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Chapter Ten
Jack
You’re not a bad warlock. You’re just not my warlock.
Those words rang in my ears for hours after I’d watched Claire disappear into the offices of the Witch Gazette. It would be so much easier if I didn’t care about Claire at all. If I didn’t want her. But seeing the hurt on her face today had made me want to do nothing more than reach out, grab her, and comfort her.
Make her mine.
The bond might have been a product of the drugs they’d given Claire, but I still felt that connection in every atom of my being. All the hallmarks of an alpha warlock’s drive to care for his witch were there. The need to take care of her. Comfort her. Protect her. Love her.
Then, there were the other things I wanted to do. I wanted to drive into her so deep that it would take hours for us to separate. Days maybe. How damned good would it feel to let my knot swell inside that sweet little pussy of hers. Fill her with my seed. Claim her. Make her swell with our young.
As far as I was concerned, our mate bond was real. It just couldn’t be real for her. I’d seen too many witches who resented their forced mates. I never wanted to become that warlock for Claire.
If I ever allowed the bond to be made permanent, it would no doubt fall apart. Snap like brittle candy under the weight of finally being put to the test. Never mind what it would do to Claire. The witches who had finally succumbed to arranged bonds had suffered years of depression. Some, so distraught over not being able to find their true mate that they no doubt believed was still out there, had finally taken their own lives.
The thought of Claire ever being in a situation where she felt like the only way to escape such a thing was to take her own life was too much hurt for me to bear. I’d gladly suffer in misery for the rest of my life if we could release Claire from this situation they had forced her into.
Because I knew beyond any doubt that, even when Claire was free, I never would be.
There was just something about Claire Landon that had hooked its claws into my heart and wouldn’t let go. Ever since that day in the cabin when she’d looked up at me with such devotion and love.
I was more than ready for the solitude of the cabin on the outskirts of town. It was a two-story cabin that sat a good half-mile back from the winding country road that led to the property. It allowed me to get away from everyone in Mystic Springs. Out here, I didn’t have to hear anything other than the hoot of an owl or the snap of a twig as a deer or raccoon made its way through the surrounding woods.
I’d had the cabin built not long after I’d settled in Mystic Springs. In the back of my mind, there had been this tiny glimmer of hope that there was a reason that I’d been led to Mystic Springs. That I might finally find my mate and this place would be one I would bring her back to. I’d built all those subconscious hopes into the lines of the place. There were extra bedrooms that I now knew would never hear the laughter of children. A large kitchen that wouldn’t be used to prepare school lunches or holiday meals.
Instead, it was a big, cavernous cabin that was only ever filled with the sound of my puttering around the house when I came home from a long day of work, as I was doing now.
Making my way up to the bedroom, I stripped off my clothes one piece at a time. Twisting the fabric in my hand, I finally dumped the clothes into the laundry hamper that sat inside the bathroom door. I slapped on the shower spray and stood in the warm cascade of water. I’d designed the shower stall to be big enough for my large frame. Over time, I’d turned my tall, slim warlock frame into a hardened mass of muscle and power that I could use to intimidate when I needed to and overpower when the situation called for it. If the stares I got when I walked into a room were any indication, all that hard work had paid off.
I’d seen the way witches looked at me when I walked through town or entered a room. I knew they were eager to have someone who would rut them with the power and command that most witches desired their alphas to have. Before Claire, I’d rutted my fair share of witches. I knew how to see a witch through her heat properly.
And I knew something about the way I carried myself told witches that was the kind of warlock I was.
But ever since Claire, I’d never wanted to knot another witch but her. I wouldn’t allow myself to do that to her. I didn’t want anyone other than her.
As I soaped up my chest, I looked down and was unsurprised to see that my cock had grown angry, hard, and swollen. Over the years, I’d had a few human partners assure me that my cock was an impressive length and girth on its own. But the true measure of a warlock’s cock was in his knot. Only when a warlock was deep inside his partner and his knot swelled within did a warlock know he was a worthy partner. Being inside a witch and feeling that knot swell inside her, locking you into place? That was a feeling that couldn’t be measured.
I’d felt that feeling with several witches, but something told me that once I was inside Claire, my knot wouldn’t want to let her go. Not until I’d made her relent and acknowledge our bond. And given how adamant she was that what had happened that night was real, I was certain she wouldn’t deny me. The drugs they’d injected her with had assured me of that.
But on nights like this when my cock begged for my attention, for just a little while, I could imagine what it would be like to sink into Claire’s pussy. How tight she would be as I pushed inside her. I groaned as I imagined her walls clenching around me. The soft little sighs and moans she’d make as I pumped slowly at first and then more frantically until my knot swelled inside her and I flooded her womb with my seed.
I slammed my left hand against the shower wall as I gripped my length tightly with my right, imagining her in front of me, looking over her shoulder as I took her from behind. She’d have that same pout on her face she sometimes got when she didn’t get her way.
I’d slide my hand up the length of her inner thigh, moaning as I felt that sweet, soft skin that no other warlock had ever touched. My hand rocked back and forth, up and down along the hard, aching length of my cock. I moaned, loud, low, and long as I could nearly feel the heat of her surrounding me. Could nearly feel her coming around me.
“Fuck, Claire,” I bit out as I hissed, coming closer to that release. Here, in the privacy of my cabin, I could cry out her name as I brought myself to completion. One more pump into my hand and I shot the stream of cum on the shower floor and wall, wishing like hell it was filling up my witch instead.
My witch.
For while I might not be her warlock, she would always be my witch.
* * *
The poundingat my door was the last thing I wanted to hear after I’d shot my wad in the shower. Whenever I came like that, I could always swear that I felt Claire coming with me. Somewhere across the miles, I could pretend that she was moaning in time with my release. I sometimes liked to imagine that she was out and about and she couldn’t stop the quaking of her sweet little witch pussy as she came in tandem with me.
Normally, I’d revel in the feel of that little fantasy. Go to sleep with a smile on my face as I played with the idea that she was just as wet for me as I was hard for her.
