Chapter 14

Brooks

North—Kate—is right. I’ve been treating her as if she were Marlowe or Tanner, and she’s not. I want a man, Brooks. Her words stick in my head, competing with the fury I feel toward her for the reckless action she took.

She might’ve gotten us all killed.

Most importantly, she might’ve gotten herself killed.

I rub a hand over my face, situated at the wooden picnic table in the backyard of the Pink Lady. The house hasn’t changed at all since I was a kid, but the world around it is an enigma. I try not to let it get to me. People are people, no matter what. When I left for the Witchwoods in 1955, they were selfish and self-centered and greedy. When I came back, they were exactly the same.

The obsession with phones is a new one though. I can’t stand it. Even Kate is on hers far more often than seems reasonable. What could a rectangle of misinformation and desperate cries for attention have on it that’s better than the living, breathing world? Than a walk on the beach in the early morning hours with nobody around. Than sex on a hot summer night with the windows thrown wide. Than a fresh bowl of pasta with basil and melted mozzarella.

I put my elbow on the table as Kate climbs the scaffolding, insistent on doing the detail work herself. I like that about her. Good work ethic. Attention to detail. Drive and determination.

What I don’t like is her throwing herself into the Witchwoods without thinking. Dragging me and Tanner and Marlowe back into the hellscape we just barely survived.

For now, she’s avoiding me, and I’m returning the favor, but this stalemate won’t last.

I think about our chess match, the way she touched her hair and licked her lips, inviting me without even realizing she was doing it. I think of the gentle way she yielded to me on the rug in the hallway, spreading her pale thighs and welcoming me into her body.

I stand up because I can’t sit any longer, because when I look at her, all I want to do is fuck her. I can’t let myself give in, not until she understands the severity of the situation. I’m worried that she doesn’t, that she’s still thinking of ways to rescue those two people back at the cottage.

“You could start the conversation, you know,” Tanner tells me, a roller in his hand, white paint smeared across his right cheek. “If you wanted to end this stalemate, it wouldn’t be hard.”

I ignore him, my gaze catching on Marlowe as he watches the ghost pace back and forth inside one of the downstairs windows. Exorcising it would be best, but we’re still struggling to gather all of the necessary ingredients for the binding spell. We don’t have time to deal with some random ghost.

“Leave it,” I tell him, moving over to the wall and looking up. There are rollers and paintbrushes going by themselves, fueled by magic. I wanted to see if we could do it, cast spells with the items available in this world. We can. I have to make substitutions, use the knowledge that my mentor left for me.

She was a wise woman, from some ancient, forgotten culture that nobody remembers now. Even in my time, nobody had ever heard of her people or, if they had, they’d gone out of their way to erase their existence.

She taught me everything, and what she couldn’t teach me, I learned by memorizing her books. Long nights spent all alone in that cottage, reading page after page of her handwriting and doing my best not to remember her screams—or Sharyn’s. God, Sharyn, I’m so sorry. I was never worthy of being your big brother.

We won’t be able to keep this up for long, the spelled rollers and brushes, but it’s something we could do long-term once we’re not chasing spell ingredients for other shit. This is what I want, ultimately. A stable home, a family, kids.

A wife.

Kate was right when she called me out for treating her the way I did, but she was dead-wrong for jumping into that tree without consulting the rest of us. I can feel the anger on the back of my tongue, hot and bitter.

She doesn’t see me standing there at the bottom of the scaffolding, and I don’t bother to call out to her. Instead, I pick up a brush and get to work.

On the way home, we stop at the store for groceries. Going inside is like a shock to my system, like entering a science fiction world from one of my sister’s books. It’s fluorescent and loud, and I don’t understand why there’s so much processed food. The unmanned, computerized checkout nearly gives me a heart attack.

So, the customer is doing the work of an employee but for no discount whatsoever? I sign this to Tanner, but he just shrugs. Even Marlowe doesn’t understand why a person would want to scan their own groceries.

Kate is quick, but not quick enough.

Before we’ve even gotten to the truck, we’re swarmed by a small crowd. People brandish their little phone rectangles at us, pushing in for a closer look, shouting questions. I hear my name. Tanner’s. Marlowe’s. People ask Kate how she brought us back. Others shout about the woods and how it’s impossible to get close to the Witch’s Tree anymore.

