28. Whitley Whitt

Chapter 28

Whitley Whitt

The wicked witch of the East, bro .

A few minutes later, the witch is doing some weird sweep of the library as Connor and I sit on the green sofa. He rubs slow circles on my back comfortingly and my brow furrows. I don’t want to move from his side; in fact, I’m fighting myself to not lean into him further, and that says a lot. At the same time, my leg is bouncing when it doesn’t usually do that, and my hands are shaking.

Odette perches herself on a high-backed chair across from us. She sits so elegantly on the edge of her seat, her legs folded primly under it, and I can’t help soaking in more of her features. Dark brown, almost black hair, a deep-olive complexion I would kill for, and cool brown eyes.

“So, you’re Connor’s mate then,” Odette says abruptly, staring at me expectantly.

“What are you doing here, Odette?” Connor grumbles from my side, and I wonder what the history is between them. His heart is thudding, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. He doesn’t seem to particularly like this woman, and I trust his instincts.

Holy cannoli —I trust his instincts.

I whimper, and their gazes snap to where I sit.

“What?” The word blurts from my mouth under the weight of their combined stare.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, lacing our fingers together and squeezing.

I disentangle my fingers and get to my feet, stretching my back, unable to sit next to him a moment longer. Him being so close is doing things to my middle that I don’t want to talk about, and the cramping in my sides is getting worse by the second.

“My side is aching a bit. That’s all.” I pace around the room, needing the movement and unable to keep still. I glance around at the gothic-looking woodwork on the ceiling and cock my head.

“Did she not run this morning?” Odette questions Connor, as if I’m not standing right here, her weird eyes swirling with color now.

“Oh, she doesn’t run.” I smile, baring my teeth.

I don’t know this broad at all, but I’m starting to dislike her.

She arches one of her sculpted black brows, and an assessing but pleased look passes over her features.

“You will need to start immediately. Much like the wolves, you and Connor should run a few miles daily to burn off excess energy.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with a cringe, “did you just say a few miles?”

“Yes, your wolf form runs much faster than what you’re used to.” She turns back to Connor, her expression turning thunderous. “You haven’t even taken her to run?”

“Lady, you must have me confused with someone else. I only run to catch the ice cream truck and stop talking to him like that .” Yellow light flashes in my vision, and a growl crawls up my throat.

Odette seems nonplussed, irritating me that much more.

“Anything you’re experiencing, you need to tell me. Connor has been healed by my magic, meaning whatever effects passed to him, will affect you too.”

I blink, all fight leaving my body.

I make my way back to the couch, comfort flooding through my core when Connor draws me to his side to wrap an arm over my shoulder. I sense he needs to touch me, and I lean into him and let the weight of his arm anchor my emotions.

The witch meets my gaze. “There is no way of knowing how much of your experience as a shifter will mirror that of the wolves, or something else entirely. You, after all, are very different.”

“How different?” I murmur, turning to pin Connor with a look that says, What the fuck?!

“To save him, I was forced to use magic to heal him. It was that or let him die. In saving his life, some of his would-be wolf traits were changed. For all the thanks he gives me,” she says, her business-like tone turning peevish.

“You turned wolfsbane into Viagra,” Connor gripes, and my eyes turn to saucers.

Wolfsbane is legit? And she turned it into...

“How was I supposed to know that? It was no easy spell,” she argues back.

“Wolfsbane makes you horny? Wolfsbane? As in the toxic stuff in books and movies used to kill werewolves, according to every paranormal reference?” My gaze flicks to him.

He nods. “I thought for a time that you were wearing a perfume altered with it, because of my reaction to you.”

So that’s why he sniffed me all the time! “I haven’t been wearing any perfume.”

Wait... was that the real reason he was in my room?!

“You’re his mate,” Odette says. “You don’t need perfume, and it’s not uncommon that wolves get territorial and aggressive when mating, no matter the type. It wouldn’t matter what perfume you wore; it was most likely the mating trying to take hold.”

“As you so often point out, I am not a werewolf. I do not change during the full moon and can touch silver just fine. Not to mention wolfsbane has a much different effect,” Connor says, glaring at her. “If anything, you’ve always said I’m more like a lycan. You even called her that before.”

“She’s a little different to you, because I can tell she’s a full-blooded one.” The witch narrows her eyes at him as her foot bounces up and down like she’s annoyed. “I was only trying to help, whether you like it or not. Besides, you have it much easier than the wolves. Much better to have a stiff cock than just be stiff. What else have you noticed?”

He sighs as if reluctant to tell her. “I no longer have pain when transitioning.”

“Really?” Her brows hit her hairline. “It must be the mate bond.”

“The mate bond takes away the pain when I turn?” he asks, his tone making it obvious he’s completely shocked.

I flex my fingers and realize I haven’t had any pain at all—until these cramps anyway. He did say the turning for him was painful.

“Because of Whitley?” Connor points a finger at me.

The witch examines me, her dark eyes going a weird rainbow, and I shudder. Is she using magic?

“Yes, because of her, the mate bond is taking hold. It means she is your true mate,” Odette says.

“Can we stop talking as if I’m not right here?” I bite out at Odette, my tone full of annoyance. Never mind that the woman’s irises are rainbows.

“Whitley... do you mind if I call you Whitley?” she asks, uncrossing her legs in her chair, and as I shake my head, I get a gut feeling I’m not going to like what she has to say next.

Connor O’Doyle

“Do either of you understand the significance of this? Whitley, we have no idea how your body will react because your kind, full-blooded lycans, are so rare and secretive. And Connor is the only one of his hybrid kind. Imagine what such a union could bring,” Odette says, with a wave of her dainty hand.

