Heart Mates

by Mary Hughes

  Fuck this. If it kept her from injury he’d beg like a toddler. “Please. I need your help with the hex, and…and you need to get the window repaired, and…and you can’t leave.” He didn’t understand how, but his gut told him that, even after so short a time, she’d come to mean the world to him.

  “I have to.” She trundled her suitcase behind her across the wooden slats of the floor. Each clack-clack-clack drove a nail of despair into his heart.

  She opened the door, shoved her case through, and stepped outside.

  She really was leaving him.

  It skewered him, hurting more than the fight, hitting him like a fist to the gut. Like multiple fists, to the jaw, the gut, the knees. He crumpled, caught himself on a cabinet, and managed to croak, “Wait!”

  She didn’t. He grabbed up his pants and hopped into them as he ran after her, catching up just as she stopped and stared at the empty street. “Right. My car is at Mason’s.”

  She started off with a determined stride, shortened and made wobbly because of that skirt and high, high heels. He could only be grateful, and not just because they made her behind as perky as a poodle.

  He leaped in to grab the case’s handle, pretending to help but really snagging it to stop her from getting away. She wanted to go, to leave him, and his heart was breaking.

  “Auntie will help you,” she was saying. “Or Mason, or…or… anybody but me.” She stopped, thank goodness she stopped, her hands dropping to her sides as if her limbs were leaden too. She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Well, why would you? It’s not like you’re a witch.”

  He winced. “You could try explaining.”

  She blew a frustrated breath. “I’m hexed too.”

  “What? How? When?” He dropped the case to enfold her in his arms, to pet her hair, to reassure himself that she was uninjured, at least for now. “What do I do? How can I help?”

  She laughed from deep within his embrace. “Not like that.” Her tone was a little embarrassed and a lot muffled. “The mirror’s demons malified the hex. Since it hit my picture, it sucked me into hurting you. Can you let up a little? I can’t breathe.”

  “You’d never hurt me.” He held her at arms’ length. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She tugged against him and he released her reluctantly. “I’d never be able to live with myself if I did.” She bit her lip.

  He honored her for that. Witches had power. They didn’t always have consciences to go along. Sophia obviously did.

  He honored her, but he had to make her see she needn’t worry about him. “Sophia, look at me.” He stepped back and flexed his muscles for her. He hadn’t had a chance to put on more than his jeans, and he enjoyed the way her eyes darkened and followed each ripple. “I’m an alpha wolf. You can’t hurt me.”

  “I wouldn’t mean to, but I most certainly could.” Her back snapped ramrod straight, and her words were snipped. That was the witch princess talking.

  He smiled. “All right, maybe you could, but even if you’re powerful enough, I maintain you’d never hurt me. You’re good. That overpowers any carved demons.”

  She sighed. Met his eyes. Hers were infinitely sad. “There’s no way to know for sure.”

  The way her eyes glimmered with tears, she meant more than the hex. Somehow, she meant them. Unless he could straighten her out, immediately, she was going to leave him and never return.

  The challenge went straight to his alpha bones. “You need proof?” He snapped his fingers. “Your aunt’s spell book. I bet something in there would reveal the hex’s nature on you.”

  She was already shaking her head. “Without a witch to do the spell—”

  “Or a potion.”

  “Didn’t work before. Something complex like this…” She shrugged.

  He wanted to howl. Then he thought of something better.

  “You’re just giving up?” That would challenge the witch princess. “Not even going to try putting our heads together?”

  “Well…”

  Got her. Before she could throw another rebuttal in his way he picked up her suitcase with one hand and urged her toward the store with the other. “Let’s talk this over inside.” His palm covered the small of her back. He had to work to keep his hand from sliding down to cup her perky, sleek bottom.

  “Well, I suppose we can try. But put some clothes on.”

  “Yes! Of course. No problem.” He bundled