Chapter 15

Kate

There are three men in my bed when I wake up. A dog sprawled across my feet. A cat on my pillow. And a crow with six eyes peering down at me from its perch on the headboard.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to get up without waking the menagerie, but I have to pee. I turn my head slightly to see who it is that’s lying on my right. I’m surprised to find Brooks’ wide back, naked and muscular and inked and scarred.

Shit. I look back up at the ceiling, past Ebon who’s tilting her head back and forth at me like she’s trying to figure me out. I’d love it if she could, figure me out, that is. Then she could get back to me and tell me all of the things about myself that even I don’t understand.

What happened last night between me and Brooks? A power struggle, probably. I don’t know why I cried. It’s not like anything that happened between us was a big deal. Brooks was right. Is right. I should’ve told the men that I was going after my friends, but I was afraid that they were going to say no.

What would I have done then?

I throw an arm over my eyes, blocking out the light and simultaneously stroking Stix’s fur. She bites me, but not too hard. Guess she’s in a good mood today.

If I’d told the guys that I wanted to save my friends, and they refused to let me do that … I wouldn’t have been able to get over it. Our dynamic would’ve changed completely, irreparably. My friends are my only family. With Gram dead, with Mom dead, with my dad being a fucking asshole who married my classmate … with two siblings who are strangers …

Losing them would’ve been akin to losing my whole heart.

You should’ve told the men you wanted to save your friends—and then you should’ve told them why. If I had, I could’ve given them the chance to prove themselves. Brooks is right about that, too, that I never gave them the opportunity to show me who they really are.

Love doesn’t grow without vulnerability. I know that. But what happens if I take that leap and there’s no parachute to catch me on the way down? The impact would kill me, instantly. I know that, too.

With a sigh, I drop my arm—and come away with a few scratches from Stix—then wiggle my way out from between Brooks and Marlowe. Flick is up now, ears perked and lips pulled back in a doggy grin. I put my finger to my mouth as Ebon reaches out and takes a small hank of my hair in her beak before letting it slide free again. I lift a hand up and she lets me stroke her shiny black breast with my fingers.

I’m smiling as I crawl out of the warm nest of blankets. Despite my argument with Brooks last night, this is … really nice. Although, I think we might need to get another bed or something, push two kings together. Brooks and Tanner are spilling over the edges of the mattress, and Marlowe and I were squashed together like sardines.

Why are they all in my bed? I wonder as my feet hit the floor and, thankfully, Flick decides to follow me. I was starting to think he only loved his new dad.

I stop walking in the hallway, caught halfway between the bedroom and the bathroom.

His new … dad? Eww. Did I just have that thought organically? With a shudder, I force myself to keep walking until I hit the bathroom. It’s nice to be able to pee without a man or two or three standing outside the partially cracked door.

“ You think we can barely let you be in the next room, but we wouldn’t follow you through an interdimensional gate?”

I’m just standing up from the toilet, wishing I’d changed out of my stupid purple lace panties, when the door swings open. Flick bares his teeth at Brooks, which is sort of comforting. The imposing witch man leans his shoulder against the door, muscular arms crossed, expression piercing.

I can’t stand to look back at him. I don’t know why. Holding his gaze was surprisingly easy before, even while he was jerking off and coming all over me in the middle of the woods. Now? Here in this sunlit bathroom at too early an hour …

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you getting up?” he asks, and his voice is low and deep and smooth. Really, he has a very nice voice, bass-like and commanding. Who wouldn’t want to defer to that authority. I almost gag.

“Did you really think I cared if you did?” I retort, washing my hands. My back and shoulders are sore from sleeping in this stupid bra. I can’t believe I didn’t change clothes last night, but my body just felt so heavy, dejected and exhausted. Marlowe was pretty great though, especially in that he didn’t say anything, just curled up beside me and watched me until I fell asleep.

“Why were you crying last night, Kate?” Brooks asks, and there’s no change in his tone. He’s just as domineering, as even and steady, as he was when he was dressing me down last night.

