Page 13 of Witch's Wolf

“Try me,” I fire back, the words sharp with frustration. I shouldn’t say more, but I can’t stop. “Because right now, all I see is that you’re running from something. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s us. Maybe it’s something else, but I deserve to know what’s keeping you from?—”

I break off when he raises his hand and his fingers brush my arm so lightly it feels like a whisper. A shiver races down my spine, my skin heating where he touched.

“It’s not you,” he says, his voice rough, almost broken. “It’s what I’d lose if I let myself…” he trails off, his eyes boring into mine, searching for something, but what, I don’t know.

His unfinished thought hangs in the space between us, and for the first time, I realize it’s fear keeping Sam at arm’s length and that it isn’t just about me.

“Erica… thank you… for being so open,” he says, his tone maddeningly even, as if he’s delivering a weather report insteadof cutting me to ribbons. “I’ll be blunt in return. I don’t like your kind, Erica. You humans are too unpredictable and too complex. I could say a whole lot of things about you, but I’d rather stick to that for now. But, I admit, I like your looks. Is there something wrong with admiring someone beautiful?”

The words hit like a slow-burning match. Part of me wants to throw them back in his face, to tell him how dare he reduce me to something so shallow. But another part, the part that feels raw and vulnerable, absorbs his statement like sunlight on skin.

“No, there’s not,” I snap. My pulse pounds in my ears, the conflict inside a roaring storm. “But wouldn’t it be better if you did more than just look?”

His gaze meets mine, steady and searching, like he’s weighing every word before speaking.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he finally says, turning slightly so the light catches the sharp line of his jaw. “I don’t know if doing more would turn out to be better.”

He pauses and then looks away, back to those damned woods. I’m sure he’s dreaming about running free through them, far from here. Far from me. Anger surges.

“What does that even mean, Sam? What am I supposed to do with that?”

It’s clear my words cut him. I see that when his jaw tenses and his fingers twitch, as if he’s fighting their urge to curl into fists. I don’t care. He owes me. More than that at least. Something.

“Helena came to me yesterday,” he says, frowning deeper. “I’ve got more reasons to be cautious around you.”

My stomach drops, but the anger floods the space it leaves behind.

“Excuse me?” I say, voice rising, “Did I hear you right? You’re talking to some witch about me? And based on whatever she says you’re going to stay away?”

I cross my arms over my chest like armor trying to shield my heart.

“Not some witch,” he growls, his voice dropping to that gravelly bass that both unnerves and pulls at me. “Ourwitch. Helena’s been the angel on my family’s shoulder, so yeah, we talked about you. I’m sure Monica’s told you about her powers and her orb.”

I clench my fists, struggling to keep my frustration from boiling over.

“I’ve heard,” I admit, voice low but tense. “What about it?”

“She can’t see your future,” he says, and there’s something in his voice I can’t quite place. Something between unease and fascination. “Don’t ask me for details. I don’t have any. That’s her area of expertise. All I know is that she says some spell is blocking her. And if it’s blocking her… it’s powerful.”

My breath catches and I turn away. Staring across Monica’s partially landscaped yard, I fixate on a patch of wildflowers pushing through the gravel at the edge of the road. Their fragile beauty feels like a cruel contrast to the absurdity of what he’s saying.

“That’s ridiculous,” I scoff, the words leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

Even as I say it, unease creeps up my spine, refusing to be ignored. Why would anyone cast a spell on me? And why can’tI shake the feeling that Sam is hiding more than he’s telling? His silence presses against me, heavy and unrelenting. I glance at him and the intensity in his gaze nearly unravels me. There’s definitely something there, something deeper.

“Erica…” he starts, his voice softening just enough to make my chest ache, but he stops.

The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished and impossible to ignore. My fingers curl into the fabric of my jacket. I’m standing at the edge of something vast and unknowable, while Sam is holding a map that he refuses to share.

“It may sound ridiculous, but I’ve got no reason to doubt her,” Sam says, his tone steady and unapologetic. He shakes his head and shrugs. “I trust her, in this.”

He adds the last bit almost as an afterthought, which is so Sam. Trust, mostly. Give, in part, but not in whole.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t!” I shout, voice rising in frustration. I glare because his calmness grates on my fraying patience.“The closest I’ve ever come to a witch besides her was a tenth-grade magician doing card tricks. I’ve never met any other witches, wizards, or any of that crap. Why should I believe her? Why should I let her stop me from doing what my heart says could be a good thing? You hear me, Sam?”

“Loud and clear,” he says, his tone slipping into that infuriatingly lazy drawl that feels like a shrug. He leans closer, his eyes narrowing and somehow becoming more intense. “What about your folks, Erica? Did they…?”

“I know what you’re going to ask,” I cut him off. “No, they didn’t.”

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