Page 67 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

His expression was a mask.

“I won’t ask questions,” I promised. “Whatever you went through, it’s not my business. But… I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

His jaw worked. It was clear he wasn’t going to take me up on my offer. Not yet, anyway.

“I just want to say one thing, then I’ll shut up.” When he didn’t protest, I continued, “It means a lot to me that you would go into that cave with me. Not just because of what happened to you—whatever that was—but because I’m a witch, and you were hurt by witches, and now you’re trying to help me get my magic back. So…thank you.”

When it was clear he’d hidden the cave’s existence from me, I’d felt nothing but anger. That he could watch me search for weeks on end, seeing how desperate I was, only to come up empty handed, and say nothing to help. That had hurt. But all of it was forgotten, seeing him now.

His decision wasn’t fully justified, but I understood him a bit more. Understood where he was coming from. Besides, how could I be angry at someone who looked so…broken.

I closed the distance between us and went on my toes to kiss his cheek. His eyelids fluttered closed for the briefest of moments. I pulled away, then went to retrieve our packs. He needed a minute, and I wanted to give that to him. So I loaded everything into the UTV while he stood there, making sure it was secured.

It hurt. Seeing him like this. Knowing a little of what he’d been through. It also hurt knowing the knife was probably somewhere in the cave beneath my feet. The key to breaking the curse on my blood. My family. But I was choosing to walk away from it. For now. For him.

18

Humiliating. That was the best way to describe the past hour. Axel kept his eyes forward as he navigated the rough terrain, bumping and bouncing around in their seats on the drive back to his cabin. His little witch was silent beside him, gripping the handholds. He resisted the urge to glance at her.

She hadn’t seemed…disappointed about the early end to their day, but he knew she would be. There was a lot at stake. He’d promised to help her get her magic back. He’d done that knowing it would be a challenge—facing his fears. Facing the cave.

He hadn’t anticipated a full blown meltdown.

Useless.

That was another way to describe how he felt. What good was he if he couldn’t withstand thirty minutes in a fucking cave? What would he do when she went back? Wait outside while she navigated the unknown? There could be all sorts of danger in there. Dark crevasses. Loose rocks. Creatures that resided in the dark.

No.

He’d try again. And again. And again. Until he got past this…this wound.

Because that’s what it was. A festering wound. One he’d buried, hoping it would never resurface.

The hours passed in a self-depreciating haze. He was almost surprised when the back of the cabin loomed before them. He pulled to a stop and cut the engine.

Neither of them rushed to unbuckle their harnesses and the silence stretched.

“I was thirty-six when they came.” The words tore from his chest, like they were desperate to break free. Quick and eager. A sore in need of lancing. “It was a pack of wolves. We had a small croft just outside the village—in Scotland. Where I’m from.”

He didn’t turn to look at her.

“It was the middle of winter—just the three of us. Me, Fiona, and Eilidh—my wife and wee daughter. Fuck.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “That’s the first time I’ve said their names in centuries.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He could feel Rebecca’s gaze on him, heating his skin like a phantom touch. Then she did touch him. Just a gentle squeeze on his forearm. The gesture steadied him. Gave him the strength he needed to keep going. To take her up on her offer to listen. When she went to remove her hand, his eyes snapped open. He pressed his palm over hers, keeping her hand in place.

“The pack of wolves—we thought that’s all it was—raided our little croft. Killed the livestock, then set upon our dwelling. A fierce storm had rolled in. They broke inside. I sent Fiona with Eilidh to the back room to hide. It didn’t matter. There were too many. I couldn’t hold them off. They…they killed us.” His voice cracked. “Well, Fiona and Eilidh, anyway.”

“Oh, Axel.”

“Must have been at least twelve of them. I lay there, minutes from death, in a pool of my own blood. Listening to my wife’s screams, my daughter’s screams, as they died. Listening to the wolves as they moved about. Then I saw naked men—humans. But I was already half-dead. Thought it was just a dream. After that, everything went black.”

The silence that fell was heavy and painful with memory.

“You can guess what came after.”

“You survived,” Rebecca said. “That’s how a werewolf is made. You aren’t a wolf shifter, you’re a werewolf.”

“Aye.”