Chapter 8

Kate

My skin feels like it's on fire, and there are ants marching in my blood. I can barely think past the throbbing drum of my pulse and the insistent, swollen heat between my legs.

Run. Chase. Hunt. Pursue.

I turn and take off in bare feet, my bone necklace clanking as I sprint past dew-covered ferns that glow with their own soft light. Double-tailed cats dance out of my way on nimble toes as I come up short with a giant banana slug in my way. I dart around him and his eyestalks swivel to follow me.

As I run, I shove the metal mask into place, stifling my own breath. The same primal energy that's making me run is telling me to keep quiet, that this is a game best played in silence unless I want to become prey in a way that has nothing to do with the heat between my legs and everything to do with my corpse in a bloated pit in the ground.

My ears are pricked for the sound of flapping wings, but all I can hear is my heart, thundering wildly against my ribs. The sound of my feet pounding the earth. My frantic breath echoing behind the mask.

Even though it should be too dark to see, I'm able to pick my way through the woods without much trouble. Something about that spell, about my pupil taking over my entire eye. Like a cat. Like a creature. Like a witch.

Something big and hot and hard hits me, and I stumble, catching onto the edge of a low stump to keep from falling. My fingers scrape dirt and ferns and crumbly bark as strong hands grip my hips and a palm presses down hard between my shoulder blades. My face hits the spongy surface of the stump, cushioned by a thick layer of moss, and I almost howl.

Not sure where that even comes from, but it's there in my throat, clawing its way up. My efforts to stifle that sound turn it into a moan that's caught by my mask and certainly doesn't count as speaking. When Marlowe initially attacked me, a groan or a snort or a hum didn't seem to matter.

Only words. Only words are dangerous.

I cry out as that rough hand jerks my leather pants over my ass, but it isn't a cry of pain or fear or anger: it's one of pure, unbridled lust. I've been captured by whatever spell I helped to cast. Dancing. Humming. Bleeding. Consuming.

Fucking.

I should've known that it would all come down to fucking. What's more primal than bloodletting? Than dancing around flames in the middle of the forest? Just sex. It's all that's left.

Based on the needy frenzy of the man behind me, I know that it's Tanner. He was the only one that seemed like he was interested beyond the magic we just wove. This is more than a ritual for him, and he makes that obvious to me when he leans his body over mine, metal mask hanging and brushing across my skin.

Bloody lips brush over the shell of my ear as he snakes a hand underneath me, shoving the necklace aside to find my breasts. A rough thumb slips between my hardened nipple and the bed of moss beneath me.

A tiny, little kernel of logic rests in the back of my mind, screaming that I should have been told about this before we started the spell. It's too late now, and I want this as much as anyone—even Tanner. The magic is inside of me and with it, I've become a part of the Witchwoods. Sex isn't good or bad here. Isn't loving or cruel. Isn't consensual or forceful. It just is. Like an animal. Like a beast. Like a witch.

Tanner pushes his huge, hard cock between my wet, swollen folds, seating himself inside of me with an unhinged growl. He digs his feet into the ground for leverage and drives hard, ensuring that we're as close together as physically possible, that every inch of him is fully sheathed in tight, slippery heat.

I make another primal sound, writhing against him, using the stump to push back against him as hard as he's grinding into me. No thrusting yet, just him pushing forward and me rubbing back. We nestle together, two wild things in the woods, and then he bites down on my neck and his teeth are slightly pointed.

Even through the haze of lust and magic, I have enough consciousness left to think what the fuck? I bite my own lip and sure enough, tiny fangs dig into my skin. Two on each side, I think. They hurt for a second, followed by a rush of pure pleasure. It scoots through my body, digging into my veins, and then I am the one that's glowing.

Tanner, too. I can see the glow he casts over me as he releases my neck and sits up, bracing one hand on my upper back and the other on my left hip. My hat falls sideways, obscuring my eyes, but he pushes it back into place and then starts to fuck.

Each movement of his body against mine brings with it the dry click of old bones, the jangle of charms from his hat, and the slick slide of his cock inside my pussy. It's so quiet in the woods that I can hear the obscene wet sucking sound of my body trying to hold onto his, every slap of flesh on flesh as he drives forward, all of the crazed and unsettled noises that he's making.

I'm making them, too, plaintive, mewling cries mixed with his grunts and growls. When he removes the hand from my hip, the sounds change to muffled groans as he fixes his mask back in place. He doesn't trust his tongue not to speak and neither do I. It'd be so easy to slip, to find ourselves at the mercy of the Hag Wytch.

