30. Eli

"You're being fucking ridiculous."

Adam says it without looking at me, as he drives away from Wisteria's shop. His jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, and I can't begin to pretend that I have any idea what he's thinking. Maybe that he wants me gone, now that he's seen what these guys are capable of. And I wouldn't blame him.

If I leave town, they'll likely follow me.

"You should never be in a relationship," Adam continues, his voice sharp. "I'm starting to think you're just not capable of it."

"Because your track record is so fuckin' great?" I glare at him. Him bringing up Wisteria feels worse than talking about the gang, about the potential danger to his bar, or whether or not I should just go ahead and leave town. "I don't see women beating down the door to date you."

"I've had a few girlfriends. That's a few more than you've managed." He still doesn't look at me.

"You're the one who told me she was a witch!"

"Yeah, because I realized you should probably fucking know, and I was a bad friend for keeping it from you, just because I didn't want to get in the middle of your business." His hands tighten on the wheel. "Not so you could go accuse her of bewitching you, scream at her, and break her heart." Adam shakes his head. "I guess she filled Penelope in, and man, that girl is pissed. I'd stay away from her."

"Considerin' she's another witch, I have every intention of it." I glare at him. "You can't tell me you don't think Wisteria put a spell on me. After everythin' I told you–"

"It crossed my mind for a second," Adam admits. "But truth be told, Eli, I think a lot of that bullshit about shifters and witches is just that. Superstition. And I've met Wisteria. Briefly, but I met her. I don't believe that girl has the kind of evil bone in her body to do something like that. Maybe some witches can, and would, but I don't think that's what's going on here."

"Nothin' else makes sense." I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. After I left Wisteria, I took off in a fury, speeding out of Bayton faster than I usually ride. I thought about leaving again, like I usually do when things get rough, because that's how I've wired myself all my life. She knows it, too–well enough to throw those barbed words at me in front of the shop. They hurt more than they should, considering how true it is.

Just go. It's what you're good at.

As the anger burned off, though, most of what I was left with was hurt. A grief for what I'd lost so strong it was almost physical, a pain that tore through my chest and made me want to scream with the intensity of it. And then I was right back to anger, because what could that be, other than Wisteria's witchcraft? The spell she must have cast on me?

"All of this–every damn bit of it…it's like the mate bond," I growl. "The way she makes me feel, the way I can't keep my hands off of her, the way it hurts to be away from her even though I'm so angry I want to tear somethin' apart. But that's fuckin' impossible, because she's a human, and I'm a shifter. So magic is the only other explanation I've got, Adam."

"Maybe she's got some shifter in her somewhere," Adam ventures. "A cousin, or something. Someone she didn't know about. Maybe it is the bond."

Something sparks in my chest at that. The tiniest bit of hope, a warm ember that threatens to catch fire and spread. And I can't let it, because I already let myself hope too much once. I already gave something I never even considered before a chance.

And look where it got me.

"Her family's witches. You said so yourself." I shake my head. "Witches and shifters don't mingle. Besides, I'd smell it on her."

"Not everyone's as close-minded about it." Adam shrugs. "I think you're seeing things that aren't there, Eli. And that maybe you should've listened to her, when she was trying to explain. She seemed–" he hesitates. "It seemed like she was good for you."

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to remember how good it was, how for the first time in my life, I'd found something that made me want to stay. To stop trying to outrun what's hurt me my whole life. To find a way to make something work with a woman for the first time in my life.

I don't want to think about how good Wisteria and I were together. Not now, and not ever again.

"The only dealing I want to have with a witch is finding out how to get this spell off of me," I growl. "And after that, I'll leave if you want me to."

Adam snorts. "I don't want you to leave."

"You're not worried about those guys bustin' up your bar? You said somethin' about it earlier."

"Yeah, I did." Adam runs a hand through his hair. "And I'm a little worried about it. But at the end of the day, we're friends, Eli. I'll stick by you. God knows you need someone willing to." He shrugs. "I'll pay Xander a little extra to keep an eye out, see if a couple of his friends might be willing to watch the place. Maybe a bouncer would be worth the expense, if these guys are possibly going to be nosing around."

