Page 38 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

Aggie sighed, her warm breath tickling my neck. “You’re still like that.”

I smiled. “Like I said before, I’ve always had a soft spot for witches who are alone.”

“Your mother,” she tittered, her hands moving up my jawline and toward my hair. I closed my eyes and leaned into her.

“It was not done for a woman to be alone at that time, let alone with a child. She used trick to protect us and get by, but it wasn’t enough in the end. Like you, she wanted nothing to do with a coven.”

Her fingers tangled in my hair, her nails lightly dragging across my scalp. It felt like heaven, and as a damned creature I bathed in it.

“What happened?”

I sank into the feeling of her touch—of the touch of anyone, let alone my joy at having her attention. My arms snaked around her sides, and then we were rolling over, her back hitting the grass as she kept her hands in my hair.

“She died. As most humans tend to do.”

Her eyes flickered, already knowing there was more to the story. I was prepared for her to pry, to want to know the horrible and intricate details of my mother’s death. Instead, she brought her hands down to cup my face, and then she was pulling me down to her.

My arms went on either side of her head, digging holes in the ground as my hands took out my tension on the earth. I was much stronger than her, but I couldn’t resist as she pulled me down in the depths of her body. My hips met hers, and then I stopped. She met me halfway, her neck craning as she brushed those soft lips against my cold, dead ones.

Aggie was warm.

That was the only thought running through my mind as she nudged the corners of my mouth with her nose, using her lips to trace the contours of my face. I was too starved for comfort and companionship to resist. I should have known better, because if I was honest with myself, this female—this witch—was different than anyone else in the world.

My lips parted to soak in more of her warmth, and her tongue darted deftly into my mouth. My control shattered as I pressed my hips into hers and kissed her back.

It was just as magnificent as our first kiss in the village, but it felt more real, and not under duress. She wasn’t the creature in pain and need of consoling this time; I was.

My fangs shot through the roof of my mouth, but I didn’t stop and neither did she. Her arms hooked around my neck and squeezed, and the edges of my vision became tinged with red as bloodlust reared its ugly head.

I threw myself back, trying to expel the vivid fantasy of drinking from Aggie. No.

NO.

“Karl? What’s wrong?”

Aggie sat up, looking thoroughly debauched. Her hair was askew, and her lips red and swollen from my attentions. She was a ripe, fresh fruit dangling within reach off the vine.

I had to tell her that everything I touched ended up rotted and destroyed.

Aggie stretched out before me, her eyes wide in confusion. All I could see was red. Painting the carpet, the walls, my mother’s screams—

A howl split the air, and the urge to protect snapped me out of my bloodlust and horrific memories. I scooped Aggie up and squared around, ready to flee if needed. The witch in question writhed against me in frustration, which didn’t help the situation brewing under my trousers. It also didn’t help that it had been too long since I’d last fed—not since the night before the one in the pub. After the full moon, I’d likely need to slip away back to my Elder to discreetly feed. Surely the wolf could handle her for the day or so it would take to get there and back?

Speaking of the devil, a brown wolf stalked into the clearing, sniffing the air as it headed straight for us. I watched it carefully, gripping Aggie tightly when she tried to get down.

“Wait,” I ordered, my voice rough as I continued to shake off the bloodlust. This woman would either be the death of me, or her.

No. I couldn’t think like that.

The wolf stopped within ten yards of us, growling. I growled back, turning my body to shield Aggie.

“Luka! You’re huge!”

Trust the witch obsessed with nature to talk to a werewolf like it was an overgrown puppy.

Luka tilted his head to the side, then approached slowly. His head touched the ground, and a soft whine escaped his throat. Aggie reached out and ran her fingers across the rough fur of his muzzle. The wolf practically pushed his face into her hand, knocking her back into me in the process. I growled, but her laugh sparkled more brightly than the moon on the surface of the water.

“Took you long enough.”

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