Chapter 28

E mber takes the vow of secrecy, and we all make plans to solve my problems.

Even if Iris looks at me like I’m still keeping secrets.

Which I am, but I just can’t bring myself to admit this piece yet. They accept my whoopsie of a marriage, and my wanting to go behind my grandmother’s back to find out my history.

But admitting to them that I’m part shifter, or that I have the ability to shift with a necklace, is just too much. There’s only so much acceptance I can ask for and I worry this may be too far. Or maybe it’s all just because I haven’t accepted it yet.

I hug them both as I head back into the house. Silas is sitting in a dining room chair as he and Walter have a staring contest.

He grabs a piece of a muffin that I made last night and puts it down for Walter. My familiar seems confused at first, and eyes Silas suspiciously before bending his head, never taking his eyes off Silas and eating the pastry.

It’s the first nail in the ‘I’m falling for Silas Walker’ coffin.

That’s probably a lie. These pesky feelings have been riding my ass longer than I’d like to admit. But this is all post enlightenment, post me knowing most of the truth.

“What did Iris say?” I ask, and both Silas and Walter glance over at me.

“Typical witch threats,” he says, and he gives Walter some more muffin.

He’s buttering up the cat and me. I’m fucked.

“You took the necklace off,” he says in an even tone.

“Yes, well. I don’t know if it’s the necklace itself that allows me to… change. Or if the necklace was just a key unlocking a very dormant lock.”

He nods and takes a sip of coffee. The coffee I made for myself. Mentally I use a crowbar and unhinge that aforementioned nail in the said ‘I’m falling for Silas Walker’ coffin.

“I’ll see if Jonas or I can find anything in the pack’s archives.”

“Isn’t he busy with his new mate?” I question.

Something in me feels uneasy about the very little knowledge I have of shifters and mates. I shifted, yet as I stand here in my kitchen, I don’t feel any different.

It’s not like I’d want Silas to be my mate, anyway.

Oh, the lies I keep telling myself.

“He’s busy with Paige, the baby, and other tasks as my second.”

“Did they give him a name?” I ask, making myself another cup of coffee. Honestly, it’s very mature of me to not complain that he stole mine. Go me.

“Ryden,” he says. “Ryden Walker.”

I glance back at him with a furrowed brow. “I thought you said Jonas found his family. He didn’t take their surname?”

“No,” he says simply, and I turn back to the coffeemaker. I’m just as protective of Iris and Ember.

Fuck. He’s just struck the second nail.

Unfortunately for me there are a series of events that have me feeling a particular way about my dearest husband. Feelings that I shouldn’t be having when I haven’t made a decision about my wolf, my coven, or literally anything.

The only clear decision I’ve made in the recent days is that my husband is fucking hot.

I’m sitting on the porch, it’s nearly twilight and the air around me smells like fall as the harsh sun slowly slips away. But it’s not the fading sun against the red maple and black willow trees that are catching my attention.

No, not even close.

It’s my shirtless husband raising an axe behind his head and easily slicing wood that has my full attention. Sweat beads are trickling down his muscular back and I have the abhorrent thought that I would eagerly lick it if he’d let me.

I’ve never looked at a man the same I do as Silas, let alone have such illicit thoughts. I’m truly not sure what to do with all of this energy.

When he lifts the axe and cuts through the wood, I realize I have to stop watching him, that I’m actually getting physically worked up. Part of me wonders if this is his own way of letting out frustration over our situation. It feels like the spell is getting stronger, like we aren’t giving it what it wants. Which I worry is because our marriage isn’t consummated.

His stack of wood is large and I figure if I get some of this tension out, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here basically degrading the man into a sex symbol.

Though, I imagine masturbating to your husband, who’s not really your husband, is no better.

Yet, I find myself with a cracked nightstand drawer and a vibrator down my panties. The visuals I come up with are more than enough to have me nearly coming instantly.

Me wrapping my arms around his waist and grazing my fingertips along his rippled abdomen before going further and grabbing what I’m imagining is a very large cock.

In my fantasy, I’m confident as I stroke him outside of his pants. A low moan rips through his throat before he turns around and cups my jaw before leaning down and kissing me. His massive arm wraps around my middle as he hefts me up to deepen the kiss before carrying me to the porch and into the back of the house.

We’re ravenous for it, knocking all the candles and trinkets on the dining room table before he’s sitting me on the edge and ripping my dress in half. I’m panting in the fantasy and on my bed as I move the vibrator to the right spot.

The noise that falls out of me is obscene, and I come before I can picture him touching me, my back arches off my bed and I squeeze my eyes shut as my release hits me.

It’s decent, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. I curse, walking to the bathroom and washing the toy before leaving it on the counter to dry.

This is all so fucked up. I shouldn’t be incorporating Silas into my masturbation material, let alone getting off on it before he even slides his hand below my collarbone.

When I go back to the kitchen, I use this energy to make some more sweet tea, along with another batch of muffins. But unfortunately, I don’t really need to do much when magic handles most of the legwork.