I sweep my hair into a loose ponytail, slip a headband on, and start washing my face. Brooks doesn’t leave. He just stands there, observing me in such a way that my skin prickles and my heart beats wildly. I’m wearing the lingerie I put on for him, the lingerie that he rejected me in. I really, really wish I wasn’t wearing it. We’re not at this level yet, me and Brooks. This level where I can wear lace underwear and a low-cut bra in front of him like it’s nothing.

It is most definitely something.

He’s still there when I finish, patting my face dry with one of Gram’s floral washcloths. She called them warshcloths. I’m not sure where the extra R came from, but I miss hearing her say it anyway. I have videos on my phone, but I’m not ready to watch them just yet.

I pick up my toothbrush under that scrutinizing stare.

“Why did you cry, Katelynn?” Brooks repeats, but I don’t know if I have an answer to his question. It’s quite possible that I don’t.

Because I’m pretty sure you don’t like me, Brooks. No, I’m certain that he doesn’t. I went to him in lingerie, got on my knees, and … shit. I don’t know. I’ve never had a relationship quite like the ones I’m forming with these men. The intensity is something startling, exciting, and terrifying. If I’d still been dating Nathan when I met these guys, I would’ve known immediately that he wasn’t the right person for me.

I never cared half as much about his opinion as I do theirs.

God. It’s true, isn’t it? I care what they think. I care that Brooks is upset with me.

Marlowe appears behind Brooks, scowling when he sees that his entry into the bathroom is blocked.

“Dude, move,” Marlowe hisses out, but Brooks just tosses a casual look over his shoulder.

“No.”

“Seriously?” Marlowe sounds almost hysterical, but I realize now that this is a common reaction from him. He’s a bit of a drama llama. Lo grabs his junk and scowls. “I’m going to piss my fucking pants.”

With a sigh, Brooks scoots to one side, holding out his hand like allowing Marlowe into the bathroom is an act of magnanimity. As Marlowe moves past me to the toilet, I turn and try to flee the room.

Brooks is blocking the doorway again.

“Um, I’m sure Marlowe would like some privacy.” I glance back at him, gesturing absently at … wow. Lo has just shoved his sweatpants down his hips, baring his gorgeous ass and taking his cock into his hand. He groans as he lets his head fall back, eyes closed.

I look away very quickly at the sound of liquid hitting the water in the toilet.

Brooks is still blocking me.

“Morning, cov,” Tanner says, padding down the hallway looking sleepy and satisfied. He pats Brooks on the shoulder, and this time, Brooks lets him in without complaint. Doesn’t let me out though.

I’m trapped in the bathroom as Marlowe tucks his junk back into his pants, as Tanner starts the shower, as Brooks continues to bar the door with his massive body.

“Why were you crying, Kate?” he asks, voice low enough that I’m probably the only one who can hear it. Flick is attacking the spray from the shower, spattering the backs of my legs with warm water. This is an old house, and both the plumbing and the water heater could really use some work. No way that water got so hot so quick all on its own.

I look away from Brooks only to catch Marlowe using my toothbrush.

“What the hell?” I demand, briefly distracted from Brooks. “I have some spare toothbrushes in one of those drawers.” I gesture at the opposite side of the counter. I can’t get over there, not with two beefy witch men blocking the narrow space.

Tanner, well, he’s buck-fucking-naked. I can feel my heart rate rising rapidly. If it wasn’t for the presence of the dog, this entire room might devolve into unspeakable filth.

“What? You’ll let me spit cum in your mouth, but I can’t use your toothbrush? I thought we were getting somewhere, Kate.” Marlowe proceeds to brush his teeth as I stand there gaping at him.

“I …” Words fail me. Then I look back to find Tanner soaping his naked body—including his dick and balls—with my expensive goat milk soap. Time to leave this room.

I spin to face Brooks, and I can see from his hard-nosed expression that he’s like a troll with a bridge toll. I’m not leaving here until I offer an answer.

