9. Kirsten

I'd slept like absolute shit, tossing and turning and struggling to fall asleep. Too many thoughts were running through my head. When I finally slipped into unconsciousness, my dreams had been chaotic. Witches with green skin and pointy black hats cackling around cauldrons, women tied to stakes with flames rippling around them as they screamed, dark shadows flitting through the sky on broomsticks past the moon.

After each strange dream, I'd awoken, panting and sweating, only to toss and turn again. At one point, my dreams veered away from witches, but they became even stranger. A dark wolf stalked me through a shadowy forest, and then it pounced. Rather than biting or clawing me, he rubbed his fur against me to mark me with his scent.

That had been the final straw. At four in the morning, I'd slid out of bed to face the day.

Now, I sat at the wooden counter of the kitchen as the decades-old coffee machine brewed a pot for me. A pot I would probably guzzle in the next hour. My mind was still spinning with everything I'd discovered the day before. As a teacher, I understood that one of the best ways to solve a problem was with research, so my laptop was in front of me. Nana had obviously never had internet installed, but thankfully, my phone had enough service to work as a hotspot.

Out of my depth, I'd tried searching for information about witches. I turned up literally hundreds of sites, blogs, and articles about the Salem Witch Trials, Hansel and Gretel, some Russian legend called the Baba Yaga, but all of it seemed either fanciful, like the stories, or tragic, like what had happened in Salem. From everything I'd found, though, none of the people killed in any of these witch hunts had been real witches.

I'd seen the look in Jace's eyes when he told me the stories of witches. He was telling the truth. They were real. The problem was they must have been so well-hidden, all history had for proof were stories and fairy tales.

Desperate, I searched: Real witches near me. Surprisingly, a few results popped up. The first that caught my eye was a blog. The Kitchen Witch of Saint Louis.

"What the hell is a kitchen witch?" I muttered to myself as I opened a separate tab to search the term.

Apparently, kitchen witches were a good-luck charm in the form of a ragdoll people tied up in the rafters or under their cabinets in kitchens to ward off evil spirits. Another definition was a sorceress who specialized in potable or edible potions or spells.

The blog had a link to a separate website, which led me to the homepage of a Wiccan bookstore in St. Louis called Inner Enchantments: Apothecary and Bookstore. I sipped my coffee while reading the website. The photo album caught my eye. It was still on the floor, exactly where I'd left it. For several minutes, I stared at the ancient leather cover, debating in my head and drinking until my cup was empty.

"Saint Louis it is," I said, shoving my empty mug into the sink.

An hour later, I was in my car, pulling out of the driveway to make the three-hour drive to the city. I had to drive through Crestwood on my way out, and I couldn't help but glance at Jace's house. The sun was barely coming up over the mountains.

For the first time since coming back here, I appreciated how beautiful the quaint little village tucked into the Ozarks was. I didn't think I'd recognized it as a child when we came up here. Now? It was awe-inspiring. Too bad I couldn't simply enjoy it. Too much had happened already. If I had to guess, it would be a while before I could relax. Would I ever be able to relax again? Sighing sadly, I turned onto the interstate.

The trip to St. Louis was mostly uneventful. The shop didn't open until eight, and with waking up and leaving so early, I had time to kill. I stopped along the way to get breakfast, though that was mostly perfunctory—I had no appetite. Anxiety and stress had twisted my stomach into knots.

The shop was located downtown. By the time I found parking, the sun was up. I'd only been in Crestwood for a few days, but already, being in a city felt surreal.

The GPS app on my phone led me down a few side streets until I found the shop. It sat in a row of other unique and interesting stores. The sign above the door looked carved and painted by hand, and several items in the window display caught my eye: an old book with runes carved into the leather, a jeweled dagger—an athame, similar to the one I'd found at the cabin—and a small jewelry rack with necklaces and bracelets made with different crystals and stones.

Preparing myself for nothing more than some bohemian or beatnik telling me all I needed was to have my palm read, I pulled the door open and stepped inside, a tiny bell chiming above my head to signal my arrival.

Something about the place spoke to me instantly. My skin tingled, and the thick scent of incense brought out a weird nostalgia. Part of me had the strangest sense that I'd come home. Dazed, I moved toward some of the items in the shop, my fingertips seeming to crackle with energy as I approached a display of crystals and stones.