So I just stand by the window, getting my fill of Silas chopping wood, but he’s already making his way back into the house. In an effort not to look awkward, I look exceptionally awkward as he comes through the backdoor and his eyes pan directly to me.

A smirk takes over his face and I clear my throat.

“What are you working on out there?” I ask.

“Not as important as what you’re working on in here,” he says slyly.

No fucking way. Can this shifter scent what I just did? Oh, Hecate, does he know I just masturbated after watching him cut wood?

“What?” I say, busying my hands.

“More muffins. The last batch was delicious. I’m going to go shower,” he says, though there’s a glint in his eye and a smug smile on his face.

I can’t help but find it attractive.

The third nail aggressively bangs itself into place.

It feels like we’re getting nowhere. No one can find any information that isn’t already speculated from thirty years ago, and Iris doesn’t seem to have any idea on how to reverse this spell either.

So, I spend my days pretending that everything is fine, even if the necklace in my drawer haunts me daily. I continue my lessons with my grand-mère, I do my daily duties as the coven’s healer. But most notably, every night, the sound of an old Harley down my driveway lights a fire in my chest.

Sometimes we eat together, sometimes we say nothing. But lately it’s like a craving is festering away at me.

I need a distraction from my husband.

So, I bought a puzzle. A puzzle is a completely unsexy way to share the same space and not be tempted to touch.

Silas made himself clear. Unless I know what I want. AKA if I’m going to embrace my wolf, or accept him wolf and all, then there’s no point to this attraction.

I’m no step closer to a decision. Even if I have been tempted to put the necklace back on. It’s evident that the necklace is what ties me to my shifter side, because Azure has been silent. I don’t hear Azure the way Silas hears Thorin, and I haven’t felt the ache to shift.

I could toss the necklace away, destroy it and my life would go back to normal, just as soon as we get a divorce.

Is that what I want?

The alternative could be losing my coven and not being accepted by the pack. I could have Silas, but I’d lose everything else, and I’m not sure I can make that decision either.

I need this hex removed so I can fucking think clearly.

It’s easier to just sort the puzzle pieces by exterior and interior so that’s what I’m doing as Silas walks through the door. A gash across his face, trickling blood down his neck and over his lip.

“What the hell happened?” I ask.

He waves me off and sits down on his chair at the dining table. When he claimed a chair, I’m not sure, but that’s the one he sits in now.

“It will heal by tomorrow,” he says, as I grab a washcloth and cover it in warm water before coming to stand between his legs and press it against his face.

“What happened?” I ask again softly.

“There was a challenge for being Alpha.”

“And they did this?” I ask. He doesn’t even wince as I clean up the blood, just stares at me while he speaks.

“You should see the other guy. When I fell, I hit my head on a branch. It’s just a scratch.”

“Why were they challenging you?”

He shrugs and I sigh, grabbing my jar of healing salve before setting it on the table.

“Why?” I ask again.

“Because they don’t agree that we should make peace with the other supernaturals. They think we should be pack strong and that’s it.”

I stick my fingers into the pinkish wax like salve before grabbing his chin and putting it along the gash.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“If I wasn’t in the equation, would you still want harmony with the other groups?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? Getting along with everyone who will outlive humans, who has to keep the same secret, it’s a good decision.”

“But most factions don’t get along.”

“Mostly over historical bullshit no one can remember. If we’re united as supernatural beings, it can only benefit all of us.”

I concentrate on his wound and process his words. Words I agree with. Words that my grandmother would hate to hear.

“My grand-mère will never see it like that.”

“What if she wasn’t High Priestess?” he says, his large hand grazing my thigh, which sends a tingle down my spine. “What if someone with a more open mind was leading your coven?”

“I…I’m not ready.” I mean it more than I care to admit. The idea of being High Priestess so soon is terrifying, and I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.

“I’m not pushing you, but could you imagine a world where you’re accepted for who you truly are? Your two friends that were here the other day. I know they wouldn’t turn their back on you if they knew you were half shifter.”

I go to step away, and Silas grabs the back of my thigh, keeping me in between his legs.

“She’s my family,” I whisper.

“And shouldn’t your family love you regardless?” he asks and damn it, I hate how emotional I’ve been lately, how confused I feel over everything.

Because I know he’s right, that my grandmother’s love has conditions. What does it mean that I’m willing to hide who I am to appease her?

I look away from him, and his hand lightly rubs the back of my thigh. Despite the heavy conversation, I lean into his touch.

“My acceptance of you comes with no conditions.”

I scoff. “Only because you know I’m part wolf now.”

“It doesn’t hurt, but let’s not deny there was something between us before that, Vi. It might have taken me longer if you never shifted, but you can’t deny what’s between us doesn’t feel cosmic.”

“It’s the hex,” I reply.

“Or is it just fate?” he asks, tapping my thigh, and I move out of the way so he can stand. He towers over me as he looks down at me, cupping the side of my face with his large hand, which is warm and calloused, and unbelievably comforting. “Don’t deny yourself of who you are. Haven’t you already given enough?”

He walks away, and it’s like the coffin seals itself shut.

I want my husband, but I can’t have him. Not until I make some very serious decisions.