Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

It was pointless to rehash the same old shit when they both were sure they were right. Only Colt, despite his insistence otherwise, couldn’t help but regard Shea as his mate which meant that it went against his very instincts to prove her wrong when his brash attitude upset her. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt her any more than his continued indecision already had.

Especially after how bad he fucked up the first time he understood—really understood—that she was a witch.

While he was healing, they both seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to talk about the bond that had formed between them.

They didn’t have to talk.

Shea was stunned that she was his mate—and visibly frustrated that she’d had to find out in such a way.

And that was nothing compared to how much she had hurt when she realized that he’d had no intention of ever telling her. If it wasn’t for his attack, he would’ve stubbornly gone on with his life without her. It was only because their unresolved bond kept him from healing—while also putting Shea through excruciating echoes of his pain—that she’d had to discover the truth.

As soon as he was back on his feet, she asked him why. Colt had known it was coming. Even Ants knew about the ferocity and possessive nature of a shifter who had found their mate. That he could have gone all those weeks without returning to her shop and telling her that she was meant to be his… he could feel her confusion through their fledgling bond before she remembered herself and cut him off.

Of course, Colt couldn’t tell her that he’d been back—she just hadn’t known about the trips he took to watch her, to learn about her, to appease his rabid wolf with just one glimpse of her. He didn’t know if he was embarrassed or ashamed or even confused himself… but when Shea threw up her shields and blocked him, he had been fucking furious.

He had no right to be, as Evangeline scolded him later. Shea had spent three days by his bedside, chanting healing spells, absently touching his arm or stroking his forehead as his body finally recovered. Just having her near had done more to heal him than anything else. Colt didn’t need magic or his regenerative properties.

He’d just needed Shea.

But how did he repay her? By losing his temper and snapping that he would never mate a witch.

He’d meant it, too, at the time. Fresh off of his fight with Cilla, his hatred of witches was irrational. Then his wolf had taken her shields cutting them off as a personal rejection of their bond. The man was still too out of it to even think about what he was doing and, before he knew it, he had pushed her away twice as hard.

It was no wonder that Shea had slowly gotten up from her chair, grabbed her bag, and, in a throaty voice that caused arctic white fur to sprout along his arms, thrown Colt’s own words back at him.

“I’ll bill you.”

Exactly the same thing he had said the morning he discovered who she was, and then proceeded to drop a dresser on his ankle in his shock.

I’ll bill you.

Leaving the faint scent of salt from her tears lingering in the room, Shea had dashed down the stairs before he could even throw the covers away from his bed.

It took every ounce of strength he had recovered to keep his wolf from taking over and chasing after her. Not that he would’ve been able to. The second Shea ran out the door, Maddox flew up to his bedroom, blocking the doorway so that Colt had no choice but to stay confined upstairs.

While he was unconscious, it turned out that Shea and Evangeline had developed a fast friendship. And, since Evangeline had grown fond of Shea, Maddox threw his weight behind his mate’s insistence that Colt leave the witchling the fuck alone while he was still getting his head back on straight.

Maddox even went so far as to lock Colt in his room to keep him from going after her when his resolve weakened. At the time, he wanted to wolf out and take on Mad’s beast, but he accepted now that it had been the best move. He didn’t know right away the lengths that Shea had gone to heal him, or how much of her guard she’d let down in the few days she’d spent at his bedside.

The fledgling bond between them had solidified far more than it should have while she shared her spirit, her heart, and her care with him.

And her magic.

It was that last one that Colt had a hard time getting past. So, instead of getting to know the woman that she was instead of the witch he thought she was, Colt sent her running. He was an ass, sure, but that was just cruel. Shame he recognized it too late to do anything about it.

She hadn’t been bluffing, either. Not about the bill. The next morning, Dodge drifted into Colt’s room, using his limited poltergeist skills to float a sheet of paper alongside his flickering form. Chuckling, he brought it over to Colt.

Half amused, half exasperated, he read the page.

She’d charged him half as much as he’d charged her for the dresser he’d built when she was a faceless client. Typed next to the figure, she’d billed it as: hazard pay.

He’d smiled at that, he remembered now. For the first time in months, Colt had smiled.

It didn’t last.

He admired her spunk and her sass as much as her kindness. No doubt he thought she was absolutely gorgeous. Even after three days at his bedside, her cheeks hollow and dark circles underlining her dull purple eyes, she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Still weak and aching from Cilla’s curse, Colt couldn’t stop his cock from coming to life even while he was lying in his bed.

It was that old cliche all over again: it’s not you, it’s me. It totally was Colt. He knew it. When he finally had the strength to reinforce his decision, he brought a wad of cash down to Moonshadow Apothecary to pay his bill. He wasn’t even a little surprised when she refused it.