The warm air in the shop became entrancing, like a blanket suffocating the cold. I could hear the blood pumping through my veins, a steady whoosh-whoosh that was much louder than it should have been. One stone in particular caught my eye, a dark, polished opal. Black, but with rainbow hues that shot through the center and arced to the outer edges. At the sight of that stone, everything else in the shop practically vanished from sight. It was as though I stood alone in a pitch-black room, only me and the stone. Unbidden, my hand raised and moved toward the rock, fingers trembling and feeling like static electricity was running across the tips.

"Merry met, my lady," a voice said from behind me.

An explosive gasp erupted from my lips. The spell of the stone shattered, catapulting me back to reality. I whirled around, hand to my chest, to find a woman perhaps ten or fifteen years older than me. She was smiling at me.

"Uh, morning, hi. I was just—"

"The black opal?" the woman said, one eyebrow arching elegantly. "That is a very interesting stone."

My initial surprise had faded, and I managed to clear my throat and pull myself together. "Sorry. I was just looking."

The smile on the woman's face widened, and a knowing look lit up her eyes. "More than looking, it seems. That's no ordinary stone, and I don't think you're an ordinary woman." She gestured toward the stone. "You must be something special for the stone to call out to you like that. The black opal can only be used by someone with the power to match what is held within it. Not everyone can wield the energy in that stone."

"Oh," I said dumbly. "I didn't know that."

She circled around the counter and leaned her elbows on the glass case, studying me. "What generation witch are you?"

The question, so forward, caught me off-guard. "Uh, I'm…" I chuckled, and even in my own ears, I sounded panicked. "I'm not a witch."

If my answer confused her, the woman made no show of it. Instead, she put her hand out. "My name is Tinsley."

I took her hand. Her skin was cool and smooth, almost like a doctor's hand. "I'm Kirsten."

"Nice to meet you, and yes," Tinsley said, still eyeing me, sizing me up, "Kirsten, you are a witch."

The smile on my face faltered, and I pulled my hand away. Suddenly, the store became too claustrophobic, too strange. The air was heavy, making it hard to breathe. I never should have come here. It all seemed like a big waste of time. This woman was probably a trained saleswoman. I bet she told every person who came in here that they had some kind of magic power or ability, all to sell them a rock. Something she'd purchased for fifty cents, but sold for fifty dollars.

Why am I even here?

"You are here," Tinsley said, "because you need answers and clarity."

I took a step back, putting a hand to my chest. "Did—did you just…" I thought about it, trying to remember if I'd said those words out loud or if they really had only been in my mind. "Did you hear my thoughts?" I asked, my lips numb with shock as I spoke.

Tinsley gave me a sad smile, but it was full of warmth. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be great," I croaked. My throat felt inexplicably dry.

She turned and vanished through a beaded curtain into the rear of the shop, leaving me alone to try and comprehend what was happening. When she returned a few minutes later, I'd taken a seat on a large, thick pouf that sat in front of a table displaying multiple decks of tarot cards.

"Thank you," I said as I took the cup of steaming tea.

Tinsley sat across from me on another pouf, a cup in her hand as well. "You seem distraught."

"You could say that."

"I take it you've only just come to know your powers?"

"I don't have any powers," I said, trying my best to keep my hand from trembling and spilling tea on her rug. "Not that I know of," I added desperately. "Honestly, I'm terrified. I found out yesterday that the woman who raised me might be… um, I guess she was a witch. And that sounds crazy."

"Well, that is the first thing you're wrong about," Tinsley said. "No need to be afraid. Embrace the unknown, don't fear it. Second, you most definitely do have powers. I can sense them inside you. I could actually feel you walk in the door. It's strange, though," she added with a hint of a grin. "Very rare. There's a smell to magic that only other magical beings can detect. Shifters and witches. Yours is interesting."

I took a sip of tea, the scalding liquid filling my mouth with heat and moisture. "What's so interesting about it?"

"I'm assuming you don't know about the types of witches?"

"Types? There are types?"

Tinsley placed a hand on her chest. "I'm a kitchen witch. My power is in the spells and potions I create through food and drink."

I stared down at my tea, suddenly worried, and Tinsley chuckled. "It's only tea. Trust me. I didn't add anything to it.