My phone pings from its place on the counter, and I pick it up, relieved for the distraction. Not that old-fashioned Brooks McDowell sees a phone notification as a worthy distraction. I see a message from Georgia but Brooks snatches the phone from my hand before I have the chance to read it.

He dangles it above my head, waiting for an answer that I don’t know how to give.

I care too much what you think. I never care what people think. So, why you? Why, when you’re suck a dick. Shit. Why not be honest with both myself and with him? I might as well.

“Because you don’t like me, Brooks. That’s why.” I lift up on my tiptoes and snatch the phone from him. Only, I think, because he’s so surprised. That’s probably why he lets me slip under his arm and dart down the hallway, because he didn’t expect those words to come out of my mouth and neither did I.

On my way downstairs, for whatever reason, I grab my witch hat from the hook in the foyer and toss it on. The men have gotten me in the habit. I want a sentient hat, too, damn it.

My retreat is temporary—I can hear Brooks following me into the kitchen—but I ignore him, putting a pot of coffee on and cracking some cans of food for Flick and Stix. When Ebon flies into the room and lands on my shoulder, I’m pleasantly surprised and far more flattered than I should be.

Since I have no idea what crows like—and since I can feel Brooks staring at the back of my head—I immerse myself in Google. What is a crow’s favorite food? The answers vary, from fruit to mealworms to walnuts. I don’t happen to have any mealworms in the cabinets, but I do have hazelnuts. I offer her some, fully aware that she’s a Witchwoods crow with too many eyes. Maybe she only eats the hearts of virgins or something?

But no, Ebon takes the hazelnuts from my hand with a happy little trill that makes me smile in spite of everything. This is why I like animals. They live in the moment, thrive in the present.

The coffee maker beeps, and I pour myself a cup, the crow hitching a ride on my shoulder. She stays there as I add some half-and-half, my spoon clanking against the porcelain.

“Want any coffee?” I ask casually, and then my entire body breaks out in a hot shiver as Brooks puts his hands on the counter on either side of me, bracketing me in place. Ebon caws in annoyance, and makes a move like she might be pecking at his face.

“In the beginning, no. I didn’t like you. Things are different now, Kate.”

“You guys made vows to me, I get it. Whether you like it or not, you’re in for the long-haul. Same here. I’m in. I’m showing up, Brooks. I’m present.” I take a sip of my coffee, even though it’s a little hot. I want to go outside and have a minute to myself, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen.

“Whether you like it or not?” he asks dryly, and I shrug. The crow jostles around but doesn’t move. Seems like she’s taken a shine to me. Good. Tanner stole my dog, and I’ll steal his bird. Brooks works his jaw and steps back, leaving me feeling weirdly cold.

I have a hot cup of coffee between my hands. A magic crow on my shoulder. Magic. I shouldn’t feel this … off. Especially not over some ridiculous argument with a man I don’t even like.

“Yes. Whether I like it or not.” Whether you like me or not. Vows. We made vows. Vows that involved the men chasing me through the woods and having their way with me. Don’t think about that, Kate. Just don’t go there.

I take a sip of my coffee, shifting my gaze to the window leading out to the backyard.

There’s a glowing banana slug that’s the size of a car. It’s making its way through the grass, eye stalks swiveling lazily. Wonderful.

“Yeah, I’ll take a cup of coffee. Black.” Brooks kicks out a chair from the table and takes a seat in it. He’s annoyed with me, but that’s fine. I’m annoyed with him too. A simple I like you, Kate would make me feel leagues better.

Tanner appears in the doorway without a shirt on, tousling his black and gold hair with a towel. He makes his way into the kitchen, taking note of the bird on my shoulder. His fancy brow goes up, and he flicks his tongue against the scar at the edge of his mouth.

“Huh.” That’s what he says, moving over to the cabinet to grab his own mug. He fills it with coffee and then tosses it onto the table in front of Brooks before I get the chance. Our self-proclaimed leader bristles, and Tanner grins. “Milk and sugar for me, kitten.”