I dig my nails into the moss, loosening big clumps of it as I scrabble at the stump in feverish pleasure. I knock fans of luminous fungi onto the ground, uproot a tiny redwood seedling, dig my toes into the wet dirt as I curl them with excitement and anticipation.

He delivers.

Oh yes he fucking does.

Punches that dick deep. Draws out. Fights back in through my tight muscles. His hands are all over me, savoring everything. It's almost enough to make me believe what he said about worshiping me. Only, this is less of a supplication and more of an obsessive indulgence.

Pleasure blooms between my legs, curling through my body in lazy, liquid heat. Tanner pumps it through me with each roll of his hips, stirring up my need. He goes hard, hard , harder—

Tanner's voice is loud, but wordless as he moans and spasms against me, clutching at me, hard muscles locking, cock twitching and spurting hot liquid into my core. I shove my ass back against him, his stubbled face lowered to brush against me. We rub and undulate against one another as he empties himself, dragging my mask down and offering up his inked forearm for me to bite.

I dig my teeth into him, riding out his wave as I wish fervently for my own.

He steps back suddenly and leaves me empty, frantic. One big hand cracks my ass and then I'm sitting up and stripping my leather pants, fixing my mask.

This time, when I run, I'm basically naked.

Naked in the woods with only a bone necklace and a hat for company, hot seed running down my inner thighs, blood on my chest and on my lips beneath an iron mask. I'm still glowing, like all of the other strange creatures that live here, sprinting past small mossy knolls and spider webs bigger than I am, past tiny doors at the bases of large trees.

I can hear somebody behind me, darting between trunks and gaining speed. Even though I want to be caught, I sprint a little faster into the shadows of the woods, encountering a large silver wolf. He looks my way with amber eyes until he notices the thing that's chasing me.

Even the wolf doesn't want to bother a witch in rut.

Brooks' massive form knocks into mine, sending me sprawling onto the ground. It's all a game, and we both know it, but it's hard not to get caught up in the frenzy. I'm fighting him like a wildcat as he turns me onto my back, my nails raking his face and hitting the metal of his mask. It falls off, swinging from its chain. My knee flies up and nearly makes contact with his crotch, but he catches it and shoves my legs apart.

His pants are already gone, and he's as naked as I am, wearing bones and an iron mask. Six red eyes glow on the cone of his witch hat.

They look like they want to fuck me, too.

The design on Brooks' chest bleeds red across my skin as he locks my wrists against the forest floor and mounts me without preamble. My body is wet enough and aroused enough to take him, but it's still a stretch as he works his massive cock into me. Whatever magic it was that this forest worked on his hair and eyes, on his muscles, it also worked on his dick.

His balls feel huge and swollen as he rocks forward and they press firmly against my ass. He holds himself there, staring down into my eyes with his solid black ones. His hat is crooked, the pointed tip curled like a ram's horn, bones and dried roses and teeth pinned over its black suede brim.

I put the full force of my body into trying to throw him off, but all I can do is arch my back underneath him and lift my breasts for his viewing pleasure. He looks, but he doesn't touch, keeping me pinned as he draws his hips back and then rams them forward, bottoming-out inside of me as I groan and writhe, shaking my head back and forth and tangling my braided hair with twigs and pine needles.

Brooks pulls almost all the way out of me and then punches the entire weight of his body forward, knocking my ass into the dirt and making my breasts bounce along with the necklace. He's slow and methodical and hard. Each snap of his hips against my pelvis echoes through the trees, a warning to other predators to stay away.

Faster, faster, in and out. That's what I want to say, chasing an elusive orgasm that won't come. I thrust against Brooks when he pulls out, but that just makes him pause. I can barely keep the tip in as I frantically grind against it, giving up when I realize that he isn't going to move for me. Instead, I relax into the dirt and let him do what he wants to do.

A rough, forceful in. A drag of his cock as he nearly slips out. He releases my arms, and I dig my newfound claws into the skin of his inked biceps. That's when I notice the first of the tattoos on my previously naked arms. They're moving like tentacles across my silver skin, swirls of black velvet painting me with designs that match the ones on Brooks.

He slams into me again, locking us together with a possessive grip on either side of my pelvis. Brooks curls his big form over me, so that he can clamp his bloody lips around my nipple, so that he can bite . The feel of his fangs in my skin is enough to urge my climax to the surface, to taunt my bones and blood with pleasure. My toes curl and my back arches like a satisfied housecat.

But I don't come—yet. I drag my mask off, desperate for a breath of fresh air.

My nipple slips from Brooks' mouth as he peers up at me. If he weren't glowing, I wouldn't see him, that's how dark it is out here. His black eyes, the six red ones on his hat, they all watch me like they're waiting to see what I'll do.

