Page 39 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

“This is… Axel. Wow.” I stepped inside, quickly closing the door to keep in the heat. “The vegetables we had for dinner⁠—?”

“Grew them myself.” His voice sounded gruffer, his accent more dominant.

“You are just full of surprises,” I admitted. How many layers did this wolf have?

“Set the flashlight there,” he ordered, motioning to a shelf beside the door. “Come. I’ll show you.”

Then, before I could protest, he grabbed my hand and led me down row after row of planters. I tried to ignore the feel of his firm skin against mine. The warmth—because he was significantly warmer. I realized he was speaking and pulled my focus away from how his skin felt against mine, how it sent butterflies beating against the walls of my stomach. His voice was animated as he pointed out herbs and vegetables. Fruits. Unique flowers. There were even a few small trees. It was incredible.

“This is a Meyer Lemon dwarf. Good for the mountain climate even though it’s in the greenhouse. Took six years to get it this size.”

I stared at the tree, no taller than he was. At the way it had been perfectly manicured. At the abundance of lemons growing on its branches. “The lemon sauce.”

“From this tree.”

“Wow that… You’re a bit of a botanist aren’t you?” It was evident in the way he had so perfectly cultivated everything.

A slight flush brightened his cheeks and I could only stare. Because… That was a first. It faded quickly but my satisfaction didn’t. I’d made this gruff wolf blush.

Suddenly, I was thinking of ways I might do it again.

“Anyway, I brought you here because you mentioned the little snacks, that they needed greens. Of which I have plenty.”

And there went my fucking heart.

11

Her scent was imprinted on Axel’s nostrils. It filled his home, his truck, everything. He’d woken before dawn, stretched out on the loft couch, and simply stared up at the vaulted ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of the house. Rebecca’s bunnies were early risers, too. He heard them shuffling around downstairs. Heard the telltale sign of them eating hay. His senses were overly attuned to their movements, the hunter in him fully focused. And yet, today he didn’t feel the incessant itch to shift and take off into the woods.

It was something of a morning ritual for him. These days, he spent more time in wolf form than human form. And when he was in human form, he had to stay busy with his hands. Woodworking. Gardening. Keeping up the house. If he didn’t, his mind played tricks on him.

He couldn’t think of a single turned wolf who’d lasted as long as he had.

Hell, it had been his job once, among other things, to put down rabid wolves for Magnus. It was the only way to keep the order. A rabid wolf threatened the existence of wolf kind, and the Supernatural Council had laws in place for a reason, laws around keeping the existence of supernatural creatures secret from the rest of the world.

He wondered if Magnus would send another, like him. A replacement enforcer. To track him down and put him down once the alpha located him.

That’s why he thought those wolves had come looking the other day. To end him.

He took a deep, steadying breath, letting her scent of chamomile and honey settle deep in his chest. Holding it in. Afraid to let it go. His mind, his thoughts, were clearer than they had been in…

He blinked.

He couldn’t remember.

There was something about her scent, her presence, that quieted him. That eased the tension always present in his muscles. His hands weren’t clenched. His shoulders weren’t tight.

He was smiling before he realized it. Before he understood that this feeling of contentment was foreign. Before he realized it was something he could get addicted to.

If having her around did that…

A selfish thought crept in. The same one that had been lurking for weeks. The same one that had driven him to insist she stay with him while Blackthorn was around.

The kind of desire to possess that was dangerous.

A need to keep her close to him for as long as possible.

Until she broke her curse.