Page 95 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

Like someone who could protect you from anything.

“Wow,” I managed.

His gaze tracked down my body and went dark. “Fuck me.”

“Good fuck me or bad fuck me?” I grinned because I already knew the answer.

“You’re wearing that?” His voice had dropped an octave.

“That’s the plan.” I did a little spin, letting the skirt flare. “What do you think?”

His eyes fixed on my legs. On the sheer black tights that covered them but left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“You’re going to freeze.” It sounded like an excuse.

“I’ll be fine. The barn is heated, and we probably won’t be outside visiting the booths for too long. Plus, my sweater is warm.”

“You should cover up. Wear pants. Or a longer skirt.”

I bit back a grin. “Should I?”

“Aye.” He stalked toward me, each step deliberate, predatory. “Because every male at that festival is going to be staring at your legs. And I’m going to want to rip their eyes out.”

“That seems…excessive.”

“Does it?” He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Close enough that I could smell him—woodsmoke and pine and something uniquely Axel. “Because right now, all I can think about is getting you back here tonight and peeling those tights off with my teeth.”

Heat flooded me, making my core clench up in anticipation. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” His hand found my hip, fingers flexing against the fabric of my skirt. “Maybe I’ll leave the skirt on. Push it up around your waist while I bury my face between your thighs.”

“Axel.” His name came out breathier than I intended.

“Something to think about.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead—gentle, almost chaste, a complete contrast to the filthy words he’d just spoken—then stepped back, leaving me flushed and aching. “While we’re at this festival. Surrounded by people. Being wholesome and autumnal and all that shite.”

“You’re evil.”

“Just motivated.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch, making a motion to indicate it would be for me and not him. Because he was a werewolf and probably never got cold, considering I never saw him wear any of the coats he kept in his mudroom. “Come on, little witch. Let’s go be festive.”

I was practically vibrating with excitement for the entire drive. Rightfully so. Because the Fall Fling was everything I’d hoped for and more.

String lights hung between the barns, casting warm pools of gold across the grounds. Hay bales lined the pathways, decorated with pumpkins and gourds and bundles of cornstalks. The scent of apple cider and cinnamon hung thick in the air, mixing with woodsmoke from the fire pits scattered around the property. Music drifted from the main barn—something folksy and upbeat that made me want to dance.

Craft booths lined the paths, vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to pottery to knitted scarves. People were everywhere. Families with kids in costume. Couples holding hands. Groups of friends laughing and posing for pictures in front of elaborate pumpkin displays.

Axel tensed the moment we walked through the entrance. I felt it in the way his hand tightened on mine, the way his shoulders crept up toward his ears. His eyes were everywhere, scanning, assessing.

The wolf in him was close to the surface.

“Okay?” I asked quietly, squeezing his hand.

“Fine.” The word was clipped.

I rose on my toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you for doing this.”

Some of the tension bled out of him. “Aye, well. Couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”

“Becca!”