Page 77 of Witch's Wolf

My thoughts wander as we stare out across the shimmering water. A fish jumps up, splashing, carried on the soft breeze that rustles the trees. I take a deep breath and let it slowly out.

This is perfect. I could be happy doing this with him. Forever. Except…

The fear nibbling away inside of me comes front and center and I can’t avoid it any longer. Sam senses it because he tightens his arm, pulling me closer.

“This is probably the wrong time to ask, but I will anyway,” Sam says, his voice steady. “If Roberta forces you to engage her. Will you do it?”

“I already did,” I say. “And I’ll do it again if I have to.”

“Yeah,” he nods, but there’s a low rumble in his chest and I hear his heart speeding up.

I straighten in his arms, shifting so I can look at him, turning from the beauty before us to face the darkness that is closing in.

“But, Sam, there is a problem. She’s strong. A lot stronger than I am. I don’t know what I’m doing. I did manage to pin her against the wall, but it was… maybe ten seconds. And she freed herself without even moving a finger.”

Sam huffs a heavy exhale, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve got grit,” he says, brushing a stray hair from my face. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not listening,” I say, stepping out from under his arm. “She beat me without trying. She’s strong Sam. You faced her, you can’t be so casual about this.”

He frowns and shakes his head then places both hands on my shoulders.

“I’m not,” he says. “But right now, for this little bit of time, let’s put her aside.”

I stare at him with my jaw hanging slack. Calm and steady is one thing, but set her aside? Forget the fact that a witch powerful enough to kill two shifters and best Helena is intent on killing the man I'm falling hard for?

“Sam—”

“No, Erica. This,” he holds up one finger and circles it in the air between us, “is for us. You. Me. No Roberta. No pack. No fucking vampires. Us. Me. You. Okay? All of that is there,” he points off to the side. “Not here,” he points at the ground between us. “Okay?”

I blink, chew my lip, then nod as the wisdom of his words push through.

Okay,” I agree, and he smiles.

“I’m looking forward to this summer. Forget what you're used to in the city, it never gets that hot up here. Do you realize that there are three rivers around Shandaken? I’ve got a feeling you’ll love them all.” His smile turns wolfish and desire flames in his eyes. “And I can’t wait to see you in a bikini.”

“That sounds great,” I say, meeting his gaze though my skin is heating up, “but I was thinking of something else. Somethingmore tropical, like Cuba or Jamaica. You ever been to the tropics?”

“You’re talking to a mountain man,” he chuckles. “This is our comfort zone. We don’t leave it unless we absolutely have to. The only one in my family who’s been anywhere near the tropics is Nora. She has a couple of human friends down there.”

“Well, that’s going to change,” I say lightly, stepping back under his arm and turning to stare across the lake. “You need to see more of the world. The mountain is beautiful, but there’s so much more out there. A lot more.”

“What are the tropics like?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Wonderful,” I say without hesitation. The rhythmic sound of water hitting the shore is the perfect backdrop for easy conversation. “They’re warm, all the time, but it rains a lot, especially in the rainy season. Sometimes it’s so humid you feel like you’re breathing water.” I shrug. “But I guess you can’t have it all, can you?”

“True,” Sam says. The lake’s surface is as smooth as glass. I lean forward to see the shore below us, lined with large rocks. Their edges softened by years of water lapping against them. The water is so clear that the reflection of the trees ripples across it. A scene so perfect it could have been painted by Bob Ross.

I snort, partly from amusement, partly in surprise.

“It’s funny. Every time I thought of the word ‘lake,’ I pictured something completely different. Murky water, floating logs, and mud everywhere.” I sweep my hand toward the shimmering expanse. “This? This is nothing like that.”

“That’s because it rains a lot around here,” he says, eyes on the water. “It doesn’t have time to get dirty.” He stiffens, turning his head back towards the trees. “I hear movement. That means?—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Eight pairs of glowing yellow eyes peer from the bushes, half-hidden by the trees. Watching. Waiting. Their attention fixed on Sam.

“Get out of here,” he commands, waving them off. “Head up the path. I’ll call if I need you.”

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