Page 187 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

‘Paul.’

‘Leave me alone.’

He shoved her hand away, her caring, her concern, and took off, away from their stares, their uncomfortable laughter and their attempts to make him feel better that would inevitably follow.

Not that Jackson and Luke and Stellan—the Were who’d been blood-bonded to him at his birth—would laugh at him like the others might. They were more used to his crazy and would fight to the death for him if he asked. They’d even fight their other pack mates to stop them from smothering their one remaining Pack Warlock with their concern. It was their job. Not that he’d ask them to ever do that.

Aunt Iris—more mother than aunt—had always taught him not to cause a fight within the pack. The Were could be hot blooded and formed cliques within the pack that were strong in a way witches and warlocks could not understand.

It was this that made them follow him now even though he’d made it clear he didn’t want their company. He shoved up his defences against the pack bond so they couldn’t track him through it and shoved all of his power into the one thought of escape.

Now.

The world swirled around him and for a sickening couple of seconds he was spinning through the void before he secured his intent and folded the void to his bidding. A tear opened and he stepped out onto a patch of soft, long grass where he collapsed, exhausted, miles away from where he’d just been.

He stared up at the sun, the long grass waving above him, silence all around except for one long, lonely howl that echoed in the distance.

Ivy. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but truthfully, it was for the best. She didn’t want to get involved with someone as weak as he.

Ivy staredat the place Paul had been, her hair blowing forward across her face in the little suck of wind he created with his transportation spell.

She rubbed her chest. Her wolf howled out loud at the ache—an ache that was growing every day. An ache that was partially hers but mostly his.

Why had he run from her? She knew he was embarrassed to be caught so lost to a vision, but she could help him. She knew she could. And yet, he wouldn’t let anyone help let alone her.

It wasn’t right. He was so lonely. So apart. Hurting. The maternal side of her—the wolf side of her—couldn’t stand the pain emanating from him all the time. It had been growing steadily, but recently, it had got so much worse.

She had thought it was because of the visions he saw—so often of deaths and disasters to be averted, rarely anything happy or good. That would be enough to suck even the brightest of souls into a dark vortex.

But Paul’s soul was still bright. So bright it blinded her the first time she saw it when she was still a pup and he a five-year-old boy coddled and kept apart from the pack except for those who were set to be his guards. She had felt drawn to him in a way her three-year-old mind could not understand. She’d never seen anyone like him. He glowed—white and blue and orange. And when his gaze had met hers as he glanced around over Pack Witch Iris’s shoulder, he’d smiled and waved at her and she’d felt like the sun and moon had come out all at once. Bathed in the embrace of their light, it soothed and settled her more than she’d ever felt before, even with her mother and the other maternal wolves.

She hadn’t known then what she knew now.

Paul was her mate.

Except, he barely knew she was alive. If he saw her at all, it was as the sister of one of his guard. Stellan, the big doofus, had spent so many years painting his little sister as a giant pain in his arse that Paul no doubt thought of her as the same. No, scratch that. She knew he did think of her as a pain in the arse. Look at the way he’d once again pushed her away and then left her behind.

Footsteps padded up behind her, reminding her she wasn’t the only one Paul had left behind. She turned to look over her shoulder at Luke—their next Alpha if she was reading the signs correctly—Stellan and Jackson as they stared in frustration at the empty spot where Paul had just been.

‘Man, I hate it when he does that.’ Stellan kicked the ground. ‘We’re going to get in so much trouble.’

‘Yeah,’ Jackson snorted. ‘Iris is going to be so pissed.’

‘Forget Iris. My dad is going to rake us over the coals for not staying on his tail this time.’ Luke blanched as he swayed on his feet and rubbed the back of his head. ‘My ears are still ringing from the last blasting.’

Ivy spun around to glare at the three of them. They looked like they’d been cut out of the same magazine with their stone-washed denim, their jacket sleeves pushed up, constantly checking their frosted floppy hair a-la Duran Duran. It was late summer for Goddess’s sake. Way too hot for denim and jackets. Pretentious gits. How could Paul be such good friends with them all? He was so opposite to them in every way. Kind and good and … natural. Like the guy from the Last Starfighter movie she’d seen last week with Siobhan. He was cute. These guys were idiots. Especially her big brother.

‘Why are you glaring at us like that, Ivy?’ Stellan asked, flicking her hoop earring.

She batted his hand away. ‘You are all unbelievable.’

‘What? What did we do?’ Stellan asked, stepping back, hands up. ‘He’s the one that ran away.’

‘You should have stopped him,’ she said, stamping her foot even though it made her look a petulant teenager. She was only a few years away from her majority, having left her teenage years behind last year.

‘From transporting? How do you suggest we stop that? None of us has powers. Short of grabbing him before he left and knocking him unconscious, there was nothing we could do,’ Luke said.

She glared at him, his reasoning making her even more furious with them. ‘It’s always down to violence with you lot, isn’t it? What about talking to him? What about asking him what’s wrong? What about not standing around staring like a bunch of shocked idiots when he has a vision and making him feel like he’s a crazy loner creep.’

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