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She shrugs, still gaping at my length, which isn’t even fully erect. If she was a shifter, there would be no hesitation. A slip of a condom and away we’d go until we were both sated. But seeing as she’s a witch, there’s nothing for it but pure forbidden lust, which I can appreciate.
Odd. Witches usually snarl when they see a randomly nude shifter, as if they’re angry with us for triggering their own attraction to someone they’ve been raised not to notice. But this witch doesn’t hold the same age-old grudges that keep our sects firmly separate from each other.
When she speaks, her eyes are still fixed on my cock. “I assume the witch wants a vial of this water for a potion, but I have no idea. Let’s try it and see if the burn leads us to the witch who did this to us. If not, then it’s something else.” She doesn’t move a muscle to gather the water. It’s as if my dick has hypnotized her into inaction.
Pride inflates my chest. I could toy with her. Give my cock a nice long stroke just to make her blush. But being that the pack probably needs me for something right now, I know I should complete whatever task we have to do so I can get back to normal life.
I fight back a groan at the notion. I’m so tired of the workload that comes from leading a pack. I can’t even enjoy being ogled by this cute witch without duty tapping me on the shoulder.
But complaining isn’t helpful, so I push my resentment away.
To get us both on task, I flex a muscle, making my dick jump.
It’s as if I’ve clapped my hands in front of her face, the way she startles. “I’m sorry!”
My smirk cannot be helped. “For what?”
She turns her chin away and waves a hand to indicate my crotch. “I was… And you’re… I didn’t mean to…” She presses the back of her hand to her cheek. “The water. That’s probably it.”
I nod, spreading my empty palms out. “Fat lot of good the tethering charm is doing the witch who cast it. I don’t have anything to gather the water in.”
She takes a water bottle off a carabiner on her beltloop, chugging a few gulps and then offering the rest to me. “Are you thirsty? You’re from Grayrock City, right?” She jerks her chin to the trees behind me. “That’s a far jog.”
As if there isn’t a creek right between us for me to drink from if I was thirsty.
I can’t recall the last time a non-shifter offered me anything, so I take her up on her kindness, holding out my hand for her to toss the bottle my way. After I catch it, I nod as I unscrew the cap, sniffing the water for anything foul. “That’s right.” I motion to her. “I never understood the appeal of living outside the city, pretending to be normal. But to each their own, I guess.”
She straightens, and I can tell she has something to say on the subject, but she holds back whatever tartness she wants to spout.
Now I really want to know. She watches my body as I finish off her water. Then I kneel and let the creek fill the bottle, keeping my eyes on it while I make an attempt at conversation. “I shouldn’t trust anything a witch hands me. Drinking water from a witch’s bottle? That’s a recipe for disaster.”
I can feel her frown before I glance up to see it. “Then why did you? I was only trying to be nice.”
“And I thank you for that.”
“Sounded like suspicion, not thanks.”
“Fair point.” I don’t mention that she drank from the bottle first, so I know it hasn’t been tampered with. Plus, I can scent out most poisons. Still, I would have chided anyone in my pack for being so careless, taking a beverage from a witch.
Maybe I am getting too old for pack life. I’m making careless mistakes, foolish choices, just because I want a little variety in the danger I normally get. It’s all pack wars and justifying why I won’t choose a mate, but in this chilled night air, I feel different, as if I have choices, which I know I don’t.
Still, it’s nice to pretend.
I motion to myself, unsure why I’m going out of my way to prolong this task. “I’m Leo.”
She casts me a tight smile. “Nice to meet you, Leo.”
I tilt my head to the side. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
She surprises me by pausing, as if I’ve asked her something difficult. “I’m, um, Ivy Moon.”
The name rings a bell, causing my brows to raise in surprise. “Moon?” My eyes widen as I sit back, screwing on the cap to the filled bottle. “Ivy Moon? Daughter of Fern Moon? You’re Fern Moon’s daughter?”
I’ve saw Fern Moon around town when I was a cub, and then only in pictures after she left the city. When I squint just so, I can see the similarities in their features, though not their demeanors. From what I’ve heard and the lingering town gossip, Fern was a brash witch who didn’t hold back when she knew she was right about something. Ivy is… different.
“Your mother blew up the side of the mountain on the other end of the city. She poisoned a whole pack of rabbit shifters. Fern Moon is… How is old Fern?”
“Dead,” Ivy answers without caveat. She says the single word as if she uses it to punch herself in the gut regularly while pretending she doesn’t feel the sting one bit.
