Chapter 10

Kate

I decide that I really like that copse of trees near the fence. Shields us completely from the neighbors. Very useful if you’re going to light a bonfire on your back lawn and dance naked while painting your skin with blood and ash.

“This is what we’re doing?” I ask as Brooks tears his shirt off and tosses it aside, kicking off his boots and undoing his pants as I watch. Oh, hell. Those muscles on his hips. “Can we just go over the dance a few more times with our clothes on?”

“Kate, you’ll catch on like you did before. Take your clothes off.” He smiles, and I sense something vicious coming my way. “Or I’ll do it for you. Remember?”

With a long sigh, I take my shoes off. My overalls. My shirt. Bra. I hesitate when it comes to my panties, but then I see that my leather pants are folded on the grass in front of me. When Tanner was setting the spell up, he must’ve left them here.

Okay, so not dancing naked in the backyard per se, just topless. I sigh again as I take my panties off and switch into the pants. Put the bone necklace around my neck. Replace my hat. We don’t wear boots this time, something to do with connecting to the earth or whatever.

“How long will we be invisible?” I ask, curious to see if this is actually going to work or if we’re going to end up like the emperor with no clothes. Literally, no clothes. I wish my boobs were covered for this.

“As long as we’re painted across more than thirty percent of our body,” Brooks explains, a bucket of blood on the ground next to him. I don’t ask where the men got it, but I’m assuming it’s from Tanner’s deer hunt. I don’t know for sure. Some of the blood in that bucket is mine, too. The mens’ blood.

Brooks tosses a handful of liquid onto the fire, and the smoke turns red. He twists his fingers in the cloud above the flames, guiding the shape of it into something interesting. It looks like a snake as he draws it through the air, and then banishes it with a flick of his fingers.

Marlowe and Tanner take my hands, and I look at Brooks across the expanse of flames between us. I can hear Flick barking from inside the house, but he has to stay in there. We can’t afford to mess this up.

Each time we see the Hag, I wonder if that isn’t going to be the time that she’s actually here. The moment when she’s fully crossed over. When she comes for us.

We’re being hunted, and it’s only a matter of time before we get caught.

That’s not even a magical sense of any kind, just the instinct of my mammal brain.

My eyes catch on the upstairs window and the blurry reflection of the Hag Wytch, moving around like she’s inside. If she were, Stix wouldn’t be curled up in a black ball on the windowsill. Breathe, Kate.

We start to dance, twisting our bodies and lifting our hands in the air. I’m the only one that doesn’t understand the footwork, so it takes me a few turns around the fire to get it. When I asked earlier if there were easier ways to cast this spell, they said yes—in unison.

With twice as many ingredients and some spitting stuff that I won’t even get into.

I’m willing to dance to avoid that.

The sun is setting, and the sky is this insane mix of navy blue and bright orange. I love that, caught between one status and the next.

We release the hold we have on the other’s hands, slap our own palms together, and run through a series of hand movements that belong in a pop star’s music video. It’s difficult, and I’m not a fan. But it works.

The guys begin to hum, and I join in, trying not to marvel at the way the wind picks up, dragging ash from the bonfire and into the air. It twists like a snake and dives into the bucket of blood beside Brooks’ feet.

“ Unseen things that walk the woods, we pay obeisance to you.” Brooks drops to one knee, and the others follow. I manage to hit the ground just a second later. “We worship you.”

But his eyes are following something in the sky that I can’t see.

Both Tanner and Marlowe raise their bows. They fire at something that remains invisible until their arrows pierce its skin. Some sort of reptile with wings appears above us, tumbling down and splashing into the blood.

It spatters across all four of us, dripping down our faces.

What. the. fuck? It’s been nothing but weird and weirder since I met these guys.

They all stand back up, so I do the same, watching as they use three of my nicest horse-hair paintbrushes to dip in the blood and ash mixture.

“Those are really expensive,” I warn them, but it’s too late. They’re already painting their skin red.

I look for a fourth brush, but there isn’t one.

All three of them surround me without saying a word, their hats low over their brows, the sun setting and coaxing their shadows out to play. Monsters are all over the lawn in the shape of our silhouettes. The porch lights have just switched on and thrown them out, all the way to the end of the woods. Those are some long, skinny, creepy shadows. They’re almost sharp.

They are sharp.

