Page 8 of The Witch's Werewolf
The man next to me stirs.
Trying not to hyperventilate as my mind replays what happened last night, I grip the soft blanket close around my shoulders.
Slowly, I begin to move off the bed, placing one leg on the floor.
Timber’s eyes fly open instantly at the slight creak of the bed.
No escaping without a confrontation now. Lucky me.
I swallow back my fear.
“Timber Hawkins, you’re a fucking werewolf.”
“And you’re a witch.”
Panic wins out. When I fly out of bed, taking the blanket with me, I thank my lucky stars that he’s wearing pajama bottoms.
The veiny, muscled arm reaches out, but I move too quickly for him to snatch me.
“Let me explain…”
My voice is high-pitched in fright. “There’s nothing to explain. You murdered my date.”
“He’s going to be fine. I didn’t bite that deep.”
“There was so much blood.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Really? Are you also sorry you chased me through the woods and let me get all scratched up and bruised?”
Timber throws his legs over the side of the bed, and I scurry backwards away from him. His eyes go to my feet, and I follow his gaze.
There, I find my feet are covered in bandages.
“Sit down and let me tend to your wounds,” he says.
“I think I’m gonna go,” I say, handing him his blanket and being extra grateful that my dress isn’t ruined.
He nods. “I’ll drive you, but let me look at your feet.”
“No thanks.”
Timber cocks his head, and his dark eyes look amused. “You seemed fine with me last night. Would you feel more comfortable if I shifted back into werewolf form so I could lick them?”
“Gross! I let the monster do what he did because animals follow natural instincts. They don’t know right from wrong.”
“So you have compassion for the wolf.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“And for me?”
“That remains to be seen. How could there be werewolves here?”
He holds up his hands. “I know. It’s a lot to absorb. But you need to trust me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Were you watching me on my date last night?”