"There are other types, too," she continued. "A green witch has an earthy scent, and they specialize in herbs, plants, and nature. They tend to enjoy living in tranquil environs. An augury witch"—Tinsley reached forward and tapped the tarot cards—"is one who can foretell the future and channel prophecy. They have a smoky, woodfire scent. There are many more—cosmic witches, ceremonial witches, et cetera. What you smell like, dear Kirsten, is what we call an eclectic witch."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"An eclectic witch is the most rare of our kind. A witch who can specialize and master all the different kinds of magic. Your scent changes from person to person, yet stronger than any. To me, you smell of pine and leather, the amber scent of a ceremonial witch. But when I noticed the way the black opal called to you?" She winked and gave me a sly grin. "It was easy to see there was more to you than simple ceremonial magic. Only an eclectic witch could wield a magical item as strong as the opal." She gazed at me intently. "What makes no sense to me is that you have no knowledge of this. How old are you?"

"Me? I'm thirty-two."

Tinsley shook her head. "Not how old you look, how old you are."

"I'm thirty-two," I said again, more forcefully. "This is me."

Tinsley sat back slowly, eyeing me again. "How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. You look like you're in your late twenties?"

"I am seventy-nine years old."

I almost choked on my tea. "Jesus. What kind of skincare routine do you have?"

A musical laugh burst out of Tinsley. When she recovered, she said, "I take it your powers never manifested at sixteen? You never had a coronation ceremony?"

The photo of Nana had those same words written on them. I most certainly would have remembered something like that happening. I shook my head. "No. I'm a teacher. I teach kids math and reading. As far as I remember, my sixteenth birthday was pretty boring and uneventful."

Tinsley chewed on her lip and glanced toward a bookshelf. "Hang on. There is more than I can tell you today. Let me grab you a few things."

She sat her teacup down and glided over to the bookcase. I watched, feeling like I was swimming through a strange dream, as she pulled out three books and slid them into a paper bag. She put the bag on the tarot table before heading behind the counter.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she pulled out a small, delicate hammer along with a sharp chisel.

"One moment," she said, then moved to a large purple crystal on a shelf behind the encounter.

With hands deft and precise, she used the hammer and chisel to break off a shard of the crystal. She pulled out a roll of silver wire and pliers, using them to bind the crystal in a weblike container. Faster than I could have believed had I not seen it with my own eyes, she returned with the crystal attached to a thin metal chain.

Without asking, she swept the chain around my neck and attached it. "There."

"What is this?" I asked, fingering the crystal that now sat just below my collarbone.

"This," she said, tapping the crystal, "will help you center your magic as you learn to control it. The books will explain much more than I can."

Something she'd said earlier came back to me, and the question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. "You said shifters can smell magic?"

She nodded, a wary look coming over her face. "Yes. Do you know any?"

"I actually live a few hours away in a place called Crestwood. It's a shifter town. My nana's cabin is right on the outskirts of their territory."

"Be very careful around wolves, Kirsten," Tinsley cautioned, her tone suddenly grave. "Watch that you are mindful who you spend time with. At best, shifters are ambivalent toward us. At worst, they crave our power and are desperate for us to increase their power."

"Duly noted," I said, standing and picking up the bag.

"If you have any additional questions, you know where to find me."

"Thanks. This was really weird," I said.

"Magic usually is," Tinsley said with a grin.

Behind me, the doorbell tinkled as another customer entered the store, and I slipped out. The walk back to my car was somehow even more surreal than the time I'd spent in the store. It was all I could do not to tear into the books as soon as I got into the car. I talked myself into waiting until I was safely back in my cabin.

That promise proved harder to keep the longer I drove. Multiple times, I thought about pulling into a gas station and digging the books out, but I managed to stay strong until I was back home. At that point, it was game on. I'd barely made it through the door before I tore the bag open. The necklace at my neck tugged and pulled at me, almost like it had increased in weight the closer I got to the cabin. Strange.

Now that I was inside, I could hear a faint hum emanating from the crystal. So faint that when I stopped to focus on it, there was nearly nothing there.

The first book in the bag had bright gold lettering on a leather binding: De Maleficarum Historia. An internet translation told me the title was A History of Witches.

"Fitting," I said to myself, setting it aside.

The next was a slender tome bound with thin wood panels and a simple intertwined Celtic knot carved into the front. A line of letters had been painted on the top in a delicate looping script, but they seemed to be random incomprehensible words. Combinations of letters that I couldn't understand. It took a little bit of looking until I understood that they were Gaelic in origin. Roughly translated, the book's title was The Lord and the Lady.