I throw myself forward and manage to catch Brooks' lower lip between my teeth, leaving a mark of my own. Got you. He narrows eight eyes in my direction, intercepting my hand as I try to slide it down my belly to find my clit. No! I almost say it aloud, but Brooks puts my mask back on for me.

The noises I make are needy and feral, embarrassing. I'll have to try my hardest not to think about this tomorrow.

My hips buck in search of friction as Brooks pins me down to the dirt with a single hand over both of my wrists. He sits back up, iron mask swaying as he mates me like an animal. Where's the stern, serious alpha-hole from the cottage? He's melted into something barbarous and savage.

We're so wet together, a mess on my thighs and a slickness below his navel. Balls-deep in Tanner's cum, Brooks fucks his way to an orgasm that I can feel in every part of my body. He grips my hair with one hand, braces himself with the other, and climaxes on top of me, the heavy weight of his body grinding mine into the dirt.

Just as quick, he's pulling out of me and hauling me to my feet. When his attention shifts up to the darkness of the trees above us, I realize that there's a hint of gray light in the air. Sunrise is coming.

I spin away from him, stumbling on shaky feet and panting as I hide behind a tree to catch my breath. My body feels too tender and needy to run, so I don't. I slink from trunk to trunk, listening for footsteps, wondering where Marlowe is, knowing that this is going to be the most difficult part of the night for me.

He's the one that trapped me here. I hate him. When we get home, I might stab him. I want to. I want to make him pay for what he did to me, but I'm also not fully myself. The witch in the woods that I am right now, she wants to fuck him first.

I step out from behind the tree and turn, intending on chasing Marlowe down myself. I can feel time slipping through my fingers, and I know that if we hit sunrise and the ritual isn't finished, that we'll have to do it all over again.

I don't have to look far. He's right there, waiting for me.

Marlowe grabs me by the back of the neck and walks me into the tree that I was using to hide from him. Our eyes are locked as he cocks his head at me, but even with an all-black gaze, I can see that this is only about the magic for him. Unlike with Tanner, he wouldn't be fucking me if it weren't for the spell.

Good.

Then we're on the same page.

He yanks his mask down and then does the same to me. Closes his eyes. This time, it's him kissing me. His tongue is wild and searching, cleaning the blood from my lips and teeth like he's doing me a favor. When he bites me, it's my lower lip that he takes between his teeth, sucking more of my blood into his hot, wicked mouth. I repay the favor by biting his tongue.

Marlowe ... I'd rather call him Lo ... takes my ass in his hands and hauls me up from the forest floor. My legs go around him as he pins my back to the soft, fuzzy bark of the tree. With one hand between us, he guides the scalding tip of his cock to the puffed- up folds of my pussy. It's swollen as hell from having two huge men take me.

Adding a third to the list in a single night, when my previous body count was exactly one, is a massive undertaking. Pun intended.

Lo drags my body down to meet his, locking us together before he plants a palm on the tree trunk above my head. His other hand grips my ass to keep me where he wants me, and then he rolls my hips, forcing me up and down his rigid shaft. Unlike the other two, he ensures that my clit is trapped between our sweaty bodies, working it with a furious, deep grinding motion that churns my insides and hits me in all the right places.

I'm moaning again, so loudly that Marlowe puts my mask back on for me. His eyes are closed as he fucks me, his hat low enough to cover his brow. It lilts lazily to one side as he works his hips, driving me rapidly to the climax that I've been chasing for too long now.

They didn't want me to come until the end.

I wonder why?

There's no way for me to ask now—not that I would, even if I could—so I lose myself in the moment because there's nothing else to do. It feels good, so wicked good, but I know I'm going to regret this whole situation come morning. Might as well wring the last of the pleasure from the fleeting night.

Marlowe turns his head finally, opening his eyes to look at me. I reach up to push his hat back for a better look, and he knocks my wrist aside like it's nothing. His fingers tighten on my ass, claws digging into the soft flesh and making me bleed. I try again to touch his hat, and he slaps me away a second time. On the third attempt, he drags me away from the tree, drops to his knees and puts me on the ground.

A huge hand cages my neck, holding me down but not choking me, just keeping me away from him so that I can't touch his goddamn hat. I'm going to make it a mission to touch that hat. The wild witch thing that I've become loves all of this, the banter and the power play, the friction and the heat.

My insides are wound tight, locking down on Lo until he can barely move, until he's rubbing and rolling his pelvis more than he's thrusting. I arch my back and dig my fingers into the dirt on either side of me, and then I let out a sudden, forceful exhale. My pussy loosens, and Marlowe makes a sound that'll stick with me long after tonight, when I remember that he trapped me in the woods and that I hate him.

