Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

With the first blood exchange, all it took was a single drop on the tip of her fingers. Shea didn’t swallow much more than that, but that was still more than enough.

Julian knew it, too.

He freed her before she could pass out from the lack of oxygen. She gasped, trying desperately not to heave when she caught the tang of rust on her tongue. She scooted back in her bed, grabbing a pillow as if it could shield her from him if he came at her a second time.

Drawing his arm back, swiping his tongue along the slice, Julian was careful to lathe the flat against the exact spot where he had his flesh pressed against Shea. The wound healed in an instant. Once it was the same unblemished, alabaster skin, he smiled again.

“There. The second blood exchange is complete. Soon, you’ll be begging for me to finish this. Then you’ll forget all about that mangy wolf. I won’t even have to drain him. Losing you will be punishment enough. ‘Til then, my darling.”

With barely a whisper, Julian disappeared. In a poof of mist, one moment he was there. The next? Gone.

And Shea lay trembling in her bed, not understanding what had just happened, but knowing that it couldn’t be good.

* * *

Colt normally slept like the dead.

It was habit. When he had Dodge watching his back, and his wolf’s innate sense of danger, he could knock out after a long day of work and not worry about it. No one could sneak up on him unless he allowed it, and he’d shift into his beast at the first sign of a trespasser to his territory.

They’d gone on another hunt that night. Him and Wright, following a dead-end trail all the way through Woodbridge and into Bristol. It led to a very grumpy Dayborn they woke up who wasn’t too pleased to find them on his doorstep. Wright apologized and Colt fumed, and both of them returned to their own homes to stew over another in a long string of failures.

He scarfed down a meal and tossed himself onto his bed, regretting that it was too late to call Shea.

Barely an hour into his sleep, he woke up with the absolute certainty that she needed him. He couldn’t explain it. It hit him, stabbing him in the chest, his wolf pacing and throwing itself at his ribcage as if it could break free and get to its mate.

So Colt let it.

For the first time ever, though, he maintained control on his wolf long enough to pick up his phone between his teeth. Between Shea and his job with Wright, Colt couldn’t go out without his phone anymore. So he bought himself an indestructible case to protect his smartphone. As long as he was careful and his wolf didn’t bite down too hard, he could carry it in his mouth.

He might look like an idiot. Colt didn’t care. He never wanted to miss a single phone call from Shea.

Going wolf was a good move. While the weather was perfect for him earlier during their hunt, it had shifted while he was knocked out. The snow had moved in, leaving the terrain slick and icy. His paws had better purchase than the tires on his truck and, in no time at all, he was scrabbling through the back streets of Grayson that would lead him straight to Shea.

If his hunch was right, his mate needed him. That didn’t mean he wanted to upset her by showing up at her place wearing his skin. It could do more harm than good, he knew, and he was damn proud of himself for thinking ahead.

Knowing this could happen eventually, he had stowed a pair change of clothes or two in the alley behind her shop. When he arrived there, he snagged a pair of jeans and yanked them on, shoving his slobber-covered phone in his back pocket before taking off again. Forget a shirt. Forget shoes. Going with jeans was all the time he could spare since, even from the back door, he could tell that something wasn’t right.

The wards that put his fur on end the last time he’d been by were conspicuously missing. Despite her insistence, Colt knew Shea. He knew his witch. No way would she close up her shop and go upstairs without checking her wards.

Something was wrong.

He took a deep breath, filtering the scents through his nose. The slushy snow mixed with sleet was a bitch. It washed away too many clues. Footsteps, scent trails… on the surface, Colt picked up the wet asphalt, spots of rich mud, and the electric tang that meant a blizzard was brewing.

Cutting around the side, heading toward the front, he cursed when he saw the empty store. The lights were off, of course, and he couldn’t even see a flicker of illumination coming from the rooms above. No wards here, either, which would’ve been good if it wasn’t for one thing.

Para-proof glass.

How had he forgotten about that? Shea said she wouldn’t make that mistake again and, even from a few feet away, he could tell that she hadn’t. Every inch of glass, from the window fronts to the door, were enchanted to be Para-proof.

That didn’t stop him.

Mine, mine, mine…

“Mine,” howled Colt before he threw his body against the glass of her brand new windows.

He didn’t care if they shattered again. He’d had them fixed once before, and with his wolf working with him to get to their mate, it would be worth the pain and the trouble if he could just break through it.

The enchantments pushed him back. He hadn’t even gotten within a couple of inches of the window. The damn magic just pushed him away from the apothecary.