4. Jace

"Did you smell that?" I asked as soon as the door slammed behind Kirsten. "Tell me I'm not crazy."

Waylan sat in the chair opposite me. "I did," he admitted with a nod. "It's faint, but it's there. She's definitely a witch. I noticed it as soon as I met her at the cabin."

"There's something else," I said. "Her scent reminds me of the witch who cursed me. I'd bet my left nut she's descended from that same woman."

"Is that why you asked about her great-grandma?" Waylan asked.

"Partly, yeah." I frowned. "What did you smell? When you were around her, I mean."

Waylan raised an eyebrow and grinned. "You first."

"Coffee. Like the richest, most intense coffee you can imagine, with a slight sweet hint of cream."

"Interesting," Waylan said. "Your favorite thing in the whole world. Kinda weird, right?"

Since the first time I'd tried it in my youth, I'd been a coffee fiend. It was one of my few vices. I had a French press, a moka pot, a high-end drip coffee maker, and an espresso machine. I had a bit of a problem.

It was strange that the descendent of the witch who'd cursed me smelled like the thing I loved most of all. Though, there was still that word my inner wolf had been so adamant about.

Mate.

"I got a sort of a smoky sweet scent from her," Waylan said. "Why'd we never notice it when she was a kid? She and her grandma lived here off and on for years. They must have cloaked their magic if we didn't pick up on them being witches back then. Nothing else makes sense. That would also explain why they didn't come into town much. Even when witches cloak themselves, you can sort of sense something is off, like danger is near. If that's what they did, then it's not really a surprise none of us noticed."

Maybe I would haveif I'd ever bothered to go check them out, I thought. I'd been so dead set against going near that cabin, I'd never bothered going there whenever they were around. That might have been the worst mistake I'd ever made. Her grandmother could have possessed the skill to remove the curse.

"Why were you so pissy with her, bro?" Waylan asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked, averting my eyes.

Waylan's eyes widened, and he gestured toward the door. "You were drilling her. I know you, I knew you wouldn't hurt her, and even I got a little nervous there."

Gritting my teeth, I sensed the bitter disappointment pouring over me like cold water. A witch. The entire reason I was in this position to begin with. A witch had cursed me. Forced me to spend a century unable to find a mate or even form a bond with another woman. A witch had prevented me from ever siring an heir. And now, a witch had come walking back into town, easy as you please, but she was also, possibly, my mate.

All I could think was this was one last big middle finger from Kirsten's great-grandmother from beyond the grave. I could never be with a witch. Especially not one descended from the woman who had ruined my life.

Finally, I said, "I had to make sure she was telling the truth. I figured if I was"—I frowned and rolled my eyes—"more intense, she'd have a harder time keeping any secrets hidden."

Waylan barked a laugh. "Well, you sure as fuck did a good job. That chick probably thinks you're the biggest asshole on earth. On the bright side, I'm pretty positive she has no clue what she is."

"True," I said. "Other than the faint scent of magic, I didn't notice any other energy within her."

It was similar to the way shifters were. Thanks to the magic within us, we exuded an aura of power. Witches were the same, though their aura was a bit more subdued. Could the woman truly have no idea she was a witch? Would her parents and grandparents have kept that a secret from her and somehow suppressed her powers? It was all looking like a huge clusterfuck.

"Could we try and broach the subject with her?" Waylan suggested. "Maybe if we explain everything that happened, she'll help with the curse?"

I couldn't stop the derisive laugh that erupted from my lips. "You were here. You saw her, sensed her. I don't think it's as simple as her magic being cloaked or suppressed, at least not totally. Her magic is so faint, I don't think she's ever even practiced it. Hell, I accused her of being one of them, and the first thing she thought I meant was a human. No one, and I mean no one, is that good an actor. No, she has no idea what she is and has never used whatever power she has deep down."

"That makes no sense," Waylan said, rubbing his face in frustration. "It would be like if I had a kid and didn't tell him he was a shifter. Why the hell would her grandmother or mother not tell her what she was?"

"Good question. We need to figure out what's going on here."

"Want me to call the rest of the council?"

"No," I said, a little harsher than intended. "Keep it quiet for now. I don't want to drag them into this until we figure some stuff out."

"Easier said than done. What happens when she heads into town to shop for milk and eggs and shit? Like you said, her magic is faint, but it's freaking there. People are gonna notice it. That secret won't stay a secret for long."

