She ignored him again and his unbridled rage. His sleek black fur was already flattening, and those eyes glared up ather with the kind of outrage that made her think, just for a heartbeat, that maybe she’d made a mistake.
Oh.Fuck.
Smoke tendrils began steaming from his form.
She’d definitely, absolutely made a mistake.
Her stomach dropped.
The witch lights along the walls sputtered and dimmed until the bathroom was swallowed in shadow. Still holding him, she scrambled back with her legs toward the back of the bath, pressing herself against the lip as much as she could to get away from whatever was transpiring before her.
The small, sodden body in her arms grew heavy. Limbs lengthened under her grip, bone and muscle that hadn’t been there moments ago. Shadow became warm, bare flesh.
The haze thinned.
She wasn’t holding a cat anymore.
Above her was a man. A very naked, very wet, very pissed-off man who kneeled over her in the tub. Water rippled around them; his frame was tall enough that his knees bent awkwardly in the confined space. Wet hair as black as the cat’s fur adorned his head, and he had the same eyes; one was a stunning honey color, the other a mossy emerald. They were far more unsettling in a human face. Water rivulets mixed with dirt dripped off his dark hair and glistened across muscles that were tattooed with black ink in swirling patterns. Bits of grime still clung to the caverns of his collarbones. Cuts and fresh wounds marred his body.
Her jaw must have slackened in shock. The man took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face up to meet his.
Her breath caught, fingers still resting against his skin from where she’d been holding him, her palm flat against the bulging muscles of his chest. She pulled them back as if they’d shockedher, but he caught her wrist before she could retreat; her pulse fluttered under his grip.
“Witch.” His voice seethed. She could hear it aloud now. It was a dangerous voice, low and far too close to her. She gasped as she noticed the twitch of two cat-like ears crowned on his head. The ghost of a tail wrapped around her leg.
This was no man. This was no familiar. But it was his voice, Lucky’s voice.
“I warned you, witch.”
Her immediate instinct was to get out.Now. Adrenaline flooded her system. She twisted, shoving hard against him.
He smiled, the faint glint of fangs catching the dim light as if her resistance amused him.
Before she could even register the movement, his hand was in her hair with his fingers curling tight at the nape of her neck. He pushed her back down into the tub, the water rising high enough that her mouth hovered just above the surface, forcing her to drag in shallow, panicked breaths.
His body was an unyielding wall. Every time she fought, he pressed her further into the tub. Water entered her mouth, and she spluttered it out, her legs trapped against the porcelain, his own braced hard to pin them in place. Her arms were wrenched above her head, his grip locking them there until her elbows bit into the cold curve of the bath. She was pinned in every sense. Her body was splayed beneath him, nowhere to hide, her underwear soaked—not the fun kind—and sheer, and almost every inch of her lay bare under his gaze.
For some reason, the first coherent thought that formed in her mind was that this was the first time a man had seen her naked in a year. Well, basically naked.
How sad.
“Stay put,” he murmured, his gaze traveling the length of her as the word vibrated through his chest against hers.
She kept her chin lifted enough to breathe, heart hammering so hard it made the water ripple. Every time she tried to move, his hold adjusted, firm, inescapable, but never quite enough to push her under. She felt the steady pulse of him against her, calm in a way that told her he didn’t need to strain.
The realization hit her all at once.
“Shifter,” she breathed out.
She was sharing a bath with a shifter. Taking a shuddering breath, the thought pounded against her chest. No. No! He couldn’t be. She started to shake her head. This couldn’t be happening. Witches and shifters couldn’t bond. What had she done? She couldn’t have.
“Very good, little witch.” His voice was exactly as it had been in her head.
Terror clawed up her throat, and she went to scream again. Before she could, he shoved a hand across her face, so hard she tasted blood as her lips banged against her teeth. Atut, tutsound crawled around her head, chiding her as if she were a wayward child.
He moved close to her face, his breath tingling against her nose as he spoke, “Do not scream again, witch, otherwise I will slit your throat.”
She nodded slowly, not wanting to test his words. He looked as if he would enjoy it. He slipped his hand away and hovered it above her face. To make a point, his fingers elongated into claws. They curled at the tip, their sharpness evident. Tears burned at the sides of her eyes as she stared at the nails that could end her existence in the blink of an eye. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out, but a strangled whimper escaped.
