Page 10 of Witch's Wolf

I stare at her, stuck between anger and resignation because the damage is done. The truth, or some twisted version of it, lodges itself in my head, refusing to be ignored. I drain my glass then set it down with more force than necessary.

“I’m getting more wine,” I say, pushing back my chair.

Monica doesn’t say anything, but her knowing smile lingers, following me like a shadow as I retreat to the kitchen.

The kitchen is cooler than outside, the tiled floor is chilly beneath my bare feet as I pour myself another glass of wine. The deep red liquid glints in the evening light, swirling like the mess in my head.

Sam had a thing.

What kind of thing? Is he sitting alone in his garage, scowling at nothing while his wolf paces inside him? Or is he somewhere else? Doing something actually important? Something I’ll never be privy to? Something dangerous? And why do I care so damn much?

I lean against the counter, staring out the small window above the sink. The backyard is alive with guests. The hum of conversation blending with the crackle of the fire pit. Monica’s laughter rises above the rest, light and carefree.

I should be out there. Smiling. Laughing. Acting like a normal human being who hasn’t been spending her nights obsessing over a man who clearly doesn’t want her. But I can’t.

The truth is, Sam isn’t just some guy that I can write off. He’s a knot in my chest, pulling tighter every time I think I’ve unraveled him. He’s maddening, closed off, and frustratingly untouchable. And yet, he’s also magnetic. Strong. Protective. The kind of man who makes you feel safe and unsteady all at once.

I down the rest of my wine, hoping it’ll dull the sharp edges of my thoughts, and set the glass on the counter with a soft clink.

No more.

I square my shoulders, forcing my focus back to the here and now. Tonight is about friends and laughter, not the brewing storm in my head.

“Hey,” Monica says, startling me enough that I jump. I turn and see she’s leaning against the doorway. Her expression is softer, thoughtful and caring.

“Raul asked me to check on you. You’ve been gone a while.”

I shrug, trying to play it off.

“Just needed a minute. The wine’s really good, by the way.”

She doesn’t believe it, Monica sees through me like I’m made of glass. She always has.

“Listen,” she says, stepping into the room. “I didn’t mean to push earlier. You’re just… different when Sam’s involved. You get quiet. Jumpy.”

“Because he’s infuriating,” I shoot back, my voice sharper than I intend.

“And yet, he’s all you think about,” Monica says, raising an eyebrow.

I glare, but there’s no heat behind it. She’s not wrong and there’s no point in denying it.

“Come on.” She tilts her head toward the backyard. “Stacy’s about to start grilling Raul on when he’s going to propose. You don’t want to miss that.”

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. Monica has always been good at lightening my mood. I shrug, shaking my head.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” I ask, grabbing another bottle of wine before following her outside.

“Me? Raul’s the one she’ll be interrogating, I’m here for the show,” she laughs.

Stepping through the door, the warm evening air wraps around me like a blanket. As I settle into my seat, pretending to listen to Stacy’s relentless interrogation of Raul, I can’t help but glance at the empty space across the yard. Looking. Hoping.

Sam had a thing.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m the thing he’s running from.

6

ERICA

---