" Mm." He makes the sound and then chokes on it, cutting off the word as he releases my neck and buries his face against the side of it instead. When his breath hits the side of my Tanner-bitten throat, I come so hard that I can't breathe.

The orgasm surges along with a fresh splash of power and ink. My skin is marked and filled like a coloring book, and my channel locks on Marlowe and pulses, throbs, squeezes him into coming with a low, deep grunt and a barely restrained curse. I hear ffff before he gets control of himself and growls instead, spilling inside of me with frantic, jerky motions of his hips.

I'm still sparkling with magic, halfway between panting and laughing, when he hauls ass out of me and stands up, yanking me along with him. I'm drawn into Marlowe's arms, and then we're running full tilt back through the woods.

"Shit, shit, fuck," he groans, his mask hanging off his bloodied face. My eyes widen because I can feel in my bones what a bad idea it is to talk inside these woods, but Marlowe's already terrified, teeth gritted, running as fast and hard as he can.

That's when I hear the singing.

It's absolutely fucking beautiful, a woman's voice drowning the woods in the sweet sounds of a language I know that I've never heard before. It hits me in the heart, and I feel tears running down the sides of my ashy, bloody face. They hit the wound on my chest as my glowing body cools, and the fervor of the spell begins to fade away.

It's much brighter in the forest now, although a thick wood like this never really brightens up. There are no breaks between the trees, just a solid canopy of evergreen boughs that block out the sky. When I look at Marlowe, I see that his eyes are normal again. One glance down at my hands is enough to see that my claws are gone.

The music weaves into my bones as my eyelids begin to slide shut and Marlowe shouts at the top of his lungs.

" Motherfucker, son of a bitch, cucking, cocksucking, stupid goddamn Hag!" The angry sound of his words drags me back from the deep, and I realize that it's the music that's making me sleepy.

"That's the Hag?" I ask, pulling my mask down. Alarm bells are ringing in my skull. There's no time to be weirded out by ... what the actual fucking fuck did I just do? My cheeks blaze as Marlowe leaps fallen logs and skirts the edge of a rock-lined cave entrance with butterflies pouring into it.

"She sings the world to sleep," he grates out between his teeth, and then we're catching up to Brooks and Tanner.

" What happens at sunrise?"

" Sleep happens." Okay. So Tanner was being straight with me.

"Go, go, go," Brooks urges, panting heavily as we shoot through the clearing with the now-doused bonfire. "Go, Lo, go!"

Marlowe's muscles bunch and then release in a rush of speed that makes me dizzy, and I recognize the tree that leads to the cozy little cottage. That big knot of wood on the front is a dead giveaway. I'd wonder if it were too obvious, but they've clearly been living here for a while.

"Coven help us," Marlowe whispers as the music gets louder and birds in the trees begin to trill along with the same melody. His steps slow, like he's slogging through mud, and then he's stumbling and nearly dropping me on the ground.

I'm not sure what else to do, so I slap him in the face as hard as I can, and he blinks his way out of the daze to stare at me. But he does find his feet, even as my own head lolls on my shoulders. I hear the sound of the door's mechanism releasing and then we're spilling onto the landing and Marlowe collapses to his knees with a groan.

He just barely has the strength to turn, so that I'm not crushed against the wall by, well, a wall of muscle. He slumps onto the floor with me naked on his lap, head falling back as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

I'm yawning, too, and far too groggy to move. The last place in the world I'd want to sleep is on Marlowe Waverley's lap—naked. But it's too late. My head flops onto his shoulder as I see Tanner and Brooks pulling the door closed with their combined strength (which doesn't seem to be all that much right now).

"Pull, East, pull," Brooks urges Tanner around a huge yawn. The lullaby from outside dims as the wood swings shut, but not fast enough. It's not enough. We're not going to make it.

"Come on, South. Come on." Tanner is on his knees, dragging on the door with failing limbs.

Marlowe is breathing softly enough that I know he's asleep, and I don't really know what happens if we don't get that door shut, but I have an idea that it might be really fucking bad.

I lunge forward and grab onto the polished wood handle, using the entire weight of my body to yank it back. It's not much, but it's enough to complement the efforts of the men. The door slams shut with a satisfying click, and I groan, slumping onto the ground and slamming into Tanner's chest.

He somehow finds the strength to weave his fingers into my hair, and my last thought before I fall asleep is oh shit, that feels like more than just a casual touch.

And that is how I, Katelynn Poppy—painter, old house enthusiast, and proud Humboldt honey—become a witch .