Page 2 of Wooded Bliss

As I take a few steps closer, the woman’s gaze shifts, and her eyes meet mine. When my bear only chuffs in response, I let out a sigh of relief. She’s not my mate.

The bits of her scent I was getting on the wind wasn’t setting my bear off, but scent isn’t the only thing needed for the mate bond to snap into place. Eye contact is required as well. It’s like the scent is the lock and eye contact is the key. Then everything snaps into place.

At least that’s how my parents explained it to me when we were growing up.

The ache is back and pulsing in the middle of my chest. I clench my jaw and try to push the feeling aside. The way the woman’s eyes soften as she looks at me makes me think she knows exactly what I’m feeling. But it’s not possible.

Right.

The moment I step next to Ripp, flanking our Alpha even if our pack pales in comparison to what it used to be, the woman’s scent slams into me.

My mouth drops open before my voice comes out as more of a hiss, “Witch.”

The woman’s shoulders slump and disappointment fills her eyes, as if she’s upset with my reaction. As I glance at my brothers, I realize I wasn’t the only one to react this way.

But can we really be blamed for it?

Witches have a place within the supernatural community, but it doesn’t involve being involved with shifters. There’s a level of distrust there which goes back centuries. Normally, witches stay far away from bears, but the feelings wolves have for witches are even worse from what I’ve heard.

“What are you doing here, witch?” Ripp’s growled question has me looking at him and wondering what is going on with him.

Sure, he’s a broody bastard, but he’s not usually so quick to anger and his voice is filled with pure, unaltered rage. The last time I heard him this pissed was years ago.

The woman sighs, her shoulders dropping and her face smoothing out as if she’s trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. “It might not make a lot of sense,” her voice is soft and soothing in a way that makes me wonder if she’s weaving some sort of spell around us, “but I was called here.”

Grady snorts, “Called here? What does that even mean?”

My bear stills as if he’s waiting for her next words even though I don’t understand why. Over the years I’ve learned to listen to the instincts of my bear. He would prefer I spend more time in Whispering Pines instead of staying out in the woods, which is one thing I don’t bend to him on. I think he just wants to up the chances of us finding our mate, something I’ll continue to avoid.

“We need our mate,”he softly chuffs, but it’s clear his focus is still on the witch in front of us.

She gives Grady an indulgent smile and I almost chuckle because it is a feeling I often have toward our youngest brother.

“I should back up,” she begins and shakes her head admonishingly, more at herself than us.

Wylie sits down on his huge bear ass, letting out a huff filled with annoyance. If he was in human form, I know he’d be rolling his eyes right now. Ripp stands at his full height and crosses his arms across his chest.

There isn’t a hint of amusement in Ripp’s voice as he snarks, “Probably a good idea.”

“My name is Circe. As you’ve already pointed out, I’m a witch.” Wylie growls and Circe cuts her eyes toward him. “I promise I’m not here to do you any harm.”

“Can you prove that?” Ripp’s growled question is filled with sarcasm and disbelief.

“No,” Circe fires back with a shake of her head, “this is something you’re going to have to take on faith.”

I snort, “Faith?”

Ripp glances my way and his eyes soften. Like me, he’s had a hard time in the last ten years with keeping the faith. Faith in the Moon Goddess. Faith in the power of being part of a strong pack. Faith in how important the mate bond is. Faith in the nature surrounding us.

My bear tries to stand strong in the face of my uncertainty, disbelief, and the loss of my faith. But he’s just a bear.

“Watch it, my human. I can torture you in ways you’ve never imagined,”he warns.

When I look back up, Circe is studying me intently. Her head is tilted to the side and the way she’s looking at me makes me want to take a step back, even though I refuse to give into the inclination. There’s no way I’ll show weakness in front a stranger, and a witch no less.

“I can feel the pain coming from the four of you,” she might be speaking about everyone, but she continues to look right at me, “and that the tragedy you’ve endured has tarnished your faith. Believe me, it is not broken. It can be repaired.”

I narrow my eyes, but it’s Ripp who speaks up. His tone is filled with derision, “What do you know about pain or what we’ve gone through?”

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