"You can take the cost out of my tips–"

"Shut up." His tone is affectionate enough to take the sting out of the words. "Stick around as long as you want to, Eli. We'll figure this shit out. But I'm going to make my opinion clear once more–"

Adam pulls into the driveway of the lodge, putting the truck in park, and turns to look at me. "I don't think that girl put a spell on you. And I think you're throwing away something good because you won't hear her out." He shrugs. "But then again, what the hell do I know? Go on, let me get back to the bar."

I get out of the truck, watching as he drives away. And the smallest flicker of doubt worms its way into my gut, enough to make me wonder if there's something to what he's saying.

But I've got no other explanation for what's happened between Wisteria and I.

And I'm not the kind of man to let myself get burned twice.

—

I knowI can't go to any of the witches in Bayton for help. I'd guess they know Wisteria, and they're going to take her side. I doubt I'd get a straight answer, let alone any assistance. But there's another town further down the coast, in Oregon, similar to Bayton but without the tourist traffic that Bayton thrives on. Another town that's a haven for magical folks, called Ash Hallow.

On my next day off, I wake up early, get on the bike, and start the four-hour ride there. The plan is to look for someone who can help me, have a chat with them, and then spend the night, heading back tomorrow morning and getting back to Bayton before I need to be at work. With any luck, I'll be free of Wisteria's influence before I go back to the Howling Moon tomorrow. I won't feel the way I do any longer.

It's been three days, and the pain hasn't let up. The anger hasn't, either–but that hurt is always there, like a festering wound, making me want to go and see her. To talk to her. I'm aching for her, my dreams every night full of her, unable to even relieve my still over-active libido because as soon as I wrap my hand around myself, all I can think about is her.

At this point, with things the way they stand between us, I'd do or pay just about anything to make this feeling stop. I didn't know how lonely I was before, and I guess there's nothing I can do to keep from knowing it now, now that I've felt something different. But I'd rather feel that loneliness than this gnawing, bleeding pain.

There's a bed-and-breakfast that I see almost as soon as I cross over into the town, a pretty grey-painted Victorian with a red door. I park the bike, walking up the steps onto the wide wrap-around porch and into a cozy, wood-paneled foyer that smells like cinnamon and oranges.

A pretty young woman with black hair piled on her head and burgundy lipstick is standing at the desk, wearing a short black silk dress with a cropped leather jacket over it. She flashes me a smile, her gaze immediately indicating the kind of interest that I'm used to seeing on women's faces. She has grey-blue eyes, I see, fringed with thick dark lashes, and I don't get any kind of whiff of shifter on her. I don't know what kind of magical being she is, which immediately puts me on edge.

"Hi, there. What can I do for you?"

There's a gold nametag on her jacket that says Anna. For a second, I think of doing the kind of thing that I would have done before I met Wisteria, when I saw a beautiful girl who so clearly has an interest in me. I can fucking smell it on her, the instantaneous desire. I think of telling her I need a room, asking her to show me upstairs personally, knowing that the second we're behind closed doors I'll be a few minutes away from being inside of her. From losing myself in mindless pleasure long enough to drive away the loneliness and hurt.

The moment I think of it–the moment I imagine her up against a door with that leather jacket off and her pretty dark red lips parted and begging for more, my chest seizes with a pain that makes me gasp. I feel my eyes widen, my hand pressing against my chest as I wait for the pain to abate, a sharp burn that threatens to drive me to my knees. I had a bullet wing me once, during a bad bar fight, and it still didn't hurt as bad as that.

"Are you alright?" Her eyes go wide, too, and I nod, sucking in air.

"Just a cramp," I manage. "It was a cold ride. I just need a room. And I'm wonderin' if there's anyone in town who knows somethin' about spells, and undoin' them. I need to have a chat with an expert."

She cocks her head, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. "Oh? I could probably help more if I knew more of the details."

"It's pretty personal." The last thing I want to do is go into details with this stranger about the way Wisteria makes me feel, about how right now, four hours and god knows how many miles I am away from her, my body feels like it's crying out for her like she's food and water and air. That just thinking about being with someone else makes my body physically reject the idea.

"Oh. I understand." Anna presses her lips together. "Well, I have a room–and you might want to visit Aurora. She has a shop in town–a lot of what she does is divination magic, but I understand she knows something about undoing spells. The Mage's Hand–you can't miss it. It's right in between the Magic Bean and the Paper Blossom, if you want a coffee or a bouquet of flowers." She gives me a bright smile, only the smallest hint of disappointment in her face, as if she's picked up on the fact that what's brought me here are troubles with a woman. "What's your name? I'll get you in the system, and get you set up with a room."