I smile to myself as I snag another mug and make coffee for a man that’s actually nice to me. I wasn’t sure at first, but Tanner is putting in the effort to get to know me. I … I’m starting to like him back.

And Marlowe …

He enters the room like a thundercloud, using my brush on his oil-slick black hair.

“Coffee?” I ask him casually, as if we didn’t enter the Witchwoods and nearly die just a handful of days ago. I don’t even react to the glowing mushrooms that have sprouted from the top of my refrigerator. I’m comfortable with the idea of magic now. Would even be excited by it if the Hag wasn’t actively hunting us.

“Can you do an iced latte? That’s what I want. Miriam, Dennis, and I used to go through a coffee drive-through everyday before class.” Marlowe slumps into a chair, tossing the brush onto the surface of the table. Brooks stares at it in such a way that I figure he’s one of those people who’s grossed out by the idea of a hairbrush in a kitchen.

Doesn’t bother me.

I hand Tanner his coffee and then I pick up the brush, offering Ebon a little stroke down her feathers before I put it to my own hair. Brooks ignores me, sipping his coffee and staring at the wall instead of any of us.

“I can do an iced coffee with milk?” I offer, and Lo slants me this look that I have no idea how to unpack. He likes me better for what I did, not less the way Brooks does. He might be talking about Miriam and Dennis, but only like they’re an important part of his past.

“Thanks, Kate,” he says, which might be the nicest, most reasonable thing he’s ever said to me. I blush, over something that stupid. Thanks, Kate. He clears his throat, fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop. “I’d like to accept the Waverley’s dinner offer.” Marlowe scoffs when he says that, like he isn’t as honored by his friends’ adoption of his last name as you might think.

If Miriam and Dennis hadn’t abandoned him in the Witchwoods, he probably would’ve loved it.

“Why?” Brooks is the one that asks. The idea of going over there for dinner makes me uncomfortable, but I understand. I think … that Marlowe might want to show off. Correction: that he might want to show me off. Me.

“Does it fucking matter?” Marlowe shoots back, and I find that I’m just glad that I am not the one under Brooks’ microscope for once. “Twenty-five percent of the time, we’ll do what I want to do. You can make the decisions for your twenty-five percent.”

“I’ll make the decisions for one-hundred percent of our time, but I’ll also take your wishes into account.”

I almost drop the ice cubes when he says that, a clear throwback to last night. The conversation might have moved on, but Brooks and I are still mired in it.

“We need a corpse for this binding spell, don’t we?” Tanner asks casually, snapping the tension before Marlowe has a chance to react to Brooks’ overpowering personality. How these three men managed to live in that cottage together without killing one another is a mystery I’m not sure that I’ll ever understand.

“A corpse?” I echo, dropping the ice cubes into a glass. I have a bottle of cold brew coffee in the fridge that I’m going to use for Marlowe’s drink. “Where the hell are we supposed to get a corpse?”

It’s Brooks’ dry, derisive laugh that follows my question.

“Kate, that’s an easy question. We can just kill somebody.”

I turn with Lo’s drink in my hand, a frown on my face. I’m certain that when Tanner said he could kill a person without touching them, I believe him. I’m also certain that Brooks is serious with his suggestion for procuring a corpse.

“As long as it’s somebody who has it coming, like a pedophile or something.” I put Marlowe’s drink down beside his elbow, and I even drop a glass straw into it. He looks sideways at me like I’m a figment of his imagination. In a good way, I hope?

“Seriously?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he’s talking about the drink and the straw or about murder. “No offense, Kate, but you seem like the …”

Marlowe trails off, unable or unwilling to finish that thought, so Tanner steps in for him.

“Like what? A goody two-shoes? That what you were gonna say?” Tanner sips his coffee, his silver-blue eyes burning as he takes me in like I’m wearing the purple lingerie from last night instead of—

Oh.

