For just a few short seconds, Clayton looked wounded. Her very nature had somehow offended him.
“So sorry to disappoint you,” she said, struggling to regain her composure.
“You’ll have to excuse me if I’m wary of witches.” His voice took on a grizzled tone. He might as well have growled his next words. “Witches stole my life.”
“I didn’t! Don’t you dare paint me with that brush.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“I thought we weren’t strangers?” She was out the door without another word. She’d trotted down the steps and had made it halfway to her car before the first swell of tears stung at her eyes.
She’d been wrong to think the fates had given her anything except what they always doled out: grief.
Deep down, Clementine had always feared she was no better than the sort of witch who had left their mark here in Harpers Ferry. Power corrupts everyone eventually.
Clementine had sculpted her entire adult life to make amends for the sins of her parentage. But no multitude of house cleansings or spirit crossings could undo the harm her father had committed against the natural order. And no amount of white magic could ever wash away the dark deed Clementine herself had once committed.
No, the fates weren’t kind. On the darkest day of the year, they’d simply found an opportunity to remind Clementine Weatherspoon that she was tainted.
Clementine threw open the Camaro’s driver’s side door. A hand appeared from over her shoulder and shut the door just as quickly.
“Don’t go.” Clayton’s voice was so hushed, the whipping wind almost ferried it away.
She wiped at her cheeks, hiding the traces of her tears. Why was she crying over someone she’d just met? Clementine hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of tears in years. Their presence sent her reeling.
“I’m sorry,” Clayton continued. “You’re right. That was cruel. I don’t want you thinking I’m cruel. Please, come back in side.”
She shook her head,
“You’re my mate,” he said, still quiet. “Do you understand what that means for a shifter?”
“I understand.” Her attention drifted toward the reflection of him on the car’s window. “Witches have it too, you know. We just call it something else.”
“What do you call it?”
Clementine swallowed. “Beloved.”
Clayton bowed his head. “Please come back inside. My bear can’t stand to see you cold.”
* * *
Back inside, Clayton set to work on the fire. He had to keep his hands busy. One moment of stillness was all the bear would need to break loose. It paced in his chest, huffing and snorting its disgust.
He’d made her cry.
Clementine had kept her head lowered as she’d trudged back into the house, but Clayton had still caught a flash of her eyes.
He’d known his mate for less than twenty minutes, and he’d already sent her running. So much for being the cerebral brother. Had he left his common sense back on the road?
He threw a log onto the hearth and dared a quick peek at his mate. She stood in the doorway, pretending to assess the Christmas tree.
Vangie always insisted on putting up the decorations. It made her feel normal and gave her a sense of control. Clayton used to quietly seethe over the cheery atmosphere she devised, but he’d grown to appreciate her efforts.
He had only two Christmases left, after all.
“You ever hiked the Appalachian Trail?” he asked, prodding at the building flames with a poker.
“No.” She sounded cautious. Clayton deserved that. He’d splintered the easy rapport they’d built out on the road.
“Harpers Ferry is the halfway point.” He stood, facing her. “Last summer, a black bear—just a normal wild one, mind you—mauled a kid near the trailhead. Everyone in town wanted that bear’s head on a plaque.”
He smiled, but there was no mirth to the quirk of his lips. “Vangie told me about it, anyway. I was asleep at the time. We each get a season, see? Just a few months out of the year. Mine started today.”
“The solstice?”
“Shortest day of the year. I guess that’s symbolic in its own way.” Every instinct told him to cross the room and cup her pale cheeks in his palms. But his touch had seemed to wound her, so he shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
“What happened to the black bear?”
“Never showed up again. But people act funny when there’s a bear around. I’d hate for anyone to think we’re all just bad. I shouldn’t have acted like that before. I’m truly sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She still wouldn’t look at him. Clayton ached.
Good lord, but she was gorgeous. The shade of her hair rivaled the flames that now licked and leapt out from the hearth. She was petite enough that he could pick her up and tote her around under one arm.
Evelyn Afters had indeed raised a gentleman, so Clayton did his very best to keep his eyes on her face and not the soft curves of her body. The zipped leather jacket she wore didn’t help, though. It hugged every angle and slant of her torso.
“It’s heating up,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Fire tends to do that,” she said, edging closer. He hated himself for the wariness in her steps.
They stood before the fire. The flickering flames danced across her pale complexion, illuminating the tip of her nose and the sharp points of her cheekbones.
“How long have you been cursed?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.
“A while.”
“Does your season end on the vernal equinox?”
“Vernal?”
“Spring,” she clarified.
He nodded. “Like clockwork.”
“What’s the condition?” she asked, finally peering up at him.
Clayton’s bear rumbled at the sight of her green eyes. He couldn’t help or hide the sound. Her cheeks flushed a rosy hue, and she threw her gaze back toward the fire.
“Condition?”
“All curses are conditional. There’s always an escape hatch. What’s yours?”
It was Clayton’s turn to distract himself with the fire. Bending down, he retrieved the poker and prodded at the burning logs. “A true mating.”