"Eli Evans." I reach in my pocket for my wallet. "Just whatever you have is fine."

Fifteen minutes later, I have a room key and a parking pass for my bike, a promise of a hot breakfast in the morning and a soft bed tonight. I go upstairs to shower and change, feeling the steady throb of pain in my chest, trying not to think about how it felt as if it got worse with every mile away from Bayton.

How could she have done this to me?That same thought has been rattling around my head every minute since Adam told me the truth. And the immediate follow-up–how could I have been such a fool?

I'd believed Wisteria was everything she seemed to be–sweet, genuine, funny, and adorable when she started to let her mouth run away with her, saying what was in her head before she could stop herself. Almost shy in her desire for me, but so willing to give herself up to it, anyway.

I groan at the thought, tipping my head back under the water, trying to ignore my hard cock brushing against my abdomen, the painful tightness of my knot. I've been like this since Wisteria left my room at the lodge, hard more often than not, and I can't do much about it. Every time I try, she's all that fills my mind. Her scent, her taste, her velvet-soft heat wrapped around me. It's enough to drive me mad.

It'll be gone, after tonight. I'll be myself again.

I get out of the shower, and get dressed, forcing my erection back into a pair of jeans and ignoring it. I don't want to think about her. I don't want to fantasize about her. All my life, I've run from the possibility of being forced to feel things against my will. And it happened to me anyway.

It's a ten-minute ride to the shop that Anna told me about. I park out front, looking around. There's a very Sleepy Hollow, rustic-goth vibe to the town that I like. The trees are all ablaze with color, red and orange, interspersed with grey-white birches. The businesses are mostly painted in varying shades of a spectrum of grey to black, and the Halloween decorations are out in full-force. It's not hard to find the Mage Hand–there's a prettily decorated chalkboard easel out front, advertising tarot readings.

When I step inside, it's quiet. The herbal incense scent that fills the small space makes my chest tighten instantly, making me think of Wisteria, making me miss her with a physical longing that urges me to get back on my bike and ride back to Bayton immediately.

Instead, I walk towards the wooden counter, where a petite, midde-aged woman with dark red hair is flipping through a faded book. She looks up as soon as she hears me, a smile creasing the edges of her dark brown eyes edged in black liner, her mouth painted with lipstick to match.

"Hi there. In need of a tarot reading?" Her smile widens a little. "I'm Aurora."

"Eli Evans." I feel a prickle of discomfort down my spine–this woman is clearly powerful. Most witches don't give off any kind of aura–I can't say I've ever met one who I knew was a witch by feeling the magic around them, the way I can feel and smell a shifter's aura. But this woman has magic practically shimmering off of her, enough to make my skin tingle.

Like Penelope, she doesn't smell poisonous to me, not the way I was always told witches should to a shifter. She smells like woodsmoke and honey. Now that I think about it, Delia didn't smell bad, either. The other witch who works with Wisteria always smells like baking to me–like vanilla and sweet pie filling.

Nothing like what I've always heard.

Is there something else you're wrong about?That little seed of doubt, the one that Adam planted, flares again. But I ignore it, stepping up to the counter. "I'm interested in findin' out how to get a spell taken off me."

"A curse?" Aurora frowns. "Cursebreaking is hard, and dangerous. Expensive, too."

"Not a curse, I don't think," I clarify quickly. "I think someone's cast a love spell on me. Another witch. And I want it undone. I'm a shifter, and I think she tried to bind me to her."

Whatever Aurora thinks of that, it doesn't show on her face. She leans forward, the bell-shaped black lace sleeves of her blouse pooling on the wooden counter, and peers at me for a moment. "A love spell." Her eyes sweep over me. "Cast by a witch? Not one given to a human, or to another shifter, by a witch?"

"No. She cast it on me herself."

"You were there when it was cast?" She frowns. "A spell that was accepted, done with consent by the receiving party–"

"No. I mean–hell, I might've been there when she did it. But I didn't know, and I sure as hell didn't agree to it."

"Hm." She straightens, moving around the counter to stand in front of me. "I don't sense magic on you. I can feel a bit of your aura–the shifter part of you, I think. We witches are often in tune with shifters."

"No shit," I growl. "That's why we don't get into relationships with you. None of us have any interest in bein' someone's pet."