The final book was much less impressive and mysterious. A simple modern paperback titled Shamanism, Wicca, Pagans, and the True Laws of Magic.

With all three books splayed out in front of me, I was suddenly struck with an incomprehensible sense of indecision. Where did I start? Which did I open first? What if I didn't understand anything in these books?

There was no one I could think of to talk to about my problems other than Harley. She answered the phone after a few rings.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I have a problem," I said. "Several, actually."

"Oh, God, you're pregnant."

"Stop being an asshole. No, I'm not pregnant."

"Spill it then. Tell me the whole deal."

I did. It took nearly an hour, but I laid out everything. Jace, Eren, Nana's secrets, witches—all of it. When I finished, I was panting like I'd run a marathon. God, Harley was gonna think I'd completely lost my mind. Heart racing, I waited for her to tell me she was calling a van full of guys who'd put me in a straitjacket.

"It kinda makes sense," she finally said.

"Wait, what makes sense?" I asked, aghast.

"All of it. The stuff this Tinsley person said, and the story Jace told you. By the way, is he hot? He sounds hot."

A headache was forming behind my eyes. I rubbed my forehead with my free hand. "Yeah, he's attractive," I admitted wearily. "But that's beside the point. You really believe all this witch stuff? I've never known you to fall for anything like this. You don't believe in ghosts or aliens, so why do you believe this?"

"I've known you and your grandmother for a long time. There were always some weird things I never mentioned, but hearing this makes them a little less confusing. How young your grandmother looked, for one. She always looked more like an older mom than a grandmother when we were growing up. Once when I was over at your place visiting, I asked her what her secret was. She said ‘magic.' She said it with a total straight face, like she was telling me the weather outside, and part of me believed it. When the cancer really took hold was when she truly started aging.

"I never said anything because of how distraught you were about her being sick. I don't know if you ever noticed it, but there was always this weird energy in your house, too. I couldn't put my finger on it, but every time your grandmother was around, I felt it."

All I could do was listen as my best friend told me she was totally fine with me being a witch. Any hesitation or doubt I had was fading away like mist under the noon sun. The crystal at my neck tingled with power as though it wanted to emphasize my newfound belief.

"What the hell do I do, Harley?"

"I think you should read those books the witch chick gave you. I doubt it matters what order or she would have specified, right?"

"True."

"Read them, and then go talk to this Jace guy again. I think he has to be the guy your grandmother was referring to in that letter. Unless you've had any other tall, dark, and handsome men hanging around your cabin."

"I haven't," I admitted. "But, ugh, he's such an ass most of the time."

"You aren't always a saint yourself, sweetie."

"Hey!"

"Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye," I grumbled back.

After putting my phone on the counter, I picked up the least intimidating book—the paperback—and sat on the stool, ready to start reading about whatever the hell I was supposed to know about myself.

Before I could get further than the dedication page, a sound off in the distance caught my attention. The crystal at my neck hummed again, ever so slightly. The sound came again, this time a bit louder.

"Kirsten!" Someone was calling my name, the sound distant and muffled by the surrounding forest.

Turning and staring at the front window, I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus my hearing to make sure I hadn't been hallucinating, now that I was apparently a witch.

"Kirsten, it's me. Can you come out? Kirsten!" A male voice, but not Jace's or Waylan's.

I stood and moved to the front door, opening it hesitantly. What I saw outside made me freeze in place. Eren Miller stood several dozen yards from the front porch. As soon as I recognized him, the necklace around my throat hummed even harder, tickling me with its slight vibrations, almost as though it was reacting to Eren himself. Raising my fingers, I clasped it in my hand absently.

I stepped out hesitantly, moving toward him, wondering how he'd found my cabin and why he was there. In my gut, I wondered if he was here to tell me not to go back to Scottsdale. Maybe they'd figured out my ancestors were witches and were less accommodating now.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as I walked toward him. "And why the hell are you way out here screaming at me? You could have just knocked on the door."

Eren frowned at me and kicked a few rocks in the gravel driveway. "Are you serious? You do know there's a ward around this place keeping wolves out, right? If I try to get any closer, it feels like I'm getting kicked in the balls."

I stopped in my tracks. A ward? Like a magic barrier or something? Wow. That was actually pretty cool if it was true. I remembered the times I'd seen Jace around, and he'd always been pretty far away, too. Though, I frowned as I remembered that Waylan had come right up to my door. Strange.