So are the men, with bands of shadows over their own eyes. Brooks’ dangerously neutral mouth. Tanner’s quirked half-smile. Marlowe’s teeth digging into the right side of his lower lip.

The first brush glides over my skin, scarring the paleness of my arm with violent red. Soft, wet strokes on my exposed flesh that leave me trembling in a circle of barely-restrained witch men.

“This spell is all about control,” Brooks breathes out, his voice catching as he teases my nipple with the tip of his brush, turning it in a slow circle and forcing my hands into fists as I struggle to keep still.

“Control?” I whisper as he trails the brush over my navel and to the waistband of my pants. Inside my pants. I hiss as the warm brush teases my clit. Brooks uses his free hand to push his hat brim up and out of his face.

“Yes. We’re going to make ourselves want to fuck you, and you’ll do the same. We need to be quivering, Kate.” Brooks makes it sound sexy, rather than horrifying.

“You write these spells yourself, don’t you? Have you ever wondered whether you’re deranged or not?” I’m not trying to flirt with Brooks, but he is massaging my clit with the warm bristles of the brush and I like it so much more than I want to.

“I am deranged. Why would you think otherwise?” He smiles tightly, twists the brush oh-so slowly. “I could’ve suffered alone in those woods. Instead, I chose to damn three other people.” Brooks withdraws the brush, dashing a stripe of blood down the length of my nose.

Marlowe is the one who finishes my lips, dragging the horse-hair along the seam of my mouth. Across my jaw. Up to my ear. I shiver, but he doesn’t smile. Blood drains down his face from biting too hard on his own lip.

I reach up and press my fingers against the red on the side of his mouth, and he startles. He lifts his head, eyes wide and dark.

“God. Don’t do that. I don’t need any help getting there, Kate.” Marlowe scowls as he pushes my hand away from his face, licking his lips and slapping a spot of blood on my forehead with a flick of his brush.

Did he just tell me that he’s already hot for me? How? Who is this person?

I yelp as I brush slips into the back of my pants, sliding between my ass cheeks.

“This is the dumbest spell ever,” I grind out, but then I turn and Tanner is right there, dripping blood down his naked chest. Out of the three of them, this look suits him the most. He’s an animal. “Hi.”

Tanner chuckles at me, and the sound vibrates my left arm. He draws the brush from my pants and flutters it up my spine, twisting this knot inside my lower belly. I like sex. I liked it way more than my stupid ex. But these guys … I feel like I’m going insane.

How was my sad, lonely birthday less than two weeks ago?

Georgia is definitely going to kill me when I tell her what’s going on inside my head.

“Hi? That’s all I get?” Tanner tsks his tongue, tracing the leather edge of my low-slung pants with his brush, helping Brooks and Marlowe cover every square inch of exposed white flesh in warm crimson. He teases my nipple, and I find myself digging my nails into my leather-clad thighs. “Why don’t you tell me how this feels, kitten?”

“It feels good.” I blurt the words, fingernails scratching at my thighs. Between the chess match and this, I’m all wound up. Not having sex for a spell really is harder than just doing it. This is embarrassing, looking at each other and feeling this way without getting lost in that haze. “It’s … I like it, even if I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t?” Tanner says, frowning. “No such thing.” He reaches out with two fingers and closes my eyes. His brush is light across my lids, firmer against my lips, a pressure along the front seam of my pants. “The four of us understand the woods. That’s enough. Nobody’s the same after coming out of there.”

His heat disappears, like he’s stepped back, so I open my eyes.

I can see my reflection in the window behind Brooks, my face painted entirely in blood.

“This is ghastly,” I whisper, looking at the three of them, similarly painted in red. Naked chests inked and scarred with the symbol of the coven. Pointed hats covered in weird charms. If this gets posted on social media, we are so completely and utterly fucked. The last thing we need right now is another viral video. “This spell … you’re sure that it makes us invisible?”

“Not to each other,” Brooks replies, and I almost scream. I close my eyes and then open them again once I’m calm. “What? You don’t believe me?” He sounds so relaxed, like he doesn’t have an erection pressing against the front of his pants.

Marlowe curses and slips a hand under his own waistband, curling his lip as he tries to adjust himself. We look at each other, and I’d swear that he was blushing if he wasn’t both covered in blood and also scowling.

