If this were anyone else from his den, this would be ideal. It would be so easy. One shift of his hips, one thrust, and he could bury himself between her thighs. Oh god, how he wanted to. A shiver of disgust convulsed through him.What the fuckwas he thinking? That was the last thing he wanted. This witch needed to suffer, and it would behimwho made her suffer.
The thought almost hurt. But then, she stilled. Completely limp under him. Her head lolled to the side. Was she pretending again? Fainting this time like a scared goat? Felix jostled her shoulders, searching for any sign of dishonesty. But no, this time he had really knocked her out; she must have hit her head as she fell. She lay splayed out on the floor. These witches were so pathetically delicate. He swore under his breath. At least this time, itactuallybought him some time to figure out what to do with the little witch.
Rolling his eyes, he got up off her. He conjured himself some pants made of shadows, it would have to do until he could find something real. Felix was a talented magic user. Unlike the witch in front of them, shifter magic wasn’t tied to ley lines or familiars; it was born inside of them. But it was a double-edged sword, a consuming wildfire that many shifters lost themselves to.
Hauling her onto his shoulder, he grabbed her ass to keep her from sliding as her naked body slid against him, despising every moment her skin made contact with his. Unfortunately, it was necessary. This wasnothow he thought he would be spending his weekend.
He slid her off his shoulder, and she slumped on the floor next to her bed. His shadows slipped from his palm as he held it up to the witch, and tied them like a collar around her throat; a magical leash that meant she couldn’t do anything but sit like agood whittle puppy.Felix didn’t mind shifters of other types, but for some reason, he had always had a disdain for the dogs. They smelled like a wet blanket and were far too eager.
The shadows glided through the air with an ease that made him pause; it was as easy as breathing. Normally, he had to concentrate to not let his power explode, like the lid on an overflowing pot, constantly threatening to boil over. This was far too easy.Whywas it this easy?
Shadows wrapped themselves around her ankles before they snaked their way to her wrists and stomach, pinning her to the bed. Some of them obeyed him; others had a mind of their own, slithering possessively around her.
The shadows were simple enough and would serve what he needed. She wouldn’t be strong enough to break it. With no familiar, she was even less powerful than a newborn shifter—and he sure as hell wasn’t her familiar. They writhed and purred as they settled across her body, as if they were enjoying it.
Sighing, he resolved to sit on the chair across from her to wait for her to regain consciousness and formulate a plan. He had to get out of here, but unfortunately, he had no idea how the fuck to get off a warded island in the first place. The wards were easy, although they were probably far stronger here due to the ley lines; however, the island part was a bit of a problem. Sure, he could find a way off. But there was a small inkling inside of him that told him he needed to stay, if only to figure out how she had done this in the first place.
The little witch twitched under his shadows. Her head lolled to the side, the damp strands of her hair clinging to her freckled face. His eyes followed the marks he had left on her neck, stillred from where he had choked her. A flicker of regret went through him before he killed it. A bead of water dropped from her hair onto the swell of her breasts, and it traveled down to the dip in her waist, the curve of her hips, down to the apex of her thighs, still shimmering with the gleam of bathwater. Involuntarily, his cock twitched again. Why the hell was his body reacting like this?
Disgust coiled in his gut.
Witch. She was a witch. And he was as hard as a rock for her.
Fucking bond.
Eight
Avery
At first,she thought she’d had another strange dream. A dream about her cat turning into a shifter and trying to murder her.
Until her eyes fluttered open.
A man with cat ears poking out of his hair sat before her on her burgundy Chesterfield armchair. There was no denying who was in front of her.
The chair he sat in was comically small compared to his body of long, corded muscles. He tensed under her gaze. That didn’t bother her, but whatdidbother her was the way his pants moved as if they were swirling with dark patterns. Strange, almost beautiful.Focus, Avery.
“My eyes are up here, little witch.” The sound of his voice jerked her out of her trance. His tail thumped against the soft fabric of the armchair in a way that suggested he was not nearly as relaxed as he seemed. Her eyes found his; the mismatched stare and large cat ears twisted toward her.
Instinctively, she tried to move away from the danger. But she realized in horror that she was bound by some sort of shadow ropes. They were firm and soft like fur as they slitheredacross her, caressing her in places she would rather not be caressed—never mind that they felt good. One of them had found itself far too close to herholes.She tried to move, but they wouldn’t budge. A sudden spike of fear jolted through her, urging her to run, to scream, to be anywhere other than tied to…her bed? Yep, she was tied to her bed. Her one place of solace had turned into a betrayal. If the bed were sentient, she would have had a strong word with it. Maybe she still would.
“Shifter,” she breathed out.
“Astute observation, witch.” His voice was dangerous, but alluring like a bug to the nectar of a Venus flytrap. “What do you want?” he asked.
Warmth flushed her cheeks. Was he sassing her? Narrowing her eyes at him, she sassed him right back. “What do I want?”
“Are you a parrot? That’s what I said.”
She only stared at him for a moment, almost in disbelief thathewas askingherwhatshewanted. She wanted a familiar, she wanted to graduate, she wanted him to put on some damn pants. What shedidn’twant was a shifter as a familiar.
“What do you want?” he repeated in the old language.
“What?” The language caught her off guard. How did he know the witches’ sacred tongue?
“Oh, sorry, I thought you might respond in the old language because you didn’t answer my question.” He sneered.
“You know the old language?”
