in front of the Nightwalker, proudly announcing that she was his… maybe it was a dick move, maybe it was piss-poor timing, but he was done pretending. From the moment he took her commission and heard her beautiful voice over the phone all those months ago, he’d been snagged.

It was time he acted like it.

First things first. He dashed over to Shea, pulling her close, running his hands over her trembling body as he checked her for any injuries. He sighed in relief, nuzzling his nose in her curls as soon as he proved to himself—and his wolf—that she was fine.

She tried to do the same for him, already offering to heal him from his minor injuries. Colt refused. Without his rigid nature fighting so hard against his side of the bond, his regenerative properties were working perfectly. By the time he helped Shea up off of the sidewalk, nearly all of his cuts and nicks—even his busted cheek—were healed.

The Nightwalker was gone. He could probably pick up the trail, only that was the furthest thing from his mind.

Someone else thought they had a claim to his mate.

His eyes iced over. “Who is he?”

“Rafe? He’s a Nightwalker... friend of my brother’s. I met him at Bloodlust.”

She was telling the truth. She was also pointedly misunderstanding his question.

“Your ‘betrothed’, Shea. What vamp out there is so deluded, he thinks he can force you to bond with him?”

Shea was his fated mate. For any Nightwalker to believe she might be his ‘betrothed’, the bastard had to be forcing her. Knowing as much as he did about Shea and her soft heart when it came to her Donor brother, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had to have happened.

Shea bit down on her bottom lip.

“I’ll find out one way or the other, you know I will. But I’d much rather you tell me yourself.”

“You really have to know?”

He looked down at her pointedly.

“Okay. Fine.” She sighed. “His name is Julian Koenig. And he says he’s the Nightwalker king.”

* * *

Wright’s jaw dropped open. “He what?”

“You fucking heard me.”