“If we walk into those woods,” I begin, trying to keep it together, “with all of those cops, wearing blood and leather and bone necklaces, we’re in trouble.” If I sound nervous, it’s because I am.

Brooks admitted earlier that he’s never tried this particular spell before. Very reassuring.

“We’re not committing any crimes,” Tanner drawls, like he finds this whole thing amusing. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not crimes that I’m worried about: it’s social media.”

But Tanner is from 1988, and Brooks is from 1955. Marlowe might be from 2004, but all he knows is the goddamn Badger Badger Badger video. They don’t get it. Fine. They don’t need to. We just have to get this done.

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you guys.” That’s all I say before I step away from them and, barefoot and bloodied, I move through my back gate and into the front yard.

We walk down the sidewalk together, past colorful Victorian houses and cars parked in driveways or on the street. Use the crosswalk. We don’t encounter anyone outside or any cars driving by, so it’s hard to say whether the spell is working or not.

Ebon soars above like she’s keeping watch, but poor Flick had to stay behind.

I breathe a sigh of relief when we step under the thick canopy of redwood trees without being arrested. The ground is moist beneath my bare feet, and everything smells fresh, like rain and sea fog and pine.

I know how to get us to the Witch’s Tree as well as anyone else, so I lead the way. We snake through the thick red trunks of the trees, past clusters of lime-green ferns, and ignore the brown signs that indicate the official trails.

Marlowe adjusts his metal mask, making me acutely aware of my own. We’re all wearing them, but only on the chains around our necks. We haven’t put them over our mouths just yet. This spell might make us invisible, but it doesn’t dampen sound. It doesn’t keep our feet from leaving imprints in the soft earth. We’ll have to be careful.

I brush the fingers of my right hand across the trunk of a tree, gathering dew from a clump of moss. A banana slug is tucked right up against it, like it’s trying to use the moss to hide from predators.

Not unlike what we’re doing in our efforts to avoid the Hag Wytch.

I turn to the men, only to find that they’re gone.

My heart stops, but I don’t feel that gnawing emptiness in my veins that I did at the caf?? when they walked away. They must be close, but where the hell—

Strong hands clamp onto my shoulders, and two of the men appear in front of me, hopping out from behind a pair of trees. I glance back to see Tanner peering down at me, like he expected something besides total apathy from me.

“You were supposed to scream, kitten. We need a scream of fear for this spell.”

I narrow my eyes at him before turning to the other two.

“But it’s you guys,” I tell them, and that seems to mollify the situation quite a bit.

“Well,” Marlowe huffs, ruffling up his hair. “It doesn’t matter who the scream comes from, does it?” He fixes his mask in place and then takes off in the direction of the Witch’s Tree.

We find a group of people clustered around the trunk. It’s dark out, but there are plenty of flashlights in the searchers’ hands to help illuminate the darkness. The tree itself is cordoned off in yellow caution tape, like a crime scene.

If only these people knew what it really was: a gate to another world.

Marlowe walks right up to one of the men in the group, and not a single person notices the four barefoot witches wearing blood instead of shirts.

It’s working.

I’m so beyond relieved that I could cry. Not only would it be extraordinarily mortifying to be caught up while topless and covered in blood, but … since nobody else can see the witchy shit, I had to truly consider if it wasn’t all in my head.

This makes me feel like it definitely isn’t.

Marlowe grabs onto a man’s shoulder from behind, tipping a glass bottle to his lips with the other hand. The man screams and whirls, panting and staring at the space where the massive witch man stands without comprehending that there’s anything there at all.

“You okay, Josh?” someone else asks, but the man is not okay. He backs away from Marlowe while looking right through him. I watch as our coven’s Westwoods pushes the cork into place on the skinny neck of the bottle, and then tucks it into his pocket.

“Hell no. There’s something wrong with these woods, I’m telling you. Ghosts or some shit.”

“You didn’t piss your pants, did ya Josh?” a woman teases, a badge slung around her neck.

The others laugh at him, but it’s an uneasy laugh, like they know something isn’t right here, too.

Brooks and Tanner put their masks on, so I do the same, following them over to the tree and pausing in front of it. There it is, in all its stumpy glory. Cut to the quick and seared with the pain of a lightning strike. The hole is right there, almost beckoning. My fingers itch to slip inside of it, to see the glory of the Witchwoods again. It’s as mesmerizing as it is terrifying.

