Page 69 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

“What?” Her mouth fell open. It was much the same reaction most people had when they learned about the fate of old werewolves.

“That’s what we do. Old wolves become a liability—risk the exposure of our kind when we go on killing sprees, or get careless because we’ve cracked. Then the Supernatural Council steps in. Causes problems for everyone.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am. I’ve had to put down a few myself. Isn’t easy, killing a wolf.”

“Oh, my God. No one is putting you down. I won’t allow it. You’re not…you’re not a rabid dog, Axel.”

He snorted. Because the past few years had felt that way at times. He knew the day was coming. When he’d have to make the call.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice fierce. “You’re...”

“What?” he asked, hanging on to her every word. She was quiet for a long moment, studying his profile. Then she unbuckled her harness with quick, determined movements. “What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done the moment you started talking.” She climbed over the narrow space between their seats, settling into his lap, straddling his thighs in the cramped confines of the UTV. Her hands found his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. The closeness, the feel of her pressed against him, made all the noise in his mind go quiet.

“You were saying?”

“I was saying…” Their eyes held. Hers were the prettiest shade of hazel. Large and innocent. He could imagine an entire future, just gazing into her depths. A future they’d never have. “When we first met, I thought you were a little wild. Almost…crazy, the way you tackled me. Like you were a mad man. But then I got to know you. And there’s…there’s just so much more. You’re kind and thoughtful. You have the biggest passion for the things you do. Like your greenhouse, and your cooking. And—this cabin.” She gestured at it. “You take care of my bunnies as if they were your own, even if you’d rather eat them. You think of little things—and big things. You decorated your entire freaking house just to make me feel more at home. You⁠—”

She blinked, her eyes turning glassy. Then she pawed at them. The sight of it made his heart wrench. Hearing her words…

“Rebecca—“

“No. Shut up. Let me say this. I’ve met a lot of men. Human and supernatural. And you’re the best of them, Axel. No one is putting you down. Not now—not ever. Over my dead body.”

She might as well have cracked his chest wide open, reached in, and wrapped her hands around his heart. Cradling it in her very palms. His throat felt thick but he managed to say, “That may not be for you to decide, little witch.”

“Why not?!” Her expression was fierce. Like she’d go to battle for him.

Fuck. He wanted that. More than anything. To know what that was like. To know what it would feel like to have this woman’s protection.

“Because what’s happening to me—it’s inevitable. Those things you mentioned? I seem normal right now because…because of you.”

“Me?” Her brows pulled together.

“Being around you—it does something for me. It calms me. Quiets my wolf. Like medicine.”

“Oh.” A pink flush crept across her cheeks.

“Things weren’t quite like this before you came along.”

“How so?”

“I spent most of my time in wolf form. When I wasn’t, I was itching to shift. That’s the reason for all the projects. The greenhouse. The workshop. The cabin. Keeping my hands busy. It used to help. But recently? I can’t ignore the shift. And the wolf is wilder with each passing day. I wake up in places I didn’t remember visiting. Fresh kills I don’t remember making. It’s why I live so far from town. I can’t risk…”

He took a deep breath. She waited patiently. Not urging him or demanding more. Just…being with him.

“I came here to live out my remaining good years in peace. But…I always planned to call Magnus in the end. Let him know my location so he could send along one of his marshals.”

“No. That’s not happening. I won’t allow it.”

He cupped her face, pressing her cheeks into his palms. “It’s not for you to allow, Rebecca.” Her chin quivered. “I’m old, little witch. Very old.”

“How old?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a long breath. “A thousand years, give or take. One of the oldest wolves in North America, I’d wager. Probably shouldn’t be allowed to live this long.”