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sees is me, not the witch, and I didn’t even ask him for that confirmation. He gave it freely.
But the emotional damage my uncle raged on me for most of my life is hard to claw my way through sometimes.
When Archer’s split second of surprise passes, he responds. His warm hands catch my waist and his mouth moves against mine, slick with water. As his tongue teases my lips open, desire rises between us, and I lean closer to him—not all the way, because I’m too shy to breach those last few inches. Our wet skin slides together just barely, the fine blond hairs on his chest scratching over my breasts and sending a rush of need through me.
Despite my weakness, I’m burning to feel Archer’s body against mine, aching for his hands to move from their chaste position at my waist, to touch me the way he did before my change. I don’t feel as sick as I did when I awoke. Standing beneath the water with Archer as he gently took care of me helped me feel more like myself, and actually kind of invigorated me. Energy hums beneath my skin. And whether I’m a witch or wolf, the pull I feel toward him—toward each of the shifters—hasn’t changed in the least. The only thing that could make this moment even better would be to have the other three men here to join us.
My legs tremble beneath me as our lips move together. His kiss is strong, deep, searing hot. But his hands hold me in place, and his body is so far away. If I just move forward…
Screw it.
I close the rest of the space between us, pressing his warm expanse of skin flush against my own. The kiss deepens until I feel his teeth on my lips, and a little thrill races through me. Archer groans against my mouth, finally giving in to the need rising between us as one hand slides up my body to cup my breast.
Not washing me like a gentleman this time, but squeezing me. Claiming me.
His fingers teasing my hardened nipple until I’m gasping into his kiss. I tangle my fingers in his wet hair and rise up on my tiptoes, his hard cock rubbing against my lower belly.
The throb between my legs echoes his desire, and I’m mindless with the need to feel him there, to feel the weight of him sliding into me while water cascades over us. The darkness dragged me under before things could go that far with the men before, so I’m still a virgin. But that doesn’t stop my body from burning with need. I feel wanton and reckless, neither of which are emotions I’ve ever been well acquainted with.
Before I can do something even crazier, Archer abruptly breaks the kiss, his chest heaving and his lips a little swollen. He grips my arms and pushes me away gently, something like regret shining in his green eyes as he gives me a small smile.
“You’re still weak.” His voice is low, just a rumble beneath the thrumming of the shower. “You need to eat and regain your strength. I don’t want to push you too far and hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.” I shake my head, surprised by how husky the words come out.
He touches my face, and I lean into his hand. “Maybe not. But I’m not willing to take the chance.”
I’m still close enough to feel his hard length against my belly. It’s obvious Archer’s feelings haven’t changed—he still wants me just as badly as I want him. But he’s also willing to push that desire aside, no matter how much he wants it, to take care of me.
That seems big, somehow.
I’m slowly coming to accept that the mate bond is real, but in this moment, it seems like something even more than just a bond. More real and tangible, like it’s born of mutual respect and affection rather than a primal need to mate. Archer’s desire to care for me doesn’t feel like it’s just because of the bond. It’s because he cares about me.
He gives me one more chaste kiss, then reaches past me to turn off the water. The sudden silence is deafening. “I’ll get us towels. Can you stand on your own for a minute?”
I nod and press my palm to the smooth shower wall for balance. My knees are still weak, but it’s for an entirely different reason now. This time, the wobbliness has more to do with spending time naked in the shower with a hot guy.
As he steps out of the tub and tugs the curtain closed behind him, I notice a ripple of blackness coloring the scars on my hands and arms. It happens so quickly that I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t looking right at my skin.
Fear washes over me. Even though Archer, Ridge, and Trystan stayed with me despite the witch transition, maybe they shouldn’t have. Maybe Dare had the right idea by leaving. The black magic churning inside me means I’m a danger to them all. I’m a witch—not a wolf. No matter what the shifters think or what Elder Jihoon’s magic sticks said or even what my soul wants to be true. I’m a witch, and I’m terrified of what that means.
I close my eyes and focus on taking a few deep breaths of humid air, the way Archer has coached me to do when the panic gets to be too much. After a moment, my fear lessens, and I open my eyes to see the black marks fading away. And I did it all on my own. I grin and flex my fingers a few times, silently congratulating myself on a job well done.
Unfortunately, even as the magic becomes invisible again, I’m entirely too aware of it sitting just below the surface of my skin. It’s there, and it’s there to stay. Some of my victorious feeling fades.
The thunk of the bathroom cabinet closing jars me from my thoughts. I hear a soft brushing sound—Archer drying off before he comes back for me.
My scars may be back to normal for now, but the black marks are emblazoned in my memory. Black and thick, they remind me of the dark cloud that whispered awful things to me. Now that I’m fully awake and out of the transition, I have no clue what was real and what wasn’t during those unsettled days. Could the black cloud have been a manifestation of the witch inside me? Was it a real cloud that hung over my bed and clung to me while I slept? Or was it yet another nightmare?
Just thinking of the witch inside me causes a lump to rise in my throat. What if she becomes stronger than the real me? I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt any of these men, whether it’s by accident or not.
The shower curtain slides open again with the scrape of plastic rings on metal. Cold air and light spills into the dim space, but before I can get too cold or feel too exposed, Archer wraps a large towel around my shoulders. He’s still somewhat wet, droplets glistening on his skin in the light from the fixture overhead, but he’s wrapped a towel around his waist. Probably for both his modesty and my own at this point.
Once I’m in a burrito of plush fabric, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me carefully from the tub as if I weigh no more than a doll.
His embrace is strong and protective as he deposits me on the soft rug. As soon as he’s sure I have my balance, he rubs the towel over me, looking at me with a mixture of worry and tenderness that makes my chest tight.
“You need soft, warm clothes and a good breakfast,” he murmurs, brushing an edge of the towel down the side of my face. “You’ll feel better in no time.”