I almost ask now what? But I can’t talk. All I can do is follow along.

At least this time, I have some idea of what to expect.

“ Guess I’ll do it then, go down on that freshly fucked pussy and suck you off. You’ll love it when I tilt your head back with my thumb on your chin, lean down, and put that load into your mouth with my tongue.” Oh, fuck, Marlowe.

He told me that’s what the fear spell involved, didn’t he? I haven’t forgotten. The invisibility spell set us up to be horny, and then … Good planning on Brooks’ part.

My entire body breaks out in goose bumps as Brooks takes his spot on the opposite side of the colossal stump. I face him, but I can’t see him. It’s just as well, considering the way we played chess together. That was the smuttiest game of chess ever, and nothing even happened.

I let out a nervous exhale that’s swallowed up by the metal of my mask.

Tanner takes up his place in the east while Marlowe claims the west.

The men start to move, so I follow along. I mimic what they do, these absurd dance moves that require me to leap and jump in ways I wasn’t sure I was even capable of. In perfect silence, we dance around that tree while the rescuers discuss the fate of Detective Gilley and a woman named Vivienne that must be the K9 handler.

In the sparse moonlight, and the bright beams of flashlights, we dance.

Around and around and around until I’m dizzy.

Marlowe uncorks the top of the glass bottle, and the man’s scream flows out like liquid fear.

All of the searchers jump at that one.

“Did you hear that?” one of them asks, but what are they going to do about it? I glance back at the group as they look right through me, through Marlowe and Brooks and Tanner. That same sense of power and strength that I felt before comes roaring back, and I find myself licking my lips as our dance slows. Stops.

Brooks tugs his mask down, his bloody lips parted.

“Do you find this amusing, Kate?” he asks, and the sound of his voice makes the group startle again. Tanner removes his mask, and then he laughs. Marlowe lets out a little growl. That’s enough for the group. They each find rapid excuses to leave without giving voice to their actual fears.

“I’ve gotta pick up my kid,” the woman in the badge says with a forced laugh.

“I’m sure there’s paperwork to be done somewhere.” Josh is making a beeline for the parking lot and tugging at his collar with a single finger. The rest of the group drifts away with him, leaving one brave sucker behind.

“Ah, come on, it was just the wind,” he calls out, but then he’s alone with us and a shiver travels down his spine. Tanner walks right up to him, leans down and grins beside his ear with sharp teeth.

“Boo.”

The man leaps in the air and then starts power walking after his colleagues. Those searchers can hear us, but I bet they won’t admit it because they’re afraid to make such outrageous claims in front of one another.

Tanner rejoins our circle, and I let my mask swing on its chains as the dance resumes, murmuring whatever it is that Brooks murmurs. Things that don’t make any sense. The words we speak are an awful, unspeakable poem. This is clearly going to cost somebody something.

A spell like this is going to be expensive.

I can feel the cost of it in my veins, struggling to keep up with a dance that gets almost too fast for me to comprehend. It’s all I can do to stay with them—and just barely.

It’s a relief when Brooks falls to his knees and the rest of us do the same.

He removes a knife from his belt and carves a symbol into his forearm. Once he’s finished, he does the same to Marlowe, to Tanner, and finally … to me. Being a witch, it doesn’t hurt any less to have a knife stabbed into my skin than it did before.

Turns out, being a witch is not so different than being a person.

It takes great effort to cast a spell, a lot of ingredients and time and sacrifice. Just like it does to take action and change one’s life.

The knife hurts pretty damn bad, making my eyes prick with tears that I refuse to let fall. When the men stand up and form a circle around me, I lift the wound on my forearm and they lower theirs down like they’re paying homage to the rough triangle drawn on my arm and bleeding.

Like the shape that’s tattooed on my finger.

It occurs to me, as I pant and sweat on my knees, exhausted from the dance, that if the men were okay with the cops hearing us … why did we bring our masks at all?

Because they’re worried about the Hag.

Because they’re worried, inevitably, of somehow being sucked back into the Witchwoods.

This close to the tree, I can feel it. I can smell it. The taste of magic is all over my skin, and I easily see now why the search is still ongoing. There’s something here that’s pulling people in. It’s pulling me in.

The situation is so tense, so serious, that it’s almost a shock when the men begin to undo their pants. I knew this was coming.

