Page 110 of His Hunted Witch

“I’d say that’s a fitting end,” Aiden said with a smile on his face.

“I’m glad he’s not our problem,” her sister muttered loud enough for the entire clearing to hear.

“So now can we sign a treaty?” one of the wolves shouted out.

“Oh, no,” Goldie said. “Treaties got us into this mess. We’re family now, two packs and one coven. And that’s going to get about as annoying as family does, but it will be safer than any strict treaty ever was. You’ll have a lot of kin in town muckingout stables and teaching tourists to ride a horse. And we’ll need so much green goo here—like truly obscene amounts—so we’ll be back and forth all the time.”

“Green goo?” one of the dire wolves asked.

Aiden turned toward the voice. “To heal our wounds.”

The dire wolves erupted in calls of hope and skepticism.

“It’s true!” Goldie shouted. “No more wounds. This ends now.”

“No,” Aiden said, shocking her.

“What?”

“This begins now.” He took her in his arms and kissed her.

EPILOGUE

One Year Later

“Something’s wrong,” Goldie said.

The assembly pivoted as one to look at her.

She winced as the horse let out another long whinny. “Okay, I don’t know whether anything is wrong.”

“She’s doing fine,” the new stable hand, Moira, said confidently.

Paul looked at her sharply but didn’t add his two cents.

“She’s better than fine,” Kathleen said.

The horse convulsed, and Goldie bit her lip rather than insist again that her labor had gone sideways.

Goldie felt the same fear months ago when her sister Becca delivered her son, a rowdy boy they named Jacob Alvin after his grandda and great-grandda.

Becca was probably the most frequent visitor to the dire wolf lands since Goldie had moved here. Her sister came to see her and to let Aiden get to know her children, the only other witch/shifters anyone had ever heard of. Unlike Aiden, there was anentire coven and two packs to help them manage both halves of their heritage.

The mare whinnied again, her teeth bared.

“That can’t be good,” Moira said and winced. “She’s doing good,” she corrected immediately.

Staff that weren’t pack was another new thing after years of isolation. After the fight, they’d decided not to put the heavy wards back up, only the typical warning ones most covens used. Hiding away from the world had endangered everyone instead of helping.

Goldie shook her head. It was one thing not to seal them in; it was quite another to hire complete strangers from across the country, but Paul insisted they needed fresh blood. The Scott stables were famous in the horse world, and people were flocking to get a glimpse after all this time.

This woman, however, didn’t seem to be the best hire. She was slight with a mane of fiery red hair. It hardly seemed like she could wrangle a mini horse, let alone a stallion like Blue Roan. But what did Goldie know? She wasn’t involved much in the day-to-day operations. Her job mostly comprised watching videos of various horses and planning bloodlines.

It made her laugh because her aunt’s main role in the coven for years had been a matchmaker for witches and the sons of witches. Goldie had resisted her legacy for so long and had ended up with the same job, though it was much more fun to do it for horses.

Buck rode in on a horse that looked like a deformed miniature compared to the thoroughbreds throughout the stables, but unlike the last time she’d seen it, the gelding was literally bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“Ma’am,” he said and saluted with two fingers. “Couldn’t miss it.”

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