Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

M aeve fled the BrewFest, horrified by her actions. She didn’t know what had come over her to climb Saul like a tree. But when he growled at the wolf shifter next to her, her only thought had been to get as close as possible to him, to feel his body surrounding hers. That was unlike her, so, on her way to the parking lot, when she saw the Dupree sisters trying to duck behind the bushes, she confronted them. And their words only horrified her further.

“A love potion? What the hell were they thinking? Love potions never work. They always backfire. Any good potions master knows this. Stupid, stupid witches,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled out bowls and her mother’s notebook.

A knock at the greenhouse door distracted her for a moment, but she ignored it. Hazel, her honey badger familiar, perked up on the table, probably hoping for food. The door opened anyway and her great-aunt Geillis slipped inside in a cloud of lavender. She hobbled over to the bench where Maeve was setting up, watching her silently for a long moment. Hazel curled up in her little bed when she saw who it was, knowing she wasn’t going to get anything from Aunt Geillis, at least not in front of Maeve, who was convinced that Hazel was getting a little chonky.

“So, you created quite the stir at the BrewFest,” her aunt commented.

Maeve groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Though her aunt probably loved it. Now she had something juicy to gossip about with her ancient crones that she called friends. She wouldn’t care that it was her great-niece. Everyone was fair game to the old bats and their back-fence chatter. Old witches.

“He be a fine specimen of male. Grizzly if I’m not mistaken. I took a grizzly for a spin once. That was a fun ride.” Her aunt’s gaze had a faraway look in them, and a secret smile curved her lips.

Maeve shuddered. She did not want to think of her aunt and a grizzly in any kind of sexual pose, especially when the only grizzly she could picture was Saul. That was just so wrong.

Her aunt settled herself on a stool where she often perched when Maeve was working. She propped her chin on the cane and stared off at the plants, dropping her mystical old lady affection that she used with strangers to avoid conversation. “Here’s the thing about grizzlies. They’re overbearing, obnoxious, protective to the point of smothering, and general pains the asses. They’re loud, single-minded in their focus, and think they’re always right. They’re also intensely devoted to their family and mates, never stray, and are amazing lovers.”

Maeve eyed her aunt warily, pausing in the act of gathering the herbs she needed for the love potion antidote. “Why are you telling me this?”

“That’s why I couldn’t stay with my grizzly lover. I didn’t need that kind of smothering in my life. I didn’t want a mate or a partner at all. I was happy being free,” Aunt Geillis said.

Maeve's heart twisted. “And then you were stuck with me.”

Her aunt turned that laser focus on Maeve. “Never think that, dear. I love you. I never regretted coming here and living with you. I may not have wanted my own family, but I adored the one I got. I’m honored to have been here for you all these years.”

Tears pricked Maeve’s eyes, and she ducked her head and began working the pestle to crush the herbs for the potion. Aunt Geillis hated emotions, so Maeve hid them often. “I’m sorry you left your lover.”

Aunt Geillis stomped her cane on the stone floor. Hazel came awake with a squeak, then slunk away to find a quieter place to sleep. “Didn’t you hear me, girl? I left him. He was getting too clingy and the last thing I needed was a mate, hovering over me, smothering me. No, I needed my freedom. I’m telling you this because you need to understand what you’re getting into.”

Maeve frowned. “Getting into? I don’t understand.”

Aunt Geillis pointed with her cane down the row of plants out the window of the greenhouse. Maeve leaned forward and sucked in a breath at the large, hunched figure sitting on the wrought-iron bench next to the rose bushes. “No, he didn’t follow me.”

Her aunt cackled. “He sure did.”

Maeve frantically began crushing herbs and dumping them into the cauldron. “I have to get the potion mixed. The Dupree sisters made a love potion. I have to give him the antidote.”

Her aunt reached across the table and settled her hand on Maeve’s. “Dear, bears aren’t affected by love potions. They’re driven by one thing. Their mating instincts. If he’s here, it’s because his bear is telling him to be here.”

Maeve shook her head in a frenzied fashion. “No, no. He calls me mouse. He thinks I’m prey. He’s only here because I ran.”

Aunt Geillis smirked. “You ran from a bear? From your mate? Oh yes, you are most definitely prey, but in the best way possible.” Her expression softened. “Dear, he is not your father. He won’t ignore you. His bear won’t let him. He will always be there for you, if you let him. Have courage.”

She hefted herself off the stool and hobbled to the door, throwing it open. “Bear, come now.”

And here came the accent again. Aunt Geillis must have put on the act for Saul, like she did for all people she didn’t know and wasn’t sure she liked. His long strides quickly ate up the distance between the bench and the greenhouse. For a moment, Maeve considered escaping out the back, only her mother hadn’t had a back exit installed so Maeve was trapped. Dammit.