At her words, an odd stirring ignites in my chest, a want I never thought to have. I stare up at the wood-carved ceiling of the library as images of tiny children with brown hair and caramel eyes sprout in my mind. Whitley heavy with my child makes my chest swell with desire, but my excitement is doused the next moment when I realize there is no guarantee she will stay. We still haven’t talked about how permanent this could be, but as much as she is my true mate, I am hers too.

I blink and her face comes into focus, her posture stiff against the back of the puce-green library couch. I will have to find a way to convince her, and I hope the picnic I have planned for later helps.

The past twenty-four hours have been the most stressful in all my long life. The one bright spot is the end of dinner went well, according to Allan, who called while I was hastily getting dressed this morning to chase down Whitley after finding her gone from our bed. He updated me before leaving for the day and mentioned that Frank checked out of the hotel late last night. A good thing, too, or Odette being here would be cause for a lot more issues.

Frank hates her, although they’ve both been a little funny on the details as to why. I’m just glad he’s gone, so I don’t have to deal with him while Whitley and I navigate all this—from our mating to her sudden shifting. I don’t know who hacked Talbot and I really don’t have enough energy to care, although it is concerning.

“It is going to be fine, Whitley. Connor just has a lot of explaining to do.”

I glare at the witch. “You haven’t even bloody said what you’re actually doing here, Odette.”

Everyone seems to want to meddle in my affairs, and she’s always been bad for it. She’s the whole reason I exist, so she’s a nosy pest.

“Oh, you should also be aware I have no way of knowing what will happen once your mate bond takes hold,” the witch says, ignoring me, her eyes swirling with magic as her fingers grip the seat of her chair tightly.

“Oh, great, more good news,” Whitley grumbles as she throws her hands up.

My body tenses with the need to comfort her, to do whatever is necessary to make sure she is safe. After having to hunt her down last night because of Lachlan, the fucker, now the Witch Queen decides to make an appearance. It’s all too much. I just want time to do it all my way and everyone keeps getting involved, like the annoying shits they are. Immortals are the worst—akin to a family that turns up at someone’s door without notice.

“Honestly, you should all be thanking me,” the witch says, with a flip of her hand. “If Griselda hadn’t wanted that love potion, it’s possible none of you would have found your mates.”

“What the bloody hell did you just say?” I ask, forcing myself to remain still on the couch.

“You know how these things happen. Griselda, my great-niece—you remember her—asked for a love potion. And don’t you recall how you asked for help, too, Connor O’Doyle?”

My brows come together. “I did not ask for anything. I haven’t seen you in at least a hundred years.” None of us have seen her in ages. There’s only one answer I can come up with for her suddenly showing up here. It makes me want to growl and go back beneath the castle and punch the shit out of a certain serpent jackass. “Did Lachlan tell you to come here?”

Whitley bounces her attention between us, looking at the both of us as if we’re mad.

Odette’s face twists into a pissed-off look. “Of course Lachlan invited me, which is exactly what you should have done the moment this happened. Do you remember what you wanted? Oh goddess, what year was that?” Odette huffs and snaps her fingers, and her favorite martini, one olive and a lemon twist, materializes in her hand.

“Holy shit,” Whitley whispers.

My lips twitch at the sight of Whitley’s awed, wide-eye smile. I remember how entranced I was by the little tricks Odette could do when I first met her, all in an effort to keep me focused through the pain.

“Remember the last time you visited, when you came to me about Vlad, asking if I could somehow snap him out of it?”

“Yes, and you told me it couldn’t be done.” I grew that desperate before the hotel idea took hold.

“Apparently I was wrong,” Odette says, placing her glass on the nearby Elizabethan sixteenth-century carved oak side table.

I jump to my feet to grab a coaster, gritting my teeth. Does no one else care how old and expensive everything in this castle is?

“Vlad has found a mate and they’re both doing fine,” I say as I pick up her glass and place down a wooden coaster beneath it.

Whitley perks up at this, and I wince just as I take my seat next to her. Shit . She glares at me, and I know she’s not going to let that tidbit of information go. I still haven’t divulged that Vlad is a vampire.

When I went to see Odette for assistance, he had just stopped eating, and I asked if there was some way to entice him back to the land of the living. This was a hundred years ago. I hold back a shudder, remembering the dark crypt Odette calls her home, and how dense the magic is there.

“I know,” Odette says. “A couple months ago, I was at an engagement party, and someone mentioned that finding a true mate should be easy.” Odette smiles as if she has a secret she doesn’t want to share.

“Well, it was never easy, that’s for sure,” I say, as I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the couch.

“A potion came to mind that I knew how to make, and I sort of rattled off the list of ingredients.”

“And then what?”

“A month later, I see Vlad with a human on Instagram, of all things. So, I assumed it worked.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and I’m not the least bit surprised she’s a social media user, since she uses every means to spy on everyone. She’s always been with the times.

“You assume what worked?” I groan.

“The spell, obviously. Are you not paying attention?”

Whitley’s hands tighten into fists, and her gaze turns yellow in my peripheral vision.

“A week later, Griselda, the very person who asked about the spell, met her mate.” Her face scrunches as she winces at what she’s about to confess next. “Two weeks later, I see Vlad on the internet vacationing in the Maldives with a human.”

“Aubrey showed up a week before we opened,” I say, chills going down my spine at what she has possibly done.

Her brow creases as her gaze flicks to Whitley. “I may, or may not, have cursed you to find your true mates.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I know. It’s crazy, right?” Odette mutters, before rotating her hand and snapping her fingers for another glass and downing her second martini.