I wait for her to take offense, but there's no sign of it on her face. She looks calm–focused, even. "I've never known a witch to make a pet of a shifter," she says mildly. "I suppose it's possible, but I can't say I associate with any witches so dark as to do that kind of thing."

Dark.It's not a word I would have ever associated with Wisteria. Nothing about Wisteria, to me, is dark. She's light, beautiful, sweet, airy.

It was a lie. A trick to get close to you.Even now, the magic is still working on you. Making you think she's what she made you believe she was. I close my eyes, briefly, trying to push it all out of my head. My pulse is beating hard in my throat, my chest aching. I miss her. I need her. And I'm about to lose my connection to her.

A sense of panic washes over me, chilling my skin. But when I open my eyes, Aurora is still inspecting me.

"I still don't sense any magic on you. Certainly not the signature of another witch's spell. But I can go deeper–see if it's hidden. Some witches are particularly skilled at hiding their magic." She pauses. "I'll have to touch you. Is that alright?"

I don't particularly like the idea of another witch putting their hands on me. But if I want the spell gone, it doesn't seem as if I have much of a choice.

"Alright. What's this gonna cost me?"

Aurora hesitates. "Let's take this one step at a time. I'm not convinced you're bewitched. Let me find out, and determine what it will take to lift this spell, if there is one. Then we can discuss payment."

"Okay. Fine."

I flinch when she reaches out to touch me. I can't help it. She puts one thin hand over my heart, pressing against my shirt. The other curls around the back of my neck, her skin cool and paper-dry, and I see her close her eyes. Some of the color seems to leave her face, and I feel a faint trembling in her hands as she whispers something under her breath. I don't feel anything, which is somehow a little more frightening. Whatever she's doing to me, I can't feel it. I wouldn't even know it was happening, if I hadn't asked her to do it, if I couldn't hear her whispering her incantation under her breath.

Just like I didn't know when Wisteria bewitched me.

She stays like that for what feels like forever, even though it's likely only a few minutes. She pulls back, blinking, her eyes going from black back to the dark brown that I saw when I first walked in. It's a little unsettling–I know my own eyes change when I shift, but I've never seen it.

"There's no spell on you." She says it with such confidence that it brings me up short.

I blink. "Yes, there is. Wisteria–a witch in Bayton–she put a love spell on me. I want it gone."

Aurora lets out a sigh, leaning back against the counter. "There's no spell, Mr. Evans. Nothing I can feel or sense. And unless she's an incredibly powerful witch, beyond anyone I've ever known, I would feel it. I'm fairly powerful, myself, among witches of my kind."

I'd never say it to Wisteria's face, but incredibly powerful isn't a phrase I'd think of to use for her. Capable, yes. Skilled. But not incredibly powerful.

But then again, what do I know?

"I want it gone," I repeat stubbornly, and Aurora pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

"Look, Mr. Evans. I could charge you a lot of money and burn some incense and mutter some bullshit, and you'd be none the wiser. But I like to think of myself as an honest woman, so I'm not going to do that. There's no spell. You're not bewitched." She lets out another sigh. "What makes you think you are?"

It was difficult enough to tell Adam the intimate details of my relationship with Wisteria, my rabid desire for her, the way I can't seem to get enough of her or be away from her for long. It's harder still to tell this stranger–this witch. But I do, softening some of the more lurid details, but enough for her to get the idea.

She blinks at me. "You said you were a shifter, right?"

I nod tightly. "A wolf."

"It sounds like a shifter's mate bond." She says it as if it's obvious, and I don't know if I want to burst into laughter, or grab the nearest breakable thing and fling it at the wall.

"I know about the goddamn mate bonds. I'm a shifter," I growl, taking a small amount of pleasure in the way I see her briefly flinch. "It's not possible with a human."

She frowns. "What makes you say that?"

I stare at her like she's lost her mind. "It's common knowledge. A mate bond is between shifters. Usually shifters of the same species, although it's possible for one to form between different species." I rattled the information off like I was reading a textbook, growing more irritated by the second. "I just came here for help. If you can't help me–or won't–then–"

"I would help you if I could." Her expression was even and calm, and she was seemingly entirely unfazed by my emotions. "I suspect, Mr. Evans, you would be much happier if you would hear what I'm trying to tell you. I can understand you must have reason for believing what you feel for this woman is the work of witchcraft, but I assure you, it's not. There's no magic on you, no spell. It seems to me that this is a mate bond. I understand that I'm not as well-versed in this, not being a shifter, but based on what you're saying, it seems like the most likely explanation. And–" she holds up a hand, before I can interrupt her again. "I know it's possible. I've seen it myself. A witch in a town not too far from here, formed a fated bond with a shifter who lived there. A bear."