“Ah,” Clementine said, then went quiet.
Silence stretched between them. Clayton almost wished he hadn’t admitted the condition, but he didn’t want to lie again. He hadn’t even meant to lie earlier, not really. This was just how things were. The Afters had built an entire arsenal of stories to sooth the occasionally curious residents of Harpers Ferry.
Oh, Braxton’s gone down to Miami again; he’s working an orange grove. Dalton likes to spend the winter months with ski bunnies in Colorado. Houston’s back on the farm somewhere. Always busy, that one.
On more than one occasion, Clayton had pretended to be one of his brothers. Quadruplets had certain benefits.
“You’re lucky, I guess.” Clementine spoke so suddenly, so matter-of-factly, Clayton did a double take.
“How do you figure that?”
“Your mate has a terrible sense of direction.” She locked eyes with him. “But she’s a half-decent witch.”
Straightening, Clayton was once more overwhelmed by the urge to take her cheeks in his hands. She’d called herself his mate.
Clayton’s grizzly roared. For the first time in almost a decade, he was thankful for the snow.
Chapter 4
“You have a beautiful home.” Clementine peered around the kitchen as Clayton sliced into the apple pie. She slid out of her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair at the kitchen table.
“It’s as old as the hills. You sure you don’t want cider? We make damn fine cider.”
“Out of the best damn apples in the whole state?”
Clayton grinned. His dimples were back, and Clementine tried to ignore the little flutter in her stomach. A lock of dark hair fell over his eyes as he took the seat beside hers.
“Maybe later. So, you’re an apple farmer?”
“Not really. Braxton and Houston are probably more deserving of that mantle. I tend to the trees in the winter. Somebody’s gotta prune ‘em. Not much grows during my months, though. I do harvest the spruces leading up to Christmas. You wouldn’t believe how many folks leave their tree to the last minute.”
“You smell like spruce.”
“You smell like sage,” he said, meeting her gaze.
“Keeps the evil out.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Does it?”
“It helps. Sage purifies.”
“We oughta grow a whole damn field of it, then.”
She laughed and finally took a bite of Greta’s pie. She promptly moaned. “Hell’s bells. That is good pie.”
Clayton’s dimpled smile widened, and he seemed pleased to just watch her eat. “How do you know Greta, anyway?”
“She needed help with something.”
“She okay?” His genuine concern ignited a spark in Clementine’s middle. “She works in our farm shop.”
“She’s just dandy now.” Clementine considered him carefully. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Damn straight I can.” His West Virginian drawl twanged, and Clementine felt a chill of appreciation for his warm tenor.
“She had a ghost.”
“No shit?”
“Not a bit.”
“Ghosts are real?” He frowned at himself. “I guess a cursed werebear shouldn’t be surprised.”
Clementine hummed. “As real as you or me. They’re mostly harmless. Just a little lost. But give one enough time, and the frustration builds.”
“So, you what? Ghostbust them?”
“Oh, yeah. I keep a proton pack in my trunk.” She snorted. “I open the other side. Help them find their way.”
A sweet smirk curled the corners of his lips. “I thought you had a terrible sense of direction?”
“Hey!” She scrunched her nose at him and fought the sudden urge to reach over and ruffle his hair. “Only on the physical plane.”
“What other planes are there?”
“The ether, for one. Where spirits dwell. There’s a plane for consciousness, as well. Dreamwalking is tricky, but it’s useful.”
Clayton’s smile slipped. “So if I end up asleep for good, can I expect to see your pretty face in my dreams sometime?”
Alarmed, Clementine set down her fork. “For good?”
He shook his head.
“Say,” she pressed.
Clayton shrugged his wide shoulders. “I’ve got this winter. And the one after. Beyond that? Supposedly, we won’t wake up.”
“Ever?”
“We were given ten years to find our true mates. Like that’s supposed to be some kindness. Ten years to find a needle in a haystack you’re only allowed to search a few months at a time.”
“That’s… unusual, even for a blood curse.”
“A blood curse?”
“A curse on a bloodline. It’s complicated enough to cast a spell on a single person, let alone a family.” Clementine strummed her fingers against the tabletop.
Clayton eyed her hand. “Did it hurt? When I touched you…”
She stilled her restless fingers. “Not exactly. Dark magic is dangerous for any witch. Even the purest.”
“What makes a witch pure?”
“Intent, I suppose.” She looked toward the large window on the far wall. Outside, the snow fell heavier than before. “What makes anyone pure?”
He didn’t answer, but she didn’t expect him to. Feeling his gaze on her, she struggled to retain her composure. Just the same, her heart skipped in her chest. His eyes seemed to pierce through her, urging her to look back at him.
So she did. And the flutters in her stomach were even stronger than before.
“What kind of bear do you keep inside you?”
“A big one.”
“Can I see?”
Clayton’s dark eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “You wanna meet my bear?”
“I’ve never met a bear before. A wolf, once. All paws on that one.”
A growl rattled from deep within Clayton’s broad chest.
“It was a wild wolf,” she said, tossing her hair. “You’re my very first shifter, as it happens.”
