“No, but none ever came to me. Forea’s not a shifter, right?” I ask Calix.
“Forea, you know Forea?” Torin’s eyes are wide with disbelief.
“She lives in the forest near my house.”
“She’s in every forest. And no, she isn’t a shifter,” Calix answers.
“But you’ve spoken to her?” Torin presses with a little bit of awe in his voice.
“Yeah, I feel like she speaks in riddles half the time though.”
“So, wait.” Torin sits forward and places his elbows on his knees. “You’re saying Forea came to you, and others have too?” He looks over at Calix for an explanation.
“Lots of baddies visit me all the time. Well, I haven’t been getting as many visitors lately,” I reply, then lower my voice, “but I think Grim scares them a little.”
Torin barks out a short laugh. “Ya think?”
I ignore him and get back to the topic at hand. “How do people know about shifters so they can ask to be changed? Isn’t there some rule about secrets and shit?”
“We keep it under wraps, but there will always be people who believe there is more to the world than what is easily seen.” Torin makes it sound simple.
“Why don’t the witches just become shifters then, instead of stealing powers?”
“They can’t and don’t turn everyone, and not everyone wants to be bound to an animal.” Calix shrugs. “They think they’ll remain more human using witchcraft, plus just being a shifter doesn’t make you magical. Charmed, sure, but Torin can’t cast a spell to make himself more handsome or to stop aging.”
“Yeah, I come by all this naturally.” Torin crosses his eyes and purses his lips. I snort at the way he’s making fun of himself. I may have three mates, and I’m not looking to add more, but I can admit he’s damn good looking. Much more so now that he’s not all skin and bones. He certainly has the silver fox thing working for him.
Grim enters the room and walks over to sit on the arm of my chair. His posture is perfect, and even in dark jeans and a t-shirt, he looks like he’s posing. I smile up at him. “You were in the shower for a long time, everything okay?”
“Adequate, considering I was alone.” My eyes bug out a little. Did he just tell me he was in the shower jacking off? I’m probably just reading too much into the statement. I have such a dirty mind.
I stifle a giggle and glance over at Gunnar who’s shaking his head with a sneer on his lips. He’s thinking the same thing as me.
“Torin was just offering to talk to a few of the local witches,” Calix says. He probably knows that this conversation could devolve into sexual innuendos quickly. He knows me too well. We really were all made for each other.
“Isn’t that nice of him to offer a hand?” I roll my lips in to hide my smile. I really can’t help myself from teasing.
Calix turns his head slowly to stare at me. I know exactly what he’s thinking: ‘Really?’
“I suppose. Antonio may already be cultivating a new relationship with other witches,” Grim muses. “Although his hand won’t be needed. Your hand, however…” Grim grabs my hand and places it on his dick.
“Jesus!” Gunnar barks.
I just toss my head back and laugh. Grim is definitely feeling better if he’s actually comfortable enough to joke and tease around Torin, even if his humor is super dry.
I give him an affectionate little stroke and promise, “Later,” before removing my hand from his crotch.
Torin has a strange mixture of emotions on his face when I look up. The subtle tipping of his lips says he gets the humor of the moment, but the way his eyelids are a little low, paired with the crinkling high on his cheeks, tells me it’s more of a wince than a smile. I want to reach over and grab his hand to tell him that I was blessed with more than one mate, so maybe he will be too, but I bite my tongue. That’s not something I would want to hear if something happened to one of my guys. It might actually make me go on a murder spree.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, talking to the witches is a start. It’s better than just sitting here on our butts.”
“Ah, but it’s such a nice butt,” a feminine voice purrs.
I jump up and bellow, “You! Where thefuckhave you been?”
Aeson looks completely unapologetic as she saunters into the room—all five plus inches of her, give or take. “I missed you too, Dami.” She stops a few feet shy of Torin and lets her eyes roam over him as if he’s a snack and she’s starving. Placing her hands with red tipped fingernails on her hips, she says, “Well, hello there, big boy,” in some sort of mock, Betty-Boop accent.
“You can’t just pretend you didn’t ditch me for over a week.”
