He searched the rest of the drawers, finding mundane items like pens and a stray chip that had seen better days, nothing slightly usable. Next, he went to her wardrobe. Perhaps she kept a weapon in here. He filtered through the drawers of clothes.There were shirts, tartan skirts, and, oh, Jesus Christ. With his paw, he picked up the hem of a pair of skimpy underwear. Its white lace was so sheer, he could see the drawers beneath it.
A primal sound tore through his throat. He bared his fangs at the thing like it had teeth of its own. The faint smell of cinnamon clung to the item, and his traitorous body pleaded with him to huff them like some deranged dog. His tongue traced his fangs, the urge overwhelming.
As if the bond had heard it, it awoke within his chest. Warmth spread across his body, the thread incessantly humming like the witch was close, or not close enough. It invaded every part of him. No. No.Fuck no. With a growl of frustration, he flung the underwear across the room. Fucking witches. It was like she had enchanted her room to entice him. There was nothing here; calling for help was his next best option.
Before he could go back to the desk, the door opened. He looked around wildly. The nearest hiding place was—her underwear drawer. Oh, for fuck’s sake. The irony was not lost on him. Neither was the humiliation. This was what his life had come to. No time to question it. He jumped in, but ended up standing in his evidence, so he flattened himself among the silky thongs at the back corner of the drawers within the shadow and tried to block out the torturous scent.
The witch walked through the door. She dropped her leather bag, a bag of kibble, and a mat with ‘Pawsitively Hungry’ in cute letters on the floor, then flopped onto the bed face-down with the grace of a sack of potatoes, a muffled sigh escaping her.Because it was so hard being a witch with everything handed to her.If he could roll his eyes, they would have fallen out of his fucking sockets.
He watched her flop her hand around on the bed like a dying fish, patting blindly at the duvet. What was she doing? Probably looking for her newpet.
When her hand found nothing but sheets, she propped herself up by the elbow, those blue eyes scanning the room.
Suddenly, she moved with a frantic energy. The burgundy duvet was ripped from the bed and flung aside. When he wasn’t there, she started looking under the bed, shoving furniture, straining against the wooden bed. This is the witch who had summoned him? Pathetic. Ten minutes of pointless effort left her panting on the floor, having checked every spot but this one. Hair tangled between her fingers as she ran her hands through it, almost in a way to soothe herself, the echoes of her anxiety coursing through him.
“Here, kitty kitty,” she started to coo.
Once again, if he could roll his eyes, he fucking would have.
And then her deep blue eyes found his peeking out of the drawer.
Shit.
Smiling, she trudged over to her drawer of underwear and pulled it and him out with athump.
She let out a relieved breath. “There you are!” she cooed at him. “Were you in my underwear drawer, you little pervert?”
He hissed, a clear warning, and if that wasn’t enough, he dug his claws into her underwear, but she only held steady, completely unaware of the monster literally in her drawer. Humiliation simmered across his chest. Being looked at by a witch like a pet was almost enough to make him shift right there and then, just to stick a claw in her and rip out her throat. She obviously thought he was her familiar, or she was just very, very stupid.
But he couldn’t kill her yet. He needed information on why this had happened. Then he would kill her. Slowly. So, he stayed in the drawer corner, calculating the many ways he would make her suffer for this.
And she would suffer. Every witch deserved to. As much as he was a monster to them, they had done far worse to his kind.
And then the witch did the unthinkable. She hoisted him up and out of the drawers, a pair of her underwear tangled in his tail coming with him like a silk-wrapped present.He was definitely, absolutely, going to kill her for this.She held him so close to her chest that he could hear her heartbeat thumping in time with his own. The bond sang in response, a pleased hum that made him want to claw his own chest open.
She pulled him just far away enough from her that their eyes locked for a moment. Her innocent eyes were full of relief. His were likely full of rage.
Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I think I’ll call you Lucky.”
HAH. Just how wrong she was. If she knew what he really was, she would be down on her knees begging him for a mercy he wouldn’t give.
For some reason, she had taken his being in her presence as kindness and stuck a hand out as if to pat him. Was she dumb? Had she not seen him hissing? Over his dead fucking body. This witch would not touch him. Once again, her scent overwhelmed him, as if her hand was casting a spell on his senses. He needed her away from him.
She moved her hand closer. He was going to lose it. So, he did the only logical thing he could think of to do in that situation.
He bit her finger, his fangs sinking down to the bone.
Six
Avery
He bit her fucking finger.
She screamed. He didn’t let go, only sinking his teeth deeper. She wasn’t in the business of animal abuse; in fact, she found it deplorable. However, she had never wanted to fling a cat across the room more than she wanted to now.
When he finally released her, his sandpaper tongue swept across his bloodied canines as if he’d just finished a delicious snack. And that snack was fuckingher.
She jerked her hand away, breath coming ragged. Pain blazed up her arm, a searing agony that made her vision blur. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out again. How deep did he send his fangs?I wish I could heal myself right now.She knew how to, in theory, but in practice, pulling magic from your familiar was something else entirely.
