Page 3 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

The altar is a simple affair, just a few trinkets with a candle and incense holder set on top of a dresser. I run my fingers over my sacred objects, feeling their energy. I don’t often do spells; I don’t like to influence the will of the goddess in any way. Now that the spell is done, I’m not sure what drove me to it.

After a moment, it occurs to me that it wasn’t just loneliness—I felt something more. Not that I wanted to be saved, but that I could save someone else. There is a loneliness out there deeper than my own, connected to my heart. I can feel it, and I can’t stand it.

Sighing, I shake my head and go to run a hot bath. My imagination is running wild with me now, and it’s very important in spell work to separate fantasy from reality. The rushing of the warm water and clouds of steam comfort me immediately, even more so when I toss in a generous amount of rose-scented bath salts.

While the bath fills up, I go get a tall glass of white wine and a box of chocolates. When I sink into the warm water and take a deep sip of crisp shiraz, my muscles start to relax. I pop a chocolate into my mouth and moan with pleasure as the strawberry-filled candy dissolves on my tongue.

This isn’t so bad. If I’m going to do the single girl thing, I should take it to the hilt. Join a community group. Start a course. Actually, go on a date sometime.

I let the bright chatter of my thoughts run away with me as my senses become overwhelmed with pleasure from the wine, warm water, and sweet chocolate. Deep down, though, I know all of this is temporary relief. By tomorrow, I’ll be even more lonely than I was before.

Chapter 2 - Peter

I feel the warm trickle of blood down my chin as I slowly get up from the floor to face my enemy. I can barely see him. My hair is in my eyes, and there seems to be blood everywhere.

I’m also as drunk as a fucking raccoon in a barrel of Jack.

“Say it one more time, motherfucker!”

I hear the mad giggle coming out of my mouth, but I barely associate it with myself. When I clench my fists, my knuckles sting where the flesh has been ripped off from landing hard blows on my opponent.

“You’re a cheat,” I whisper.

“I didn’t quite hear that, you diseased fucking weasel!”

“I said you’re a fucking cheat!” I scream, gathering myself and charging at the seven-foot tower of tattooed muscle wavering in my vision.

I hit him with so much force, I knock him off his feet. We both go sailing over the pool table to land on the filthy floor of the bar and roll around, growling like manic badgers as both of us try to get the advantage.

Eventually, I end up on top and pound him in the face a few times before his mates drag me off him. I struggle to get back to join the fight, but one of them smashes his fist right into my guts above the solar plexus.

I can’t see, or move, or even breathe. Pain shudders through me as I tremble on the floor, waiting for the nerve response to settle down so I can get up and back into the fight.

By the time I can shake off the shock and get up, the tough guys are gone. A growl rises in my throat as I think about tracking them down and making them pay for this.

“Hey… are you okay?” a soft voice asks.

I look over. There’s a girl standing nearby—a server, by the look of it. Her eyes are wide and concerned as she takes hesitant steps towards me.

“I’m fine!” I snap. “Leave me alone.”

“You look real bad. Can I help? If you come with me, I can—”

“I said back the fuck off!” I growl, glaring at her.

She stops and takes a step back. “My boss is gonna call the cops,” she says. “I can hide you at my place for a bit, if you come with me.”

“No,” I mutter, trying to get my legs to work so I can stride away from her. “I’ll be fine.”

“You look really hurt,” she presses. “We can explain to the cops it wasn’t your fault.”

“Can’t do that, babe,” I say with a chuckle. “I fucking started it, and you know what? I don’t even know if hewascheating.”

I shove myself away from the bar and stagger towards the doors. When I hit the parking lot, the sirens are a far-off whine, but swiftly getting closer. The wind stirs the trees, making the leaves shiver and chatter. I turn towards the forest and jog into the darkness.

I don’t even know where I am.

I’ve stumbled around through small towns and shitty bars for almost as long as I can remember. Staying away from citiesjust became a habit because I was always running from the foster system or parole officers. At some point, I had a car, then a bike, but now I just have my own two feet.

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