Good.

That fear spell should keep them out, safe and secure in the real world where they belong.

Tanner, Marlowe, and I force a space bubble around Kate, fighting our way into the truck. I’m driving again today, and I’m not nice about it. When someone gets in front of me, I rev the truck and push against them until they move. Luckily, they all scramble out of the way so I don’t have to kill anybody.

“God, this is hell on earth,” Kate groans, putting her face in her hands. “Makes me feel sorry for Hawk Tuah Girl.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I understand the gist of her words.

We’re world-famous. I get it. Even with the changes wrought by the woods, it’s easy to compare a photograph of me or Tanner or Marlowe to our current selves. Only a fool would believe that the three of us just happen to have male relatives of a similar age who appeared in town all at once.

“We need to cast another foreboding spell,” Tanner mutters, staring out the window at the streets. There are so many cars now, so many people. I could let the shock of a changed world get to me, but I don’t. I won’t. I fucking refuse.

“Right. As soon as we’re done with the binding spell,” I say dryly, just like I did to Kate.

Nobody speaks on our way home, and we all retire to separate areas of the house.

It isn’t until close to midnight that Kate seeks me out, walking into the kitchen with a robe over her shoulders, arms crossed, feet bare. She’s biting her lip, and I sense that she’s seeking me out with a specific purpose in mind.

“Can we talk?” she asks as I lift up a glass of brandy and put it to my lips. I don’t respond, and she takes the seat across from me anyway. I like that about her, how stubborn she can be. In the end, she’ll accept that I’m the leader, but the challenge is interesting.

“Sure.” I take another sip of my drink, the back door thrown wide despite the mosquitos. I love the sound of the woods, the whisper of the wind in the trees. I even like the distant hum of traffic from a nearby road, a reminder that in these woods, we’re not alone.

I said I’d never go back to the Witchwoods and yet, I went back for you, Kate.

I toss back the remaining alcohol and pour some more. Kate watches me for a minute and then stands up to retrieve a glass pipe from one of the kitchen drawers. It still blows my mind that marijuana is legal now. Back in my time, just a simple possession charge was worth prison time. How the world has changed in my absence.

Kate moves over to the doorway, lighting up and inhaling before she blows cannabis-scented smoke into the yard.

“I know that what I did was reckless, that it was wrong in a way.” She pauses to glance back at me, the sleeve of her black robe sliding down a smooth, pale shoulder. My cock is excited by the sight, but my mind is hard. I’ve always been able to put logic first. It’s why I’m still alive.

If I can’t make Katelynn understand how close we came to losing everything, then I can’t sleep with her. If I’d died, we’d have been condemning the entire world. No full coven to close the gate against the Hag Wytch. Nobody around to write the damn spell in the first place.

This close to total disaster. Catastrophe. To joining my baby sister in the Hag’s gullet and suffering for eternity with no hope of escape.

Yeah, it was bad. I’m not overreacting. Under reacting maybe. If Marlowe or Tanner had done what Kate did, I … God. I almost laugh. My shadow does, shaking on the wall like it’s in the throes of a fit, antlers stretched out as it looms over Kate.

She turns around and leans her back against the doorjamb, watching me through gorgeous hazel eyes. They were pretty before, but after the ritual, they’re brilliant. What luck, that we’d find a North that was a woman. Not only that, but a beautiful North. A North in our age-range. A North with compassion and drive.

A North that’s almost too sweet. Cloying. What am I supposed to do with someone like this? Her hero’s heart is going to get us all eaten. See, I need to slaughter the Hag, not be swallowed up and fail my sister twice.

“Yeah?” I retort, but that’s it. Let’s hear Kate out. I want to know what she’s thinking, if she finally understands. Can’t kick her ass and beat the idea into her the way I would’ve done with the boys. Unfortunately, sweet as Kate is, she’s stubborn, too.

“I don’t want to put a but to my words, but there is one. You guys keep doing the same to me, making decisions without telling me beforehand. Like how Marlowe assaulted me and dragged me into the woods. He could’ve asked me. He could’ve explained. He didn’t because he needed to get out of there and, in a way, I understand that.”