Plus … I like it.

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t do it. I should be honest with myself. If I hadn’t started liking Marlowe, I might’ve killed him instead.

Brooks is right in front of me, massive cock in his hand. He’s stroking himself unhurriedly, his attention fixed. With his body painted red with blood and his leather pants drooping on his hips, he looks absolutely feral. They all do, these wild, ink-bodied creatures.

Pretty. Brooks is shocking, like something caught halfway between a nightmare and a dream. Not quite halfway.

He does things to himself with his hand that he knows I find intriguing at the corner of my eye. I keep my gaze on his instead, ignoring those blurs at the edges of my vision, taunting me but being refused.

We’re locked in battle, me and Brooks. I thought it’d be easier to let him win, but I’m not sure I can do it.

When I can see that he’s close, pearly and slick at the tip, I reach forward with my hand to finish him. His fingers come down and clamp my wrist tight, and I’m being refused.

Again.

I hate that.

I need to kick his ass at a few more things before I let him win again.

“No, no touching. Not yet. There’s a time and place for it.” And then he’s quickly working himself to completion, still looking into my eyes as he comes on me. Hot seed spattering my skin as my throat tightens, my fingers digging into the earth on either side of me.

We never stop watching one another, not when his jaw tightens and his eyelids flutter with pleasure. Not when his cum drips down my breasts. It’s honestly strange, but I love it. No matter what we’re doing, the eye contact is what I like best.

Brooks gets on his knees beside me.

“This,” he says, gently fisting my hair. His eyes burn. “This is the time and place.” His metal mask and my metal mask, they clank together when he draws in and kisses me. Brooks pulls away, using his tongue to clean the salty cum from my lips. Holding tight to my hair as he drags his tongue down the length of my jaw, as he nibbles at my ear.

He moves down to my shoulder and then to my clavicle, lingering over my breasts. He’s licking all the seed from my skin, and a wave of goose bumps follows in his wake. Brooks sits back, pressing his lips closed.

With our eyes still locked, he begins to hum one of those strange songs from the forest under his breath. He turns and traces his finger over the earth in a triangular shape, bringing flames to life along that exact path. The fire doesn’t spread but instead, it stays where he put it, a sigil of flame locked into position on the forest floor.

Brooks leans down and presses his lips to mine again, using his tongue to push the seed from his mouth to my own.

“Hold it there and hum,” he whispers to me, and I can’t decide if this really is part of the spell or an excuse to convince me that I should keep his release in my mouth.

Brooks sits back on his calves as Marlowe takes his place to stand in front of me, black eyes implacable and liquid with heat. He turns his hand in a corkscrew motion around his cock, the edge of his lip lifting. It never fully blooms into a smile, caught there like a beast in mid-leap. Not quite an assault, not quite a retreat.

Marlowe lets his head fall back, but that quirked lip remains. He twists his hand around his shaft, cruel and manipulative with his own flesh. It’s a reflection of how he sees himself, like something dirty and ruined, a man cast aside by the two people he loved most in the world. Lo jerks off like he’s punishing himself, like he’s taking all of his pain and frustration out on his own dick.

Like he enjoys the hurt.

My lips part in surprise as I watch him fuck his body with his hand in a way I never would’ve thought to touch him. Maybe I still won’t. Maybe I should do the exact opposite with him? If I were loving and gentle, how would he respond?

When his sack tightens, and his shaft twitches in that tight grip, I close my lips and wait for the sticky, hot touch of his seed on my skin. Marlowe resists the pleasure, like he doesn’t feel he deserves it. His pants are undone, but not pushed down, like he wouldn’t even allow himself that small vulnerability.

He’s going to be fun sexually, I think. I’m going to break him with a soft touch.

Marlowe doesn’t make a sound when he comes, but he does bite into the skin below his lip. Makes himself bleed with a circle of teeth, like a macabre crescent moon on its side. He drops his eyes to mine only then, shaking his cock out and then tucking it away with one hand.

I’m waiting in anticipation for him to get on his knees for me, and he doesn’t disappoint. Marlowe drops hard enough that dirt puffs out around his knees. With his fingers digging into the dirt, he leans forward and offers me these long, hot licks across my aching skin, his own eyes closed.

