Page 28 of Witch's Wolf

She pauses, taking a breath. The look on her face leaves no room for doubt about what she’s thinking but is hesitating to say.

“Go ahead, we’re totally off the rails anyway,” I say.

“Look, I won’t lie to you. This is going to hurt like hell. But?—”

“I know.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, my decision settling into place. “I’ll do it. I’ll make the call first thing tomorrow morning.”

Monica’s shoulders ease, relief flickering across her face. I set my mug down with a quiet thud.

“But first,” I murmur, glancing toward the door, toward the direction of his workshop, “I have something more important to do.”

“Yeah. You can help me with the groceries,” Monica remarks, taking another sip from her coffee. “I haven’t been to the supermarket in a week.”

Groceries are not how I pictured my morning. I had a much different plan. Sam, me, tangled sheets, the slow, and lazy heat of his body against mine. But I can’t just brush Monica off. She needs a hand, and I owe her more than selfish indulgence. Besides, Sam is already at work. I can’t exactly barge into his workshop and drag him upstairs like some possessive lunatic.

Or… maybe I can.

The thought sparks something wild inside, something reckless and defiant. A small, wicked smirk tugs at my lips. I quickly help Monica with the groceries and then she drives me over to the shop.

I’m drawn to the deep, metallic hum that comes from inside. The sounds of power drills and the harsh crackle of a welder spill into the open air, a symphony of industry and masculinity. As I push through the wide doors, a burst of orange sparks dances across the concrete floor, landing just inches from my feet. The smells of hot metal and motor oil cling to the space, thick and heavy. My gaze sweeps the room, locking onto Sam like a heat seeking missile.

He's bent over a counter welding, muscles taut as he works on what looks like a busted exhaust. Sweat glistens at his temples around the band of the protective glasses. The sheer focus in his expression makes something low in my stomach tighten. He stops what he’s doing and looks up and turns unerringly towards me.

“Good morning,” he says in his deep rumbling voice that cuts through the noise, rough and familiar.

I don’t answer. I move. Closing the distance in three quick strides, I curl my index finger into the collar of his shirt and tug. Hard.

“Oh!” his brother Ray exclaims from across the shop.

Sam stumbles forward, surprise flashing in his eyes as I rise onto my toes and crash my mouth into his. His taste, warm, smoky, and electric, fills me. I feel the moment he melts into me. His fingers flex around the welder, his free hand ghosting toward mywaist, but I don’t give him time to react. I pull back just as fast, lips tingling, pulse thrumming.

“That’s how you say good morning!” I declare, loud enough for his brothers to hear.

Silence meets my exclamation, all the usual sounds of the workshop halting. Then, a burst of laughter comes from somewhere in the shop followed by clapping.

Sam blinks, his lips still parted slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable. I don’t wait to see what he’ll do next. Instead, I turn on my heel and stroll out, satisfaction filling my head. Outside, Monica is near Raul’s cabin, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. I don’t say a word. I don’t need to. She saw everything.

As I walk towards the car, I suppress a grin, knowing full well that while it wasn’t the steamy morning I originally envisioned, I’ve left Sam with something to think about. Something to remember.

And that? That was enough. For now.

16

SAM

“My dog! Oh, my big, big dog!”

Ray’s voice cuts through the grind of the power drill, loud enough to be heard over the metallic whine. In my peripheral he’s thrusting his hips and miming doggy style as he mocks me. Of course, he won’t let it go.

I keep my eyes on the busted exhaust in front of me, pretending I don’t hear or see him, but my grip on the welder tightens. Heat flares against my palms, the scent of burning metal fills my nose, but it’s nothing compared to the fire that lingers on my lips.

Erica.

I should’ve known better. I’d spent the morning scrubbing her scent off me, using soap, cologne, hell, I even aired out my cabin like a damn crime scene. None of it mattered. The second she walked in, every one of my brothers knew. Not just because she kissed me in front of them like she owned me, but because her presence alone wrecked my careful disguise. Her scent clings to my skin, to my damn soul, and wolves don’t miss shit like that.

The second Ray caught on, the floodgates were open. Now, I’m the target of his never-ending stream of crude jokes. I exhale through my nose, trying to focus. Any second now, Raul will step in. He doesn’t tolerate Ray’s bullshit when it’s aimed at him, so he sure as hell shouldn’t let him ride me this hard.

Except, Raul doesn’t say a damn word. Figures. I should’ve expected that too. Ididexpect this. But I’ve got bigger problems than Ray’s mouth. The biggest one? She spent the night in my bed.

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