"And you know her personally?" My heart is beating too quickly, my thoughts moving faster than I can make sense of them. If it's not a spell. If it's not a spell, and I hurt Wisteria for nothing, I've ruined both our lives. Over an accusation I should've thought twice about before making. Adam might've been right.

"A close friend does. I've seen them together, though. They're bonded–it seems clear to me. And they described how it felt–in rather too much detail, actually." She laughed softly. "They were like newlyweds. The descriptions were the same as what you're saying, Mr. Evans. And as there's no trace of a spell on you that I can find–" She raised her hands and let them drop. "It seems like the most logical explanation to me."

The mate bond. The fucking bond.I've been trying to run from it all my life, and now it might've caught up with me. And the truth is–I'm not sure I'm upset about it. Not about the bond, at least–although it doesn't escape me that it might be the bond itself making me feel that way.

"You're sure about this?" I try to keep my voice steady, but it's hard. A hundred thoughts feel like they're crashing through my head all at once. The possibility of a bond, the possibility that this woman is full of shit, the fact that I've wrecked my relationship with Wisteria past all hope of salvaging it, the fact that she'll never forgive me. Why would she? I accused her of something terrible, and said things I can't ever take back. All without ever believing a word of the explanation she tried to give me, or listening to her at all.

"I can't be sure," Aurora says carefully. "I'm not a shifter."

"Then how can I be sure?" I have to know. One way or another, I need to know the truth about this. I'll go crazy otherwise.

She hesitates. "Again–I'm no expert on this. But to my knowledge, a shifter bonded in the way that I think you are can still choose to bite his mate, and bond that way as well. If this woman is someone who can be bonded to you–it will work. You'll feel that change as well–the physical merging of your pheromones, as well as the spiritual sensation of the bond you currently have."

"This is all a little new age, and metaphysical for me." I narrow my eyes. "I only believe in this shit because I've seen it firsthand. And now you're telling me there's some other way to mix and match bonds with a human?"

Aurora raises an eyebrow. "Have you been able to knot her?"

Heat crawls up my neck. "That's an intimate question," I mutter, and Aurora nods.

"I know. But my point in asking is this–to my knowledge, the biting mate bond will allow you to do that. If you're able to, it means that it worked. Which, by that logic, means the other bond is what's causing these feelings between you as well."

My chest tightens, a surge of emotion hitting me all at once. That possibility–it's not something I've allowed myself to consider, not even for a moment. Even letting myself think of wanting it was too dangerous. It danced too close to the line of possibly losing my self-control with her. And even then, I worried sometimes that I would.

"You should go back," Aurora said gently. "I would stake my magic that there's no spell on you, Mr. Evans. This is a conundrum of a different kind, for you. And it's one that only you and the woman you're bonded with can work out." She smiles. "There's no charge, by the way. I didn't do anything all that difficult. The information is on the house. But I suggest you get back home, just as soon as you can."

My head is spinning as I leave the shop. This can't be true. It can't. But everything she said, coupled with how I feel–how I've felt since I met Wisteria, makes seeds of doubt spring to life.

And the alternative–that it is true, is hard to even allow myself to consider.

If Wisteria is my mate, I could have everything with her. There would be no fear of losing myself to a bond with someone else. No fear that I'd ever have to walk away from her. And every physical thing–knotting, the day after the moon, all the pleasures I've ignored all my life on account of the intimacy, and that I thought I couldn't have with her…according to this witch, they'd suddenly be a possibility.

If Wisteria let me bond with her the natural way. If she let me bite her.

A few days ago, I might've thought it was a possibility. Now it's utterly laughable. After what I said to her, after the way we parted–there's no chance she'll even hear me out. Let alone want to be all but married to me.

And if this is that other kind of mate bond, the fated kind–this longing, this hurt that I can't escape and that worsens with every minute I stay away from her…it won't go away. It won't ever go away. I'd think it was a fair punishment, for the way I treated her–but if this is the bond, then she's feeling it too.