I decided to keep that information to myself. Maybe the ward only kept bad wolves out for some reason. But did that mean Jace was bad? Or could it have only been targeted at alphas?

Ignoring Eren's comment about the ward since I had no way of explaining it, I changed the subject. "Why are you here?"

"I was in the area and decided to come by and check on you." He grinned at me with that same hungry smile. It reminded me of scuzzy guys trying to hit on me in a club. "Figured since you were so close to such a half-assed alpha like Jace, you might need a little extra protection."

The way he said that made my skin crawl, almost like he was insinuating some sort of double entendre into the words.

"I'm doing fine, Mr. Miller, but thanks for checking."

Eren's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Miller? I thought we were friends. Call me Eren."

The way he looked at me, like a fat and juicy burger, suddenly made me very happy that the property was warded. I chastised myself for coming outside in the first place. I hadn't even known I had any protection. I'd only met this man for a few minutes the day before, and even that interaction had been strangely gross and creepy.

"I would have brought flowers or something," Eren went on, letting his eyes rove up and down my body, "but they wouldn't have survived the run." He held up his hands. "No fingers, you know? Just paws."

"That's nice," I said. "It's the, uh, thought that counts."

"I was thinking," Eren said, fingering the gold chain around his neck, "we have a great steakhouse in Scottsdale. Best in the state. Why don't you and I head out that way? Get to know each other a little? Might be fun."

The ick factor with Eren was strong and getting worse by the minute. If this was his attempt at hitting on me, he was terrible at it. Remembering Tinsley's warning to be wary around wolf shifters, I forced a smile on my face.

"Sorry," I said. "I've got a lot to do here at the cabin."

A shadow fell over his features—a split second and nothing more, but I saw it, nonetheless. A dark scowl had clouded his eyes. He did a good job hiding it and plastering a self-effacing smile back onto his face, but that slip in his demeanor screamed trouble. I had to clench my jaw and concentrate to stop myself from taking a step back.

He nodded to himself, the smile still creasing his lips. "I get that, yeah. Lots to do. Maybe another time?"

Everything in me was screaming to run back to the cabin, but I held my ground. A tendril of cold fear twined down my spine. What would happen if I fully rejected any offer he made? Rather than risk that, I chose the path of least resistance. Placating him seemed the best option.

"Sure," I said, doing my best to smile back at him. "Once I've got things sorted out here, I'll think about it."

"Think about it," he repeated, still grinning. "All right, then. Sounds like a plan. I'll leave you to it, then." He tilted his head to the ground between us. "You should really do something about this barrier. I hate the space it's putting between us. How can we get to know each other if I can't get closer?"

"I'll see what I can do," I said, trying not to visibly shudder.

Eren turned and shifted, his body morphing seamlessly into a loping gray wolf. Dread slid over me. Something about our interaction had been incredibly uncomfortable and terrifying in a way I couldn't even describe.

Stepping back inside, I locked the door, heart thundering in my ears. The ward was fine, but I had more experience with traditional security measures.

I shuffled to the kitchen and grabbed a large tumbler from the cabinet, then filled it with the boxed wine I kept in the fridge. I needed something to calm my nerves after talking to Eren. Jace's description of the man rang truer than ever now.

Once my nerves had settled, I went back to the books. Instead of starting with the paperback, I opened A History of Witches. Sipping my wine, I scanned the first few pages. An entire chapter was dedicated to shifter and witch lore. The story was remarkably similar to the one Jace had told me, although it did have some differences. In this story, the wolf-turned-man betrayed the witch, using her love for him to steal what she held most dear: her magic. He impregnated her, and their child was the first true shifter. The witch showed others of her kind what could be created through the union, and so began the initial blending of the magical races of earth. In time, generations of shifters had been born, expanding until they far outnumbered the witches. The shifters tried to enslave the witches, who, in turn, went into hiding. After a while, the witches had hidden themselves so well, they were nothing but a myth to humans and rarities to shifters.

Hours slipped by as I read, my glass of wine empty and forgotten as I learned more and more about the people my grandmother had come from—the people I had come from. One passage I found in the wood-bound book caught my attention:

Shifters desire the magic of the Wiccans. A witch must always be prepared to defend herself from attack. If a wolf tries to steal one's magic, there are several punishment spells a witch can use to defend and avenge herself.