“Am I really? Well, then. I suppose you have certain expectations.”
“I suppose I might.”
“I suppose I have an obligation to exceed every one of them.”
“You trying to impress me, Clayton Afters?”
He leaned forward. Gold flashed in his eyes. “Tell you what. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine…”
She gaped, feigning shock. “Scandalous. But I’ve never been one to shy away from a dare.”
Clayton stood. The long, muscular stretch of his body set Clementine’s heart beating at an erratic pace. He paused, cocking his head to the side as if he were listening to something. A slow smile crept across his face.
Clementine startled. He could hear her heartbeat. Shifters had extraordinary senses, from sight to smell to sound.
“Tell me something first,” he said, licking his bottom lip. “Is touching off limits?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”
He gave her a look that should have made her blush right down to her core. Without a word, he extended his right hand. His palms looked rough, and she wondered just how many spruces he’d harvested that day.
Clementine decided it was worth the risk.
She slid her hand into his. The telltale shock of his curse hummed against her skin, but she fought the initial wave of discomfort. Focusing her own magic, she battled past the swell of tainted energy, suppressing it.
When she looked up at him again, Clayton wore a dazed expression. He closed his fingers around her hand and squeezed with measured strength. He pulled her to her feet, and she went willingly. They stood only inches apart, close enough to touch far more if they dared.
Clementine didn’t. Not yet. But the sizzle of her magic mingled with the gold of his aura. Their joined energies tangled on the air between them, twining like ivy on an oak.
She’d been right before, back when she’d huddled behind the safety of her steering wheel. She was in trouble.
Big, handsome, bear-shaped trouble.
“I shouldn’t shift inside. Vangie’ll skin me alive. You wanna watch from the window? It’ll save you from the snow.”
“Oh, I can manage the snow.”
* * *
Pretty mate. Fire mate. Magic mate.
The bear was in an outright tizzy. It grunted and growled inside Clayton’s chest, devastated by Clementine’s soft skin. But there was something else. Clayton had registered heat. In his mind’s eye, he saw light.
It was over as quickly as it had begun, but he’d felt Clementine. On some deep, elemental level he’d never accessed, she’d reached out with a part of herself that was as foreign to him as the summer sun.
And she was thrilling.
Clementine felt like home. Like snow and lightning. Like old books and mugs of tea. Like fireplace cuddles and lazy Saturdays in bed.
Clayton didn’t even like his bed. After almost a decade of the forced hibernations, his bed was the last place he ever wanted to spend his time. But god help him, he wanted to sweep his pretty little witch right off her feet and tote her upstairs.
He’d happily spend days, weeks, or even years in bed if he could share his sheets with Clementine.
He didn’t even know her last name. Or her favorite song. He didn’t know how she took her coffee, or if she even enjoyed coffee. He didn’t yet know her hopes or dreams or the things that kept her awake at night.
But Clayton knew that she was his.
On the way out the back door, he grabbed his heavy winter coat from its usual hook. He didn’t wear it often, but owning it at least helped him keep up appearances around humans. He draped the coat over Clementine’s sho
ulders.
“It ain’t much, but I’ll be quick.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, hugging the garment to her body. Clayton felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction to know her scent would linger on the fabric. “I told you. I can manage the snow.”
With that, she strode down the back steps. He followed, frowning.
“You can stay under the porch, at least!”
Dots of snow clung to the long waves of her hair, adorning the red with white crystals that shone like diamonds under the moonlight. The wind picked up, howling around them.
“Shh,” she hushed, pursing her lips.
Clayton thought she was shushing him, but the wind quieted. He blinked at her then peered up. The snow had stopped.
No, that wasn’t right. Snow still fell, just not over them. It was as if an invisible shield now cloaked them from the elements.
“Just how good is your sense of smell?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Damn good.”
“So you’d know if there was anyone within a mile?”
Clayton inhaled the cold air. “We’re all by our lonesome.”
“Dandy.” Clementine smiled and waved her right hand. The perimeter of her shelter expanded. They had a good twenty feet of space now. The snow around them began to swirl and churn on an unnatural breeze.
“Holy shit.” He spun, eyeing the wall of snow. “You’re doing that. You’re actually doing that.”
She shrugged. “Well, I said I’d show you mine. A deal’s a deal.”
“That it is.” Clayton reached behind himself and tugged at the neck of his t-shirt. He yanked it up and over his head then tossed the shirt to Clementine. She caught it and laughed.
As Clayton kicked off his boots, he shot her a playful grin. “Something funny?”
“It’s just occurred to me that you’re going to be naked.” She held his shirt over her eyes, and Clayton joined his laughter with hers.
“You can peek, you know. It’ll be our little secret.” He unbuckled his belt and couldn’t help a smirk when Clementine lowered his shirt and blatantly peeked.
Clayton slid out of his jeans and briefs, unashamed and uninhibited by his nudity. He’d been harboring a half-hard cock since she’d taken his hand in the kitchen.
Shifters in the Snow Page 45