That makes me feel a thousand times worse, thinking that I might have inflicted this on her.

I know, logically, that I should stay the night in the room I'd paid for. That I should give myself a few hours and a night's sleep to think over what Aurora had said, to consider the potential consequences of it. To think about what I'm going to say–or not say–to Wisteria.

But I can't. I know as soon as I throw my leg over my bike and start the engine that I'm not going back to the bed and breakfast.

I'm headed back to Bayton.

It's well past dark by the time I near the town. Something prickles the hair on the back of my neck, a sense of danger that I don't entirely understand, but I've learned over the years not to ignore those instincts. It's saved my life before.

And then, ahead of me as I round a curve, are four sets of motorcycle headlights.

A shifter's vision is exceptionally good in the dark. I can make out the leather cut on one of the riders, the crossed scythes on the back that I remember, dimly through a red haze of pain, seeing on one of the men who attacked me in the forest.

They make the same turn I'm about to, and I realize they're headed into town. Into Bayton. And the only reason they could possibly have for that is causing more trouble for the people I care about. For Adam, maybe–or Wisteria.

My blood rushes in my ears, burning hot with anger at the thought, my heart pounding. I speed up, rushing towards them as we go around another curve, and angle myself towards the leader of the four, the one with the leather cut on. I veer into him, sharply enough to drive him off the side of the road, over the embankment towards the trees.

It's a dangerous move. I almost send my own bike spilling over the edge. The rider shouts, his cry echoing as the bike spins out, the tires skidding across asphalt, and then dirt and grass as the bike slides. It bounces–and then tumbles, end over end, sending both motorcycle and rider into a tree.

The other three are frantically slowing, trying not to meet a similar fate. One of them loses control, his bike skidding down, sending him flying, the bike only just hitting the ground to one side of him instead of crushing him on the way down. The air is full of the scent of gas and oil, and I leap off of my bike as I come to a stop, wary of the possibility of the wrecks below catching fire.

The rider in the leather cut is utterly still. I recognize him as the one who had the baseball bat, who beat me nearly to death along with the help of his three friends. One of those three is lying ten feet away from him, moaning in pain. The other two are headed towards me, but I clamber down the embankment, going for the injured one.

And then I see his phone, cracked and fallen to one side in the grass, the screen lit up. There's a maps app open on it–and I recognize the address.

They were headed to Wisteria's house.

I can feel my wolf jolt awake inside of me, lurching, pushing at skin and muscle and bone in a furious effort to get out. I feel my teeth sharpen, my nails lengthening into claws, and the man lying in the grass has a look of utter horror on his face as he looks up at me. I can only imagine what I look like right now, still a man–but not, at the same time.

"You were gonna hurt her." My voice comes out as a snarl, half-inhuman, and I smell the scent of piss as he wets himself.

"We were–we were just going to have a chat. We're not going anywhere now, we–oh god, Kurt–"

"I'm pretty sure Kurt's fuckin' dead." I lean over him, my half-shifted shadow stretching over the grass, and he lets out a terrified whimper. "Just like you're about to be."

I drive my hand down into his throat, claws puncturing his skin, blood gushing out around my fingers. He lets out a rattling gasp, and I jerk my gore-covered hand free, turning towards the two men scrambling towards me.

"Who's next?" I snarl, feeling my muscles starting to twitch and enlarge, my human form becoming more and more beastly by the moment. The other two stumble back, faces pale and bloodless in the thin ray of moonlight, and I let out a growl that sends one of them tripping over his own feet, into the grass.

I advance towards them. "Your leader's dead. Not so brave without him, are you?"

One of them shakes his head. The one who had the brass knuckles, I think, when they came after me. The wolf in me wants to kill them both, to punish them for what they did to me, to hurt them for what they did to Wisteria's shop. They all took part, even if it was Kurt who was leading the pack, so to speak.

But I've never been a killer. I'm a man who lives on the wrong side of the law, but almost never that far. Before tonight, I'd only ever killed one other man, in self-defense.

I don't think I want to add two more to that list.

"You're going to get out of here," I growl. "You're going to keep going, as far from Bayton as you can get. And if I ever so much as fuckin' smell you within a hundred miles, it'll be your throat torn out next. I swear to God I'll kill you."