Kate takes a deep breath and even though I can feel my anger boiling over, I let her keep talking. I can see her cleavage now, with the robe dipped down on either side. Pale and plump and delectable. I could put her on her knees, fuck those tits. Come on her face. And I want to. I bet she’d love it, too.

But I can’t.

I can’t .

I sip my drink again, gathering ironclad control around me like a shield. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what helped me survive that place and all those months alone. I spent nearly ten months in the Witchwoods without my mentor before Tanner came along. The despair, the isolation. The only way I survived it was by taking control.

“What are you trying to say?” I ask, my voice harsh, punitive. I finish off a second glass, more than I should have. I’m deep into this bottle now and seething.

“I did what I had to do, even if I wished I could’ve made another choice. That’s what I’m saying, Brooks, that I understand you. Tanner. Marlowe. Nothing in life is uncomplicated or simple. Nothing is easy. Everything is shades of gray, and this is mine.”

Kate takes another drag on her pipe, but I just sit there, unmoved by her words. My fingers drum on the table as I push back the righteous anger surging up in me. I sip my drink. I watch the play of the porch light on her beautiful orange hair. I breathe in and smell cannabis and liquor and the soft floral scent that permeates this entire house. Laundry detergent, maybe. Potpourri. I’m not sure.

“You were angry with us for doing what we did,” I begin, as carefully and as calmly as I can. I loved my father, but he was a hard-ass. His anger often undercut his wisdom, and I refuse to be that person. I’m pissed, but I’m doing my best not to let it unspool. “You lectured me just last week, and I listened to what you had to say. I was working to make the changes you asked for, and you did anything but lead by example.”

Kate’s lips purse, her pink pipe held up in one hand, like she was about to take a drag and chose not to. Smoke curls up from the end of it, drawing a crooked line of white through her face.

She’s not the sort of woman that would’ve garnered male attention in my time. Maybe she’s not even the type that would garner much male attention now, but that’s a shame and a disgrace. Her mind is sharp, and her heart is good. She has beautiful eyes, full lips, and soft, feminine curves. Kate is the kind of woman who’s often overlooked, but sorely underappreciated.

Frankly, I can’t think of a man I’ve ever met who would be disappointed to have her as a wife. That’s what she is to me. I understand that now. A wife. Kate was right: in those woods, we made our vows.

“What you did, it came with big consequences, Kate. We could’ve been killed. We could’ve been trapped. We could’ve had our souls eaten. If it came down to choosing between your friends and you, between your friends and Marlowe. Tanner. Guess what I’d have chosen? Being a leader is hard work. Actions have consequences, and sometimes there are no good choices. No right answers.” I set my drink down on the table a little harder than necessary, and I can see that both my words and my actions are only making her more obstinate, rather than less.

“It wasn’t a conscious choice for me to follow them; I just did it. I couldn’t leave them there. But now you’re saying that if I hadn’t done that, you’d have left them? All you’re telling me is that in the future, I should make the same choice all over again.” Kate turns away, black and orange hair spilling over her shoulder as she stares out at the trees and brings the pipe to her lips, inhaling and holding the smoke in before she releases it in a white curl against the ebony night.

“Who knows what I’d have done? You didn’t give me the choice. That’s what you told Marlowe, right? That there’s no way of knowing what decision you’d have made in his shoes because you weren’t given the opportunity. That’s where I’m at. I have no idea what I’d have done, and postulating on it now is pointless.” I can feel my heart racing, anger curling my fingers into a fist on the tabletop. She should be sorry , not combative.

There’s a tense static between us, the prickle of a challenge. I want to butt up against Kate, and I want to win. When we were playing chess, I liked the fight. Losing to her only made me want to fight harder. But now, tonight? I’m just annoyed.

“Postulating? God.” Kate snorts and takes another drag on her pipe, absently pulling a tennis ball from the pocket of her robe. She tosses it into the yard and her dog takes off like he’s caught the scent of a rabbit. When he brings it back, he places it in her palm and waits for her to throw it again.