The most powerful curse can bind the wolf into a life of unending loneliness. They will be unable to bond in their way, and in so doing, will bear no children and die alone. Only a stronger magic can break this ironclad spell.

A life of loneliness? Was this why Jace had asked about my great-grandmother? Had she cast that spell on Jace? He certainly looked lonely to me. No mate, as far as I could tell. Didn't shifters usually mate soon after reaching adulthood, especially alphas? If she had cursed him, did that mean he'd done something to warrant such a punishment?

I continued paging through the books, but that question kept nagging at me. Unable to quell my curiosity, I grabbed my keys and headed out to the car. Even knowing the ward was protecting me, I still eyeballed the surrounding forest, checking for Eren.

Ten minutes later, and after speaking to the gate guards once again, I pulled up in front of Jace's house. This time, I burst through his front door before he could meet me outside.

"Kirsten? What's wrong? You look…" he trailed off, staring at me as I paced back and forth through his living room. "Uh, you look spooked."

"I read something today. I need you to hear it, and I want your honest answer," I said, pointing at him.

"Honesty. Sure."

Before I could stop myself, I plowed into what I'd found in the book and the reason a witch might want to curse a wolf. I kept my eyes on him, watching his reaction. He tensed as I described the curse, a dark and pained look flashing across his eyes.

"Is that what happened?" I asked, failing to keep the accusatory tone from my voice. "Did you try to steal my great-grandmother's magic, and she cursed you? Is that what all this is about?"

Jace's hands curled into fists, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. He didn't look angry at me, but he appeared to be struggling with something deep inside. The atmosphere around us changed. A strange energy radiated off him. The power he held inside was scaring me a little.

"I made a mistake," Jace finally said through gritted teeth. "A long time ago. I was overwhelmed with grief and had drowned my sorrows in alcohol. My parents had just died. It was tragic and abrupt, and suddenly, I was alpha of my pack decades before I was ready.

"The night I was sworn in as alpha, I left the ceremony as soon as it was over and fled into the woods, trying to escape the responsibility. I came upon your great-grandmother in the forest while she was conjuring a spell of some kind. It was the first time I'd ever seen a witch. You can't imagine what it was like to be near that kind of magic as a shifter." He paused, taking a breath and shaking his head. "Things got out of hand before I could stop myself."

Jace flopped down onto the sofa and stared at the ground. "Magic, especially magic as powerful as hers, has an almost drug-like effect on shifters. It called out to me like a beacon, pulling me forward. Nothing in my life could have prepared me for it. It was as though a gaping chasm had opened in my chest and magic was the only thing that could fill it. I rushed forward, demanding to feel the magic, and caught her off-guard. At first, she couldn't speak. Still out of my mind with sadness, drunkenness, and the bliss of the magic, I kissed her before she could run.

"My tongue flashed like it was both on fire and frozen. That magic flooded my mouth and snapped me out of whatever trance I'd been in, but it was too late. She cursed me. I'd never seen someone so furious. The rage in her eyes at my attempt to take what wasn't mine still makes me shiver to this day.

"From that night forward, I have been unable to find a mate, and I can't make any connection to a woman at all. All these years, I've lived alone, regretting every moment of that damn night with that damn woman. I'll never know love, never sire children. My life will be nothing but loneliness."

He spoke with such venom that my blood ran cold. I connected the dots in my head. He didn't just hate my great-grandmother; he hated all witches. Blamed them for his situation.

Honestly, I couldn't fault him for it. My great-grandmother's curse did seem a bit harsh for one stolen kiss. A swift kick in the balls should have been sufficient punishment.

"That was," Jace went on, "until I met you."

"Huh?" I stared at him dumbly. "What does that mean?"

"You're my fated mate."

I burst out laughing, but it quickly faded, dying like a fire doused with water when he didn't smile in return. The grave look on his face told me he was serious.

"Wait, you're serious?" I asked, flabbergasted. "How is that possible? You can't be serious."

"Trust me, I wish I wasn't," he said. "I felt it the moment I saw you. You are the only one who might possibly remove this curse from me."

Curses, witches, century-old grudges? I'd somehow slipped into a goddamn fairy tale. How had this become my life?

"How can I remove your curse?" I asked, thinking I was crazy to even be saying the words.