They run. Stumbling over their own feet, crawling up the hill, nearly dropping their bikes in their attempts to get on and ride in the opposite direction–but they run. And I stand there in the moonlight, chest heaving, struggling to get enough control over my wolf to go and see Wisteria.

She might not want to see me. She might not ever want to speak to me again. But I have to see her. Just long enough to know she's safe–to be sure that no one has hurt her. To tell her I was wrong, even if I don't get the chance to explain any further than that.

I leave the bodies there. It looks like a motorcycle accident, and as far as anyone knows, that's what it can be. There's a bottle of water in one of my saddlebags, and I pour it over my hand, washing away the blood before I get back on the bike.

I drive straight to Wisteria's house, parking by the fence. My heart is pounding as I stride quickly up the path to her front door, forgetting that it's nearly one in the morning as I knock heavily, the anticipation of seeing her nearly painful.

A few minutes pass before the door swings open. I'm on the verge of knocking again when it does. I lower my hand, just in time to see her face turn from shock to anger, her brow creasing as she shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. She's wearing a tank top and soft-looking shorts, and my entire body tightens at the sight of her, desire washing over me in a choking, suffocating wave.

It takes everything in me not to reach for her. Not to step into the house and wrap my arms around her and crush her against me, kissing her the way I've been craving for the past few days. I need her desperately, and I can't have her.

I might never get to have her again.

"What are you doing here, Eli?" Her voice is sharp and bitter. There's nothing sweet or gentle about the way she says my name, and I ache, painfully, to hear it the way I used to.

It's my fault that I'm not getting to hear it that way again, and no one else's. My fault that I might never get to hear it like that again.

"Those men that attacked me, and ruined your shop–" I shake my head, forcing down the anger that threatens to rise up again, choking me, making my wolf stir and stretch. "They were comin' after you. Comin' here, to your house, tonight. I stopped them on the way back into town."

Wisteria's face goes bone white, all the blood leaching from her skin. "You're sure of that?" she whispers, and I nod tightly.

"I saw them. Saw your address on one of their phones. But they won't be comin' after you now. I handled it."

I see the shudder that runs through her. "I don't want to know, do I?" she whispers, and I shake my head.

"Probably not."

"What were you doing out there?" she whispers, and then as quickly as she asks it, shakes her head like a dog shaking off water. "Never mind. It's none of my business."

She starts to shut the door, as if she doesn't want to hear any more of this, but I put my hand against it, stopping her. I know I shouldn't–know that it's going to frighten her, but I can't let the conversation end here. Not without telling her.

Her eyes go wide, and she goes very still. "Eli–"

"I went to Ash Hallow. It's another little town–"

"I know." Her voice is deadly quiet. "Say what you're going to say, and then get the fuck out."

Every word feels like a stab, a knife driven into my heart and twisted. "I went to talk to a witch there," I say quietly, and I see her flinch. "I wanted the spell off of me. I wanted to be free of it."

Her face tightens–with pain or anger, I can't quite tell which. Maybe both. "There's no–"

"I know." I cut her off, and I can hear the misery that I feel echoing in every word. "I know. I found that out, from this woman."

"So you listened to another witch, but not me. Not the woman who–" She breaks off, shaking her head. "Goddamn it, Eli, it doesn't matter now. Just go–"

"She told me something else. She told me–"

"I don't want to hear it!" Wisteria shouts, her voice rising. "You had a chance to hear me out, and you called me a lying bitch instead, threw away everything we had because you thought you knew what was going on. And now that you know you were wrong, you want to come crawling back?" She shakes her head, her eyes glimmering with tears all over again. "No."

"Wisteria. Just listen–"

"Like you listened to me?"

It's fair. Everything she's saying is fair. But I can't think past the desperate need clawing at my chest, the panic that fills me at the thought of never telling her any of this, of her slamming that door in my face and never seeing or speaking to her again. "Wisteria. She told me–there's no magic. I should have believed you." I speak rapidly, frantic to get it all out. "But she knew a human witch who bonded to a bear shifter. She said–it's the mate bond. That's why we feel this way, why I–" I break off, looking down at her. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen, even right now, in this moment where she's looking at me as if she hates me.

The only woman in the world who has ever been able to make me stop running.

"It's the bond, Wisteria," I whisper. "We're mates. And I–"

She lets out a small, choked sob, tears running freely down her face. "Now you're the one that's lying," she chokes out, the words broken as she forces out each one.

And then she slams the door in my face.