“Three people were at risk. You made it seven. You didn’t ask or do a risk assessment. We didn’t talk about it or prepare. You made the decision for all of us. If you’d have asked, we could’ve come up with a plan.” A harsh laugh escapes me, grating, rough. I almost died when the Hag took me, almost left my coven alone in the place they needed me most. So yeah. I’m afraid. It’s healthy to have fear of something that can not only kill you, but trap your spirit. There is no rebirth or heaven with the Hag, just a dark and endless prison.

“I didn’t think you’d follow me,” she admits, like it’s a dirty secret she wasn’t planning on airing. It almost feels like a confession, maybe even a bid for attention. Part of me wants to answer it, to wrap her in my arms and promise something sweet. But I can’t do that either. “Tanner, maybe. But not Marlowe. Definitely not you.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

“You think we can barely let you be in the next room, but we wouldn’t follow you through an interdimensional gate? There is no life for us here without you, Kate.” What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think I can handle a broken coven. I want a whole coven. A family. I’m not sure if that’s how Kate takes it.

“Whatever that means,” she murmurs under her breath, and then she’s the one who’s sighing.

She looks right at me, and I know that she’s as lonely as we were. Even here in the big, wide world, with people all around her, Kate was lonely. Is still lonely. I’d say that I didn’t understand why she was fighting this so hard, but that’s not true. Getting a glimpse of something good and then losing it is one of the most devastating things there is. That is why I’m so afraid. So angry. I’ve gotten a glimpse, and I’m not letting go.

“I don’t respect authority, Brooks. Not for the simple sake of authority itself. If somebody wants to lead me, they have to earn it.”

I close my eyes and exhale, working my jaw and unflexing my hand. I press my palm into the tabletop, breathing in and out several times before I open my eyes. My entire body is tense with frustration, but I reign it in.

“If you defer to my authority, I’ll do my best to respect your wishes.” There. The words hurt coming out, but I did it. It’s an offer I wouldn’t bother to make to Tanner or Marlowe. It is an offer, however, that I’d make to my wife.

“If you prove through actions that you’re worthy of authority, then I’ll defer to it.” She sets her pipe down on the outdoor table, picks up the tennis ball from the deck, and hauls her arm back for a hard throw. The ball disappears into the dark woods behind the house, and Flick follows it with a single-minded focus that I can respect.

Sometimes, when you need to get something done, you develop tunnel vision. For years in the Witchwoods, I operated inside the confines of a narrow focus. Getting out was all that mattered, and then this woman … she dragged me back in like it was nothing.

I run a hand over my face, tired. Exhausted. I was never like Marlowe. I always knew that coming home wouldn’t be easy, but it should be getting easi er over time. Not harder. The Witchwoods are spilling out and tainting the life we’re supposed to be building together.

“If you don’t give me the opportunity to prove myself, then how can I do that, Kate?” I notice that her shoulders tense and then relax, like my use of her name in place of her title—North—was acknowledged and appreciated. “What do you think I was doing, anyway, following you into the Witchwoods? I went back to a place I would’ve given anything to escape. For you. Because of you.”

Kate turns back to look at me, and I see her pale throat move as she swallows. She tells the dog that they’re all finished, drops the tennis ball into a basket near the door, and moves over to the fridge. Kate stands there, one knee cocked, toes pressed into the floor. She holds the doors wide open and peers aside, limned with white light from the sci-fi-like appliance.

After several moments of silence, she selects a drink, pops the top, and turns around. Kate chugs it and then steps closer to me, putting the can on the table beside my bourbon. I’m leaned back in my chair, knees splayed, one elbow on the tabletop and head in my hand.

She reaches down to the tie of her robe, her eyes on mine. I stay where I am as she unties it, revealing a purple lace bra with a silver crescent moon in the center. Matching panties. My body responds like a forest fire, but my mind is cold. Maybe too cold. Maybe fucked up by the Witchwoods and everything I suffered there.

Kate drops the robe between my knees, letting it pool like black oil on the kitchen floor. She kneels down on it, putting her hands on either of my thighs. The intensity of my anger is not only met but entirely surpassed by lust.