When he opens them to look at me and begins to hum, I’m shaking. He hasn’t touched me anywhere else, just with his tongue. Marlowe turns and traces the sigil of fire. The flames die off, steam hissing as a channel of water appears in its place, eternally flowing through the triangle.

This time, I’m the one that closes my eyes as he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. I open up, so that he won’t try to force me with his tongue, and I can feel him smile against my mouth. He leaves me with the mixed taste of him and Brooks on my tongue, and I hum again, following the same pattern that I did before.

It sounds like I’m trying to curse someone with my lips sewn shut. I knew we were casting a spell of fear, but a wave of cold dread hits me, and I suddenly realize how afraid I should be.

The Hag Wytch eats people. She consumes their souls—whatever that means.

Being a witch and smut-spelling the world away doesn’t make me exempt from death. It doesn’t exempt these men. They could easily be killed, and I’ll never have the chance to get to know them.

Marlowe retreats as my mind spins, calmed only by the sight of Tanner as he steps in front of me. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles down at me. Determined. He’s genuinely decided to give this his all, and he seems to be the type who takes promises seriously.

He said it, so he’s going to do it—the rest of the world be damned.

“Hey kitten,” he tells me, throwing out a nickname that makes no sense, that he got from god only knows where. I wonder how many other women he’s referred to as kitten before.

I stay where I am, my forearm dripping blood onto the forest floor, my breath puffing in the cool dark. If our bodies weren’t glowing, it’d be pitch-black in here. We are our only light source, us and our sigil.

There’s absolutely nobody around now, and the yellow caution tape flaps in the wind, almost as if in protest. Fear ripples out from the tree, and we’re not even done yet. It’s going to get more intense, and I have to brace myself for it.

“Relax,” Tanner purrs at me, pulling these long strokes down his cock until he’s collected some of the pre-cum from the tip. He lifts his palm up and rubs it down his lower abs, just below his belly button. I like what I’m seeing, but I keep my lips pursed tight, observing him.

I understood the first time that the ritual doesn’t include me touching them.

A breeze curls through the woods, stirring the boughs above our heads. All I can do is sit there and observe a blood-dressed man in a necklace of bones and dead roses jerk himself off. It’s exquisite, something wild and arcane that’s just for me.

Tanner is firm and lazy in the way he fucks his fist, tilting his head to the side and studying me the way I’m studying him, like he absolutely loves the view. My cheeks heat with pleasure, and the smile he gives me in response is so worth it.

“Damn. Beautiful.” He raises his fancy brow at me, working his jaw. Flicks his crown with his thumb. Groans. “Savage.”

Tanner finishes on my face and hair, and I just sit there, quivering with the want to touch him. I can see in the shake of his hands that he wants the same with me. Unlike Marlowe, he’s all over me when he comes down, pushing me onto my back and kissing away the cum on my hair, licking the rest off my face.

He keeps just a small amount, like the other two, and then hums his way through the notes. When he transfers it to me with a kiss, his palms on either side of my head, I’m struck. I’m already humming my part before he draws his lips away, and I can feel him laugh.

I’m scrambling to sit up now, so that I can watch him draw his own lines in the air with a finger. A breeze curls over the sigil of water, blowing it from the channel in the dirt like a small tsunami. Liquid rushes across the ground, some of the cool water stinging my bare feet as I lean back on my palms, knees cocked, and toes pressed against Tanner’s thigh.

Clouds form in the shape of the sigil, white ones that hover in place, their glowing mists swirling. The movement is lazy and slow, like the way Tanner touched himself.

“Now,” he tells me, glancing over his shoulder. As he stands up, he turns to face me, flanked by the eyes of Brooks and Marlowe. “You have to take care of yourself.”

“But first,” Brooks adds, with no small amount of glee. “You have to swallow. ”

Fucker. I narrow my eyes, and he does the same with the ones on his hat.

Fine. He thinks I can’t do it?

I swallow, the mixed taste of them tingling on my lips. This is so weird. And it is. But that’s okay because I’m here for it.

“I have to … take care of myself?” I repeat hesitantly, gaze sliding to one side.

Marlowe misinterprets both my words and my expression, offering a low laugh.

“Think you can handle it?” he challenges, putting his hands on his hips. Both he and Brooks are all tucked away in their leather pants while Tanner’s remain open in the front. He’s put his cock away, but he didn’t bother to tie the strings of sinew that make up the laces. I can still see that smear of pre-cum on his lower abs.