Wait.

I am still wearing the purple lingerie from last night. I’m standing in my kitchen in lacy underwear and a push-up bra with a crescent moon on it, and all of a sudden, the looks the men are giving me make a whole lot more sense.

“I guess,” is Marlowe’s reply, almost sullen, a little sulky. He sips his coffee, studying me through narrowed eyes. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget that first sighting of him in the Witchwoods, wearing a metal mask and looking down at me like I was both salvation and sin. “Yeah, actually. She risked her life for her friends, and based on the expression she was wearing when we fled the woods, I feel like she wants to go back for those cops.”

“Absolutely not.” Brooks’ voice is hard, sharp. I have the urge to throw my coffee in his face, but I don’t want to upset Ebon. She’s resting peacefully on my shoulder, making small trilling noises and cleaning her feathers with her beak. For a Witchwoods animal, she seems quite peaceable. I wonder how Tanner came to find her? What I should do is ask him, get to know him outside of magic and bloodletting and hard smut. You promised that you’d have a hard conversation with this man. Make it happen, Kate. “We’re never going into the Witchwoods again. Never. ”

“Never say never,” I quip back, but Tanner starts talking before Brooks can blow a gasket.

“Kate isn’t a goody two-shoes at all. You think your average person would’ve behaved the way she did after Marlowe tricked her into the woods? That the average person would perform a ritual like that, would fuck like that?” I’m blushing now, but I think he means all this as a compliment. “Kate’s a loyal person, a compassionate person. Goody two-shoes? Man, I don’t know if you can apply that term to a woman who lets you spit cum into her m—”

“Enough,” I say loudly, brightly. Way too cheerful. I force a smile and keep my mug held near my lips, like a shield against the shameless flush taking over my cheeks. I’m not embarrassed anymore. I’m turned-on, and wearing lingerie, and Marlowe has just reached over to run a single knuckle down the smooth, pale expanse of my thigh. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, we need a corpse,” Tanner continues, as if I didn’t interrupt his lurid (but also heartwarming) speech. “But we don’t have to kill anybody.” He traces his finger around the rim of his mug, the dark ink on his skin moving and shifting as if in response to something unsaid. Tanner lifts his eyes up to mine, and my breath catches. “For this particular spell, we need the corpse of a person who’s killed at least three other people. I know just the guy, and he’s already dead.”

“Who?” I ask, surprised by both the oddity of the spell ingredient and his proclamation.

Tanner grins at me, all white teeth and sass. He’s feisty, and I can just imagine how slippery he was back in his time. A fucking heartbreaker is what he is, and even if he claims that he’s changed, that he’s committed to me, I won’t know for sure until we’ve spent more time together.

He lifts two fingers up and makes a clucking sound that has Ebon spreading her wings and taking off from my shoulder to his hand. Now he’s got Flick at his feet and a magic crow chirping happily at him.

“My dear ol’ dad,” he says, and then he laughs as Ebon caws like she’s in on the joke, and the entire room is filled with abnormal shadows. They stretch up the walls and over the cabinets, darkening the previously sunny space.

Sinfully sinuous double tails for Tanner. Bat wings for Marlowe. Antlers for Brooks. Horns for me.

East. West. South. North.

Tanner laughs again, and his crow joins in, and a prickle of cold curls and twists down my spine, giving frostbite to my trepidation. I should be nervous or wary, but I’m not. Not anymore.

“First though,” Tanner says, lifting the crow to his face and letting her offer a gentle peck to the corner of his mouth, like a chaste kiss. “We should use a spell to double the size of that bed.”

“Triple it,” Brooks murmurs, just before taking a mouthful of coffee. He doesn’t look at me which I’m thankful for. His shadow, on the other hand … it turns toward me, and I pretend not to notice.