Goddamn, but Kate really does it for me. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t had a woman in so long, if it’s a side effect of the ritual, or if it’s my possessive nature coming out in full force. She’s mine. She’s the only woman I’ll have from now on. We’ll be together until the day I die.

I put my hands over hers, and the urge is there to grab on, to hold her in place. That’s not what I do. I push her off, even as she grips harder, fingernails skimming across the denim of my jeans.

“No. I want an apology, not a blow job.”

Kate gapes up at me, and I realize belatedly that maybe a blow job would suffice for an apology.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she asks, bewildered. I’m so turned-on, so hard, so ready to fuck … it’s making me even angrier than I was before. I want to accept her offer, but I won’t. Being the leader isn’t easy. It’s hell sometimes. This is one of those moments. “I’m not allowed to turn you guys down for sex, but you can tell me to piss off? How is that fair? Yet again, ridiculous double standards.”

I grit my teeth and, when Kate tries to pull away, I put my hand on the top of her head.

“You know what?” I tell her, cocking a brow. “You’re right. You want to suck my dick so badly, have at it. Let’s get this over with.”

I lean back even further in the chair, keeping one hand on her head and using the other to undo my jeans.

Kate scowls at me.

“My interest is soured. My pussy is dry, and I don’t fucking want you anymore.” When Kate tries to pull away, I dig my fingers into her hair, and she makes this sound that’s either excitement or disbelief, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s both?

“Your pussy might be dry, but your mouth isn’t. Come on. This is what you wanted, and you’re right. I accept what you have to say, and I’m giving in.” I flick my button open, drag down my zipper. My cock is hot and hard, almost painful. Arguing with Kate, that does it for me, too. “Get it done, and stake your claim.”

She makes another sound, a curse caught up in a scoff, and then she grabs me around the base of my shaft with a tight, angry fist. With her lip curved up on one side in a scowl, Kate leans in and spits on me. Her saliva drips down the sides of my shaft as she jerks her fist in a messy, sloppy handjob that shouldn’t be so hot, but is anyway.

Kate’s trying to punish me, but it doesn’t matter. My muscles are tense, my sack is taut, my entire body wound up and ready for release. Our eyes stay locked the entire time, just like they did in the woods when I jerked myself off and came all over her tits. Just like when we were playing chess.

Yes, I want to win this struggle for dominance, but I love that she isn’t making it easy. When Tanner and Marlowe fight me, it’s just annoying. When Kate does it, it’s hot.

“I’m not sorry,” Kate murmurs, yanking my dick like she’s taking all her anger out on it. Doesn’t matter. It feels so fucking good, and I love it. Nice and slick from her saliva, from my pre-ejac. Hard. Almost painful. And that stare? Most things about the modern world, I’m not a fan of. But the women? Fuck. “I’m not going to apologize to you because I’d do it all over again. If I had to make the same decision tomorrow, it’d be Sunday on repeat.”

She drops her lips over the tip of my cock before I can respond, and a groan escapes instead of the reprimand I should be issuing. My fingers tighten in her hair, pushing her down, making her take as much of me as she’s physically able. The sounds that she makes, the way she swallows repeatedly, the drip of saliva on my balls, soaking my jeans.

My hips buck up off the chair, and her fingernails dig into my thighs. Witch nails, long and pointy. Blood stains the denim, but I love that, too. Bodily fluids and blurred boundaries, that’s all part and parcel of being in a coven.

I let my head fall back, moaning shamelessly, not giving a shit that the back door is open. Can the neighbors hear? I hope so. I want the whole world to know how good I’ve got it in this kitchen, how sultry and sweet my wife’s mouth is. Kate wants to be mad at me, but she loves sucking my dick.

I’m filled with a sudden urge to pick her up and toss her onto this table, to drop to my own knees between her thighs and clean all that slick arousal from her pussy with my tongue. She tasted so. damn. good. I want more. I want to consume her until she doesn’t look at me like the extra man in the coven, the one that just doesn’t make sense.

I grab a handful of her hair, dick twitching against her tongue, seed spilling down her throat. She does that fast-swallow move again, drinking me down like she’s hungry for it, and it’s physically painful for me not to return the favor.

