Page 40 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Until she had no need of him anymore.

Downstairs, he heard the shower turn on. She was up and…

“Feckin’ hell.” He shot up to standing. Just allowing himself to think about what that meant, that she was shedding her clothes and stepping into his shower. He could picture the tiled space with her naked body. Imagine her tits. He wondered what color her nipples were. A soft, dusty pink? Slightly darker?

All the blood in his body dropped south and his dick immediately swelled.

“Fuck me.” He palmed it over his sweatpants.

When was the last time he’d gotten hard?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned and walked to the edge of the loft, then turned and paced to the other side. It wasn’t the same caged feeling he usually felt. This was madness of a different kind. It was exhilarating. But also…fucking terrifying.

Because it meant only one thing.

It meant he wanted her. And the only reason he’d want someone at this age, when he was already so far gone…

No. It wasn’t possible. She was a witch.

And yet…

He wasn’t a born wolf. The same rules didn’t apply to him. His mate didn’t need to be another born wolf. It could have been…anyone.

Everything came into focus, until the clarity was crystal fucking clear.

His pacing stopped but his breaths grew ragged until his chest was heaving. First came the wonder. The disbelief. Because, it wasn’t possible, was it?

But…there was no other explanation.

Then came the acceptance. Because somehow he just…knew. All the ways he’d reacted to her. His protective and possessive feelings.

Then came the absolute joy. Because…fuck. A mate? For him? After centuries of loneliness?

He’d always wondered if other wolves were bullshitting when they said you just knew. There was no other way to explain it. Just a deep, innate knowing.

And he knew.

Knew exactly what she was to him.

His body sprang into action as he thundered down the stairs. Desperate with the knowledge. Desperate to share it with her. To claim her. To solidify the bond between them. To fuck her and knot her and bite her and leave his claiming mark for all to see.

He was halfway down the stairs when common sense suppressed his wolf instincts.

His steps faltered and he froze, hand clenching the banister. The sounds of her shower continued.

He was a feckin’ eejit.

What exactly did he expect to happen when he burst into the bathroom? Did he expect her to welcome him with open arms? Accept the bond without question? Spread her legs for him?

“God damn it,” he hissed, reaching for his hair, fisting the strands with frustration.

It went against every screaming instinct, all of which were amplified with the revelation of who she was. What she was to him.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a wolf. Which meant she wouldn’t feel the same drive.

She was a witch with a curse. Someone who had lost most of her magic—of herself. A woman who’d just freed herself from an unhealthy relationship.

And she was right here under his roof. Under his protection. His discovery was the last thing she needed. He was the last thing she needed.