"Shit," I muttered. Waylan was right, but it was too late to worry about that now. "Grab your computer," I said. "Let's see what we can dig up on her. That way, we won't be going in blind."

Waylan got his backpack and set his laptop up on my coffee table. Within ten minutes, we were digging into everything we could find on Kirsten Holly.

"Looks like she's a teacher," Waylan said, pointing at her work history on an employment-related social media site.

"College?"

"Looks like elementary school," Waylan replied.

A few more clicks, and we'd found a couple other social media profiles.

"Whoo," Waylan said with a chuckle. "She's got hot friends." He was pointing at a picture of Kirsten with a pretty redhead.

I ignored the friend and scanned the page, taking control of Waylan's mouse despite his objections. After scrolling down, I discovered that she'd shared a funeral home notice for the passing of her grandmother, Lola Holly. So, she hadn't been lying about her grandmother's death. I scanned the few paragraphs, trying to find some hint of how Lola passed. At the bottom of the notice was a message asking that in lieu of flowers, mourners donate to their nearest cancer research center.

Like shifters, witches had extended life spans, but we were not immune to accident and disease. Cancer was something that could put us six feet under, and it appeared that was what had taken out her grandmother.

That gave me an idea. I pulled up Kirsten's photo gallery and scrolled down as far as I could.

"What are you doing?" Waylan asked.

"Give me a second. I want to check something."

At the bottom, I found the oldest of Kirsten's pictures—a group of girls in what looked like a high school hallway. A younger Kirsten was in the middle, holding the camera out at arm's length to take the selfie. The comment below read: Last day of senior year. Two of the five girls wore shirts with their class year printed in bold red letters. It was only fourteen years ago. I pointed at the dates on the shirts, and Waylan nodded.

"She's aging normally?" he ventured.

"Yeah," I said. "As a witch, she should have looked like she was sixteen for like ten or twenty years. That's the age when their magic is supposed to manifest, right?"

"Supposedly. Sort of like when we shift for the first time."

"This means her magic has never manifested." Fascinating. What could have stopped that from happening?

Waylan took the mouse again and checked her other pictures on the rest of the site. Sure enough, it appeared as though Kirsten was aging like a human. Every second, things were getting weirder and weirder.

"Can you find anything out about her mother?" I asked. "We know everything about the grandmother, but so far nothing about the mom."

Waylan rubbed a hand through his stubble, thinking. "I think I can find birth records, especially since I have the first and last name. Let me work on it a bit."

My anxiety had me wired, and that damn coffee scent was still in my nose even though Kirsten had been gone for almost an hour. Leaving Waylan to it, I went to the kitchen and put a pot of water on to boil before getting my French press out of the cabinet. Waylan tapped away at the laptop while I made my drink.

"You want a cup?" I asked.

Waylan frowned at me. "Dude, it's like almost eleven o'clock at night. How are you in the mood for coffee right now?"

"I'll take that as a no."

When the coffee was finished, I poured a couple teaspoons of cream into the cup and held it to my nose, inhaling deeply. A warm emotion, similar to nostalgia, came over me. Along with that, the image of Kirsten filled my head, souring the moment.

"Uh, I think I see the problem," Waylan said.

"What did you find?" I asked as I hurried over.

"It seems Lola Holly only ever had one child, and that was roughly fifty years ago. Derek Holly, who, based on this birth announcement article I found from thirty-two years ago, is Kirsten's father."

"So the grandmother had a son? That's pretty rare, right?" I asked.

Waylan shrugged. "Most witches have daughters. I'm sure some have sons, but it's gotta be uncommon. Plus, men can't be witches. They can carry the bloodline, of course, but magic doesn't work with them. This could possibly explain why Kirsten's magic didn't manifest. Or, it's just taking longer to manifest."

"That doesn't explain why she doesn't know she's a witch. Did her grandmother and father really not tell her?"

"That's the only option left, isn't it? When I look up this Derek guy, I find a ton of arrest records, mostly for DUI and drug possession. Looks like a deadbeat. My theory is the mom is out of the picture for whatever reason, and this guy was shit as a dad, so Granny stepped in to raise Kirsten. Granny assumes the magic either skipped over her, or it's coming later. Lola tells the little girl nothing, hoping to give her a normal life."