“Oh, I know I can,” I reply, also offering up a derisive laugh. “I’ll always know my body better than anyone else.”

Brooks squats down beside me, meeting my eyes in challenge. Uh-oh. Oh shit.

“We’ll see about that,” he tells me, forcing eye contact as I undo the laces on my own pants, shoving them down my hips to mid-thigh. I slip a hand between my legs and find that I’m so wet that it’s even dripped down my ass to the dirt below.

I’ve never been so turned-on, but I’m not going to tell them that.

With deft, confident fingers, I slip into myself with a hard single thrust, using the heel of my hand on my clit. I’m softer there, but rougher between the legs. It works so good, almost too good. Brooks stands up, and there they are in all their glory, wearing witch hats and mixed expressions of greed and lust.

I come so fast that it makes my own head spin, hitting a personal record for speed and intensity. I’m gasping and choking on my own breaths, sitting there splay-kneed in the dark of the woods. My thighs quiver the way Tanner’s did, and I break into pieces right there in front of my coven.

With the old redwoods as witness, I struggle up to my knees and point at the sigil with a single wet finger. I draw the shape.

Plants sprout, and I could almost cry at the sight. Their glowing green forms unfurl from the earth at my command. I no longer feel the fear emanating from the shape, not anymore. It’s like I’m immune to it.

“Now what?” I ask, getting to my feet and fixing my pants at the same time. I don’t look at the men. I can’t, not with the afterglow quickly fading away in the face of urgency. We’ve finally succeeded in keeping people away from the Witch’s Tree.

We still need to bind this doorway.

Brooks waves his hand at the sigil, and my plants fade away and die, withering to the ground and forming a dark stain on the earth between two massive, old roots.

“This will last for thirty or so days. If we haven’t sealed the doorway by then, we’ll need to redo it.” He looks up at me, and I swallow back the urge to feel embarrassed. Fight it, Kate. Doesn’t work. I’m embarrassed, but I meet his gaze anyway and do my best to fake apathy.

“Thirty days? Okay, that gives us plenty of time, right? Thirty days is a lot.”

“Is it?” Brooks returns, shaking his head at me. “That’s only one day in the Witchwoods.”

Oh. He has a point there. I shiver all over, reaching up to touch my metal mask. Do we … have to go back in there? I’m not quite sure what Brooks is saying.

“We’ll get the supplies together as quickly as we can and take care of this. For tonight, we’re done.” He walks away from the group, like he has somewhere important to be, and I roll my eyes.

“He enjoys the struggle, you know?” Tanner tells me, tucking his hands into the rear pockets on his pants. That’s how good these guys are: they even sewed pockets into their monster-hide leather pants. I’m impressed. “Brooks, I mean. He likes to see some fight in his coven. I don’t play along, so he usually fucks with Marlowe. Guess he’s going to fuck with you, too.”

“I’m not bothered by him,” I retort, but that’s total bullshit and Tanner sees right through it. He looks me right in the face in a way that tells me he also doesn’t buy that I’m completely unaffected by what we just did.

I’m affected. I’m very much affected.

“Goddamn,” Marlowe growls, removing his hat and running his hand over his hair. It’s like, because we’ve dealt with the Miriam and Dennis thing, he needs something else to be mad about. Colorful asters bloom on his hat as he slips it back on, brim pulled low. “Before I met you, I didn’t have a very creative sex life.”

“Me either,” I reply, and he scowls at me. While I’m still trying to figure out what I’ve done to upset Marlowe, Tanner takes off again, and I vow to make some space for us to talk before bed. Lo and I end up walking side by side, and I find myself wanting to ask. “Why are you mad about it? Us having a creative sex life.”

He stops walking, bare feet scuffing in the dirt, and then turns to meet my stare.

“I’m not mad. It was a statement, not a condemnation. I was just saying. ” There’s a pause there. “Nathan was shit, wasn’t he? Just admit it.”

“Was Miriam shit?” I reply, and he quirks one of those mid-leap beast smiles.

“Yeah, honestly. Her personality was great—usually—but we didn’t have anything special in the bedroom.”

He keeps walking, and I hesitate only a few seconds before moving after him.

We both turn to look at each other, and I’m sure that Marlowe might say something else.

Then we hear it.

The sound of a lullaby.

The song of the Hag.