Her aunt poked Saul with her cane, coming very close to his groin. Saul cupped his private parts to protect himself. Wise move. “You be good to her or I turn you to toad and make potion out of you.”

Yeah, her aunt was putting on the whole dog and pony show. Saul nodded eagerly, peering past her aunt to see inside the greenhouse. After a moment, her aunt stepped aside and Saul came in.

Maeve swallowed hard as he came down the center aisle to her bench. “Why are you here, Saul?”

“I’m here for you, Maeve.”

And with that, he destroyed her last barrier.

Saul heard the quiet click of the greenhouse door as Maeve’s aunt or grandmother or whoever she was left them alone. He was grateful for that. He suspected he would need to do some persuading, and he didn’t want an audience for it, especially one who would not hesitate to transform him into something undesirable.

Maeve stared at him in shock, her eyes wide and uncertain. “It’s just the potion talking. The Duprees made a love potion. Well, not really a love potion. You can’t really create love from a potion. All you can do is create attraction, maybe lust. But love is something else.”

She really was quite adorable when she was nervous, his little mouse. But his bear hated she was skittish around him, as if she had reason to be afraid of him. He inhaled, sorting through all the varied scents in the greenhouse, seeking her underlying sweet essence, and there it was. Arousal. It was tentative, soft and almost hesitant, but it was there. He could build on that.

He leaned on the table, which was a little lower than he would have liked, but she was shorter than him and her comfort mattered. She started to lean back, then seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped.

“Why are you here, Saul?”

He hooked the stool with a foot and pulled it close with a squeal on the floor and sat down. “I told you, I’m here for you.”

Something scratched at his leg and he almost kicked out, but he paused and looked down, seeing a honey badger with wicked sharp claws staring up at him. “Who is this?”

Maeve smirked. “That’s Hazel, my familiar. She’ll gut you where you sit if you are mean to me.”

She continued to paw at him and he pulled out a honey stick from his pocket that he had been saving for a snack and handed it to her. She snatched it from him and raced away. He gave Maeve a smug look, and she sighed. “Of course, you know how to make friends with honey badgers.” She narrowed her gaze. “Why are you here?”

She was running away, backing away as fast as she could. He could work with that, as long as she wasn’t afraid. He didn’t sense fear, only confusion and annoyance. While his bear didn’t like those emotions, he could deal with them.

He settled himself more comfortably, though that was almost impossible since that stool was not meant for someone his size. “I want to talk about that kiss.”

She scowled at him and bent over the worktable, mixing herbs, her curly hair falling over her face, hiding her from him. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’ll be done with this antidote soon and we can forget all about it.”

He reached across the table and settled a hand over hers, engulfing her hand and half the bowl under his, stilling her movements. “I don’t need the antidote, Maeve. I drank three of those foul tasting potions and took one of those disgusting bezoars. I probably won’t be able to taste any of my baking for the next month. It’s not the potion. It’s my bear.”

She shook her head, not looking at him. “No, the Duprees did a love potion from their great-great-aunt’s grimoire. We don’t know if the BrewFest’s antidote will even work. But I have one that will. I hope. If only they would tell me the ingredients they used.”

He got up and walked around the table. He gently turned her and tilted her chin so she looked up at him. “Maeve. Mouse. You said it yourself. Love potions don’t create love. They only create a limited attraction. That kiss wasn’t from the potion.”

She blinked at him, confused. “Of course it was. What else could it be?”

He sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. “Let’s try an experiment. You like those, right?”

“Does it involve more potion testing?”

He smiled at the apprehension in her tone. “Not exactly.”

Saul settled his lips over Maeve’s, swallowing her gasp of surprise. Her lips softened and his tongue swept inside, tasting the combined flavors of peppermint and lingering flavors of that weird-ass potion from the BrewFest.

Maeve's hands found their way to Saul's chest, clutching his green t-shirt in her fists, as if needing an anchor for herself. He slid his hands down her back and pulled her up against him, lifting her off the ground effortlessly, her body tight against his. Electricity arced between them, the connection as strong as he’d felt at the festival and his bear growled, mate.

Maeve moaned against him, her tongue tentatively stroking his, playing with him. She wanted him. She felt their bond, just like he did.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, at her dazed expression. “Spend the day with me. Tomorrow. Don’t think. Just say yes, Maeve.”

Her dazed look shifted, and she looked skeptical, as if she were about to say no. He placed a finger over her lips, holding off any protests.

“Be brave, little mouse. Trust me.”

She blinked and nodded, almost before she could think. He smiled and kissed her again, quickly. “Great. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He disappeared before she said anything else, tipping his head to the old woman hovering outside. He had his chance with Maeve. Now, he had to make sure not to blow it.