I bounced the idea around in my head. It really was the only thing that could explain it.

"Do you ever remember seeing her as a kid?" Waylan asked.

I'd been racking my brain about that for a while, and the truth was, I didn't. In all honesty, I couldn't remember ever seeing the grandmother, either. Of course, I'd known people were staying at the cabin sometimes—it was too close to our territory for me not to know—but as for catching sight of them out and about in town? I never had.

"Nope. You?" I asked.

"I vaguely remember seeing the grandmother coming out of a store once. Humans don't usually come around here, so it stuck with me. I can't remember Kirsten, though."

"Well, she's here now," I said. "No avoiding that now."

Waylan stood and stretched his back. "I'm gonna head out. This was a super fun night, but my pillow is calling my name."

"That's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

I settled back, staring at Kirsten's social media page as I finished my coffee. Everything in the human part of my mind was telling me this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, but my inner wolf was acting like Christmas had come early.

He was convinced that this woman was my mate. I was going to have a hell of a time changing his mind.

The next morning, after a fitful night of sleep, I decided to go check out the cabin again. The curse would keep me from going up to the door and trying to talk to Kirsten again, but I needed to see her. What if she was lying? Hell, maybe I could catch her casting a spell or something. Deep down, I still couldn't totally believe she was only here to clean out her grandmother's things.

When I shifted and took off into the woods, there was none of the excitement and relief from the afternoon before. This time, I had the impression I wasn't fully in control. Giving my wolf full authority over my body made him even more insistent about Kirsten. It was like trying to rein in a wild horse. We sprinted through the woods, and saliva practically dripped from my inner wolf's jaws at the thought of seeing her again. It irritated me to no end.

In the early morning light, the cabin looked different, less imposing than the night before. Now that I wasn't in shock at seeing someone occupy the place, I noticed that the spell that had been placed to keep me and anyone with ill intent from getting near felt a little weaker than I remembered. Frowning, I knelt behind a rhododendron and let my senses reach out. In the past, the sensation had been strong, painful. Now, it wasn't quite as bad. I tried to remember if I'd noticed it the day before, but I couldn't recall. There'd been too much going on, too many surprises to focus on the magical barrier.

Could the spell Kirsten's great-grandmother put around the cabin be fading now that her daughter had died? Maybe this Lola Holly person had reinforced it every time she visited. If that was the case, that spell was all that had faded because my curse was as strong as ever. An ever-present pressure deep inside that told me the old magic still bound me. Always there, always rubbing my nose in it. Even if I wanted to try to have an heir, it was physically impossible for me to be aroused by another woman.

I narrowed my eyes as I looked at the cabin through the foliage. If it was true, then that was another notch in Kirsten's favor. If she couldn't reinforce the spell around the cabin, then she probably truly didn't know she was a witch and had no way of accessing whatever power was within her.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I'd stood and taken a few steps closer to the house. After several strides, the achy and burning sensation of the curse finally hit me. Wincing in pain, I stepped back once, the discomfort lessening. This was the closest I'd come to the place in the last hundred years. I was still twenty or thirty yards away, but better than before.

The front door swung open, and I quickly ducked down. There was nothing to hide behind, though—I was out in the clearing.

Kirsten stepped out and walked to her car. I only had two or three seconds to react. I could try running, but she'd hear me and look up. Not good. In a panic, I called out, announcing myself.

"Morning!"

Kirsten jerked in surprise, her car keys dropping onto the gravel drive with a metallic rattle. Spinning around, she leveled her eyes on me, suspicion and irritation quickly replacing the fear and surprise.

"Jace?" She looked less than pleased to see me. "Why the hell are you creeping around my house?"

Instead of picking up her keys, she stalked over to me. The woman had fire, I'd give her that. Most people would have been a little more scared to see a strange man on their property.

Trying to keep my bearings, I smiled. "I came by to—"

"Are you like a stalker or something?"

My inner wolf snarled, but it wasn't directed at her. He was pissed at me. Furious that I'd made this woman mad. My damn wolf was fawning all over himself as he took her in.

I had to admit, my wolf had good taste. She was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Hell, she was possibly the most gorgeous person I'd ever met in my life. But she was a witch. No matter what my wolf wanted, that one fact couldn't be overlooked. I could smell the faint whiff of magic coming off her. Whatever sick game the curse wanted to play was one I refused to take part in. Now that I was here, I could try to get some answers.