Jace sighed wearily. "Two ways. The first, the most ideal, is for you to become attuned to your powers and somehow create a counter-curse. It would release me from all this and allow me to choose my mate. To find a shifter woman who might be a match for me, and I would be able to finally feel love."

"And the second?"

"You and I mate. Eventually, perhaps one day, we have a child, an heir to the pack. Not a great choice, I know, but—"

"Not a great choice?" I hissed. "That's putting it fucking lightly."

He wanted us to mate? What was I, some harem girl? Fawning over myself as the big bad alpha came to take what was his? Maybe I should lift my skirts and bend over to grab my ankles, let him take me whenever he likes.

Bullshit. Walls flew up in my mind, blocking out any chance that I would do that. Ever.

"No," Jace said, sitting forward fast as he saw my expression. "I didn't mean that's what we would do. I wouldn't. I just told you the two options. I want you to lift the curse with magic, not—"

"You want to use me," I ground out.

It was always the same. Men using me for one thing or another. For sex, status, money, security. Men were always using. Why would a shifter man be any different?

Jace looked shocked at my suggestion, and that only pissed me off more. Even if I somehow found myself feeling something for this man, he'd only toss me aside once I was no longer useful. I could already see it happening.

"I don't want to use you, Kirsten," Jace said.

"Enough!" I snapped, heaving in a breath. "I'll do my best to help you break this curse if I can, but I am not mating with you. Fair enough?"

Jace looked relieved I wasn't going to continue biting his head off. "Deal. Thank you. And please, don't tell anyone about the curse. Only a few people know. If word got out that this had happened, it would throw my whole pack into chaos. Please?"

He looked so desperate that I couldn't say no. "I promise I won't tell," I said. "No promises on whether I can help remove the curse, though. I'll try, but hell, I just found out about all this magic shit yesterday. I'm no expert. I didn't even know there was a ward around my house, for God's sake."

Jace frowned. "How'd you find out about it? Can you sense it?"

I ran a hand through my hair absently. "No, it was when Eren came to visit me today. He pointed out that he couldn't cross over a certain point."

Jace let out a deep growl that sent a shiver down my spine. "Eren was at the cabin?" he asked.

"Yeah, he—"

"What did he want?" Jace demanded. "Did he try to get close to you? Hurt you? Anything?"

"He said he wanted us to get to know each other and suggested we get dinner together at some steakhouse. Sounded like he was asking me out on a date or something," I said, and Jace growled a little louder this time. "I told him no," I added quickly. "And I could tell it pissed him off. I got rid of him, though."

"Good," Jace said, taking a deep breath.

"Why do you care so much about what that guy does?"

"Because you're mine!"

His face went blank, as if he'd actually surprised himself by saying the words. My skin buzzed, a not entirely unpleasant sensation. The crystal at my neck throbbed at his words, but the vibrations were very different from when I was near Eren. Less irritating and more pleasurable. Almost as though the crystal wanted me to be near Jace.

"Excuse me?" I whispered.

Jace grimaced and raised his hands. "Not like that. It's not what I mean. I, uh, I told you that you were my fated mate. My wolf thinks that you are his. Ours, so to speak. That's all I mean."

My body was betraying me. Hearing him say I was his filled me with some odd, animalistic yearning. It was all I could do not to step closer to him. How had things inside my head changed in a matter of seconds? It made no logical sense.

"Maybe," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "This is all new to me. I've never been a fated mate to a shifter before. I guess I'll learn as I go?"

"Are you okay?" Jace asked, concern written on his face as he took a step toward me.

The rest of my anger drained away, the electric crackle on my skin increasing. The closer he got, the stronger the pull between us. He will be drawn to you like a magnet to iron. My palms became clammy, and my breath left me in short gasps. He was so close, I could smell him. What the hell was wrong with me?

"I'm fine," I blurted, staggering back. "I need to go."

Before Jace could say another word, I spun on my heels and rushed outside. The almost suffocating desire that had begun to overwhelm me faded with every step I took away from him. I put a hand to my head, wiping the sweat from my brow.

"What the hell was that?" I asked myself as I got into my car.

I'd been beyond pissed off one moment, and the next, all I could think was what it would be like to have his hands on my body, massaging, caressing, gripping my curves and flesh in ways I never would have thought I wanted. Whatever was happening to me, it had to be because of the curse.

How much worse would things get?