“Oh? So if a spell is convenient for you, we can make time for it?” I huff, but Brooks ignores me. Not his shadow though. It runs its clawed fingers through my hair, and I shiver. “What happened to sure, after the binding spell and the foreboding spell and blah blah blah. ”

Brooks ignores me. Tanner watches me like a hunter, like he’s stalking prey. I know that he’s been watching me since we got back. Even if I can’t see him, I can always feel him. Something about watching me go through the Witch’s Tree has amped up his possessive urges. He’s in full-blown stalker mode right now, and I … don’t hate it.

Marlowe slumps lazily in his seat, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. He’s finished off his entire drink, crunching an ice cube between his teeth.

It’s peaceful in that kitchen, even under the watchful eyes of three shadows. Something is in the oven, and it smells amazing. Pumpkin, maybe? Bread? Pie? July is a little early for spicy treats like whatever is behind the oven glass, but you won’t hear me complaining.

I will accept a loaf of alpha-hole pumpkin bread any day.

A tongue licks my cheek, and I reach over absently to swat it away.

“Stop it, Flick,” I grumble, assuming the worst.

Then I spot my dog sitting in the doorway that leads to the foyer, facing away from me.

Um.

My eyes shift to the left, and there it is: a tongue.

“Somebody explain this shit to me before I lose it,” I whisper huskily and Tanner’s chair skids aggressively across the floor. He’s on my left side before Lo can react, wrapping his fist around a long tongue that seems to be coming from my hat.

Pain shoots through my own tongue, and I gasp, trying to jerk away. Tanner clamps down tighter, and I curse. He releases me suddenly, like he’s figured it out before I have.

“Oh, shit. Kitten. Your hat.” He puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes, like he finds something funny. “Aw, hell.” I hear him mumble that behind his palm. “It’s gone sentient.”

“Finally,” Brooks snorts, folding his arms and shaking his head. “And look at that. It’s got a smart mouth, just like you.”

I grit my teeth as I yank the hat off, trying not to notice Marlowe’s wide-eyed stare. He’s looking at the hat and not at me. Great.

I turn the hat around in my hands, cursing and nearly dropping it when something stabs my hand. The hat falls to the table, knocking dishes and spilling some coffee. I lean in and squint at it. Are those …?

“Yep.” I sit up suddenly and purse my lips. “My hat’s grown teeth. All around the brim. Look.” I point as a new one merges, making a squelching sound, like the violent enamel tip is squeezing its way out of a fleshy pocket. It happens several more times, and then the entire hat brim is surrounded, like a hat with tassels only … with sharp teeth. I have a hat with two dozen fangs.

The seam near the cone splits, and a mouth opens, tongue flicking out and stealing a piece of sourdough toast. I sit there with owl eyes—not a great metaphor—staring at the hat and trying to understand how it’s fair that Brooks gets eyes, and Tanner gets cute ears, and Marlowe gets spell supplies … and I get a hat with a tongue and teeth.

“You did promise me that you had teeth,” Tanner muses, and I roll my eyes, slumping back in my seat.

Can’t hide the smile twitching my lips.

Okay, so, it’s not what I was expecting but that’s okay.

I have a sentient hat. It has teeth, so it can probably bite. Also, I can taste that sourdough toast.

This is going to be fun.

My gaze catches on the silver of the toaster and the Hag Wytch’s face, leering at us. With a sigh, I pick up my hat and toss it over the toaster. It ends up falling off the counter, and Marlowe picks it up for me.

There’s no more toaster.

I can taste the toaster.

“Right. Can we add buy new toaster to our list?” I ask, settling the hat back on my head and hoping I can figure out how to get it to behave before it eats me out of house and home the way these men are doing.

“Yes,” Brooks says dryly. “Right after the bed spell and the gate binding.”

Ugh. I could kill him.

My attention shifts to Marlowe, his scowl directed at Brooks instead of me.

And then … there’s Tanner.

I look up at him, and he smiles beautifully at me, with teeth and good looks and absolutely zero sincerity.

Alright. Fine. I’ve got this.

If you can break one asshole witch stalker, you can break a€?em all.