"Calm down," I said, patting the air with my hands.

"Calm down? You interrogated me last night. Treated me like I'm some criminal, and you don't even know me. And now you're out here in the woods, spying on me, and the sun's barely up."

Good point. Good fucking point. This did look bad, but I was still the alpha of Crestwood, and even if the cabin wasn't directly on my pack lands, I still had the right to check in on it since it was so close.

"Sorry," I said. "It's just that, uh… well, every morning, I do an inspection of my territory. Part of my alpha duties." A small white lie. "This morning, I decided to come check on you and the cabin. No harm meant."

Kirsten rolled her eyes. "Things are all good here. Thanks for your concern," she said, sarcasm dripping from her words. "You can go now."

Ignoring that, I nodded toward the house. "So, uh, your great-grandmother is sort of famous around here. What do you know about her?"

Kirsten blinked at me several times before answering. "Famous, how?"

"Oh, she was sort of a hermit. Never came out much. Also, living so close to a shifter town isn't something most humans do." I put a bit of emphasis on humans to see if she would react.

She didn't hesitate or even frown at the shift in my tone. "That's what a lot of the women in my family did. We tend to be loners. I guess I'm an anomaly. All I know about my great-grandmother is that she lived here and passed the house down to my nana. Not that any of this is any of your business."

"Did she—your grandmother, I mean—ever tell you any stories about this place? The stuff your great-grandmother did here?"

"Holy shit," Kirsten huffed. "Jace, I don't have time for this. I need to get to the store to buy more cleaning supplies."

Fear and panic surged within me as she turned to walk back to her car. I couldn't let her go to town without learning more. I couldn't risk the rest of the pack finding out there was a witch in town. Kirsten had no clue what she was, so she couldn't mask her powers the way her grandmother must have done.

There was too much risk. If members of the pack found out, they would panic. We all knew the history—shifters and witches despised each other. Some would be terrified that she was here to destroy them all. They might run, or worse, try to attack her themselves.

"You can't go to town," I blurted before I could stop myself.

Kirsten stopped dead, but didn't turn around to face me again for several seconds. When she finally did, the look on her face made my inner wolf whine.

"What do you mean I can't go to town?"

"I changed my mind. You aren't allowed to go to town. I'll have Waylan bring whatever you need."

Kirsten took two heavy steps back toward me and jammed her fists into her sides. "You told me, you promised me last night that I had permission. Are you going back on your word? Your alpha honor, or whatever the hell only lasts less than twelve hours? What kind of an example are you to the rest of your pack if you can't be trusted to keep your word?"

Low blow. That hurt. I'd spent decades doing my best to be a fair and honorable alpha. Unlike that shithead Eren Miller, my pack respected me rather than feared me. If anyone thought they could question my honor, I'd be damned if it was going to be some witch.

"Look," I said, feeling heat rise inside me, "I don't have to justify myself to you. I'm the alpha here." I jammed my thumb into my chest. "What I say goes. You'll do as I say, or you can head back to wherever the hell you came from, got it? You need to understand—right here, right now—that I'm in charge. If you want to live in this cabin this summer, you better get that through your head."

Kirsten's eyes went wide. "Oh. It's like that, is it? Mister Alpha doesn't like getting called out over his bullshit? Did he get his poor little feelings hurt? Fine." She spun on her heel and stomped toward her car. "If you have such a crappy way of doing things, then I'll just go shop in Scottsdale. The extra gas and time is worth it if it means I don't have to deal with you."

Scottsdale? Eren? Shit, shit, shit.

I took two quick steps forward, desperate to take back what I'd said, to try and make it right. Before I got more than a yard, however, pain surged through my body, sending nausea and agony spurting through me. I grimaced and retreated reluctantly, watching as Kirsten got into her car, slammed the door, and pulled out of her driveway.

I stood there, powerless, as she drove away. I'd totally fucked up. I'd just made the problem way worse. What would Eren Miller do if he knew a witch was in his town? My panic, my anger at the curse, had made me do something that I shouldn't have. Between having my pack knowing about Kirsten versus Eren's pack, the choice was obvious. Now what was I going to do?

"I really fucked this up," I muttered to myself, and my inner wolf growled his agreement.