With a pop, Kate slips her mouth off my cock, swiping her arm over her lips and breathing hard. I let her go, silky strands of black and orange hair whispering across my fingertips.

She shoves up to her feet quickly, using the table and not my legs to brace herself. Just before she turns away, I swear that I see tears glistening in her eyes. Oh, fuck no. I launch myself out of the chair and grab her face, forcing her to turn back to look at me.

She really is crying.

“Leave me alone, South ,” she snaps at me, trying and failing to push my hand off. I step around her, caging her legs between mine, bracketing her face between my palms. Kate avoids eye contact with me, and for some reason, that’s the worst part of it all.

“Why are you crying?” I demand, because I need to know. I don’t understand. Weren’t we just going at it, tit for tat? How can I let my wife suck me off and then run away in tears? No. Absolutely not. Unacceptable.

“It doesn’t matter. Just leave me alone. You got what you wanted, right?” She tries yet again to free herself from me, but I refuse to let her go. I take a few steps, turning us so that she’s trapped between me and the counter.

“No. I gave you what you wanted. I went into the Witchwoods. I let you suck me off when what I really want is to hear you say that you understand.” I use my thumbs to tilt her face up, and I can’t believe what the sight of her tears does to me. I want to hug her, hold her, show her what it’d be like if she just let me take charge of everything. “We’re a coven, Kate. We’re going to make a family out of that coven. You’re not alone anymore, and with that comes both the good and the bad. You can’t make decisions by yourself any longer.”

“Please,” she whispers, so softly, so urgently, that I ache in ways I’ve never ached before. “Let me go.”

“Never,” I reply easily, but I release her for the time being, step back, and watch her flee the kitchen like it’s on fire.

“Want me to go over everything you just did wrong?” Tanner asks, appearing in the back door and picking up Kate’s discarded pipe. I’m not sure that Kate knew he was out there, but I did. Probably why the dog was so interested in playing fetch. “Or maybe you already know, and it’d be a moot point?”

“I’m not interested in dealing with you right now,” I tell him with a scowl, gaze fixed on the entrance to the living room. When Kate disappeared up the stairs, Marlowe followed after her. He’s going in for the kill, and so is Tanner.

I seem to be the only one standing on the sidelines, and I don’t like it.

“No, you wouldn’t be because I tell you like it is, don’t I?” Tanner chuckles and settles into one of the outdoor chairs, smoking weed like he was born in this era instead of one that neither of us got to see. “Kate knows that she made a mistake, but ramming it down her throat isn’t going to make her love you.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll keep her alive.” I leave Tanner where he is, that smug fucker, and I head upstairs to find Marlowe in bed with Kate. They’re not having sex, just lying back-to-back like they’ve known each other forever.

It’s my night in the bed.

I wet my lips, debating my choices.

When I step close and flick back the curtain, moonlight spills across Kate’s face. Her lips are parted, breath slow and easy in sleep, but her pillow is wet with tears.

I work my jaw, flex my hands, blow out a small exhale.

I think about the expression on her face when I woke up on the couch inside the cottage, how relieved she was, how worried, how happy she was that I was okay.

Kneeling down in a puddle of moonlight, I throw a strange shadow on the wall, one that shouldn’t rightfully exist. The lighting isn’t right. The angle is all wrong. Still, the dark version of me with antlers bends down and kisses the curled form of the woman with horns. I press my lips to her forehead, gentler than I ever would’ve been had she been awake.

I’m going to make you want to belong to me, Kate.

When I sit back on my haunches, I see that Marlowe is sitting up and watching me.

We stare at each other, but he doesn’t say a word, not even when I scoot Kate into the middle of the bed and climb in beside her. I’m still angry, but that’s neither here nor there. She’s asleep, and I hate that I made her cry.

Katelynn didn’t cry once, not throughout this whole thing. Not when Marlowe violated her. Not when we manipulated her and lied to her. Not when she was confused or hurt or upset.

Only tonight, and I can’t figure out why that is.

Tanner comes up shortly after and, after several long moments of staring at the three of us, he makes room for himself on the opposite side of the bed from me. Marlowe growls at him, but doesn’t move and, for the first time ever, our coven sleeps whole and sound beneath the same covers.