Page 182 of A Winding Wave of Magic
Mates.
It sounded so…eternal. And at the same time, barbaric.
People didn’t mate. Animals did. Puffed-up pigeons who chased the females across Harvard Square or a pair of gray wolves, even if the alpha did have a wandering eye. And even then, it was for the exact thing I was explicitlynotsupposed todo for another four years at least, lest I throw my entire future away.
And yet…I couldn’t deny whatever this was. Something far beyond pheromones or personalities, something well outside the realm of the physical or even the mental world.
Something fated.
Something…magic.
And if it was the magic that required us to be together, how could that spell ruin itself?
How could I refuse?
Did I even want to?
The sun had fully risen and was breaking up the cloud cover by the time I was spraying down my board at the well beside the cottage, trying not to shiver.
The front gate creaked open, announcing Caitlin’s presence. No doubt she’d been waiting for me to finish my morning ritual before hightailing it here with her interrogation over what, exactly, had transpired last night.
“I’m in the back, Caitlin.” I set my board against the wall of the cottage, then reached back for the lanyard attached to my wetsuit zipper and yanked it down, bracing for the breeze on my bare skin.
“It’s not Caitlin.”
I turned to find Jonathan rounding the corner. The suit was gone, exchanged for more island-friendly jeans and a T-shirt. Still pressed and perfect, but more worn in. The charcoal-gray T-shirt put his broad shoulders on display, which looked like they did a lot more than lab work while he was gone.
I pressed my wetsuit to my bare chest and forced myself not to gawk. “What are you doing here?”
Those green eyes dilated slightly as he observed my bare arms and shoulders. Perfectly still, he resembled his shifter form more than ever, a big cat noting its prey. The predatoryexpression was one I hadn’t seen since Dublin, and it unnerved me as much as it made me want to pull off the rest of my clothes just to see what he would do. I had the distinct impression that if I ran inside, he would pounce before I took more than a few steps.
Even more irritatingly, I didn’t altogether hate the idea.
Then he blinked, and the predator disappeared. “Here.” He held out the towel I’d left on the front porch.
I wrapped it around my body. He looked to the ocean while I finished removing my wetsuit and hung it above the well, then followed me inside, avoiding the cracks in the old concrete steps.
“I’ll, um, just get dressed,” I said once we were safely inside. “Would you mind putting on the kettle? I’m freezing.”
Jonathan nodded as he looked around the cottage, gaze touching on the little things I’d done to make it my own—the stack of books on the side table, my favorite mug on the kitchen counter, the watercolor print by an Oregon artist hanging over the sofa.
After throwing on an old Reed T-shirt and a pair of jeans, I tied my still-wet hair into a knot on top of my head and returned to the living room, where Jonathan was crouched next to an old suitcase turntable and a stack of 45s. He flipped through the records, snorting at a few (I guessed were the Rudy Vallée albums), then selected one to play. As he stood back up, I recognized Benny Goodman and a very young Ella Fitzgerald.
I frowned. All the swing music in the world wasn’t going to lighten the mood.
“I, um…” I trailed off when he turned, the intensity in those eyes burning through his lashes.
What was I supposed to say here?Hey, Jonathan. Thanks for saving me from a million ghosts last night. So, I hear we’resoulmates. How are you feeling about that? Did you know? Also, didn’t you think you should tell me?
“Did you have a good trip?” I asked and immediately hated myself for it.
He arched one brow like he knew what I was thinking. “Not particularly.”
I backed into the kitchen where the kettle was starting to boil over. “Tea?”
“Sure.”
I took a little too much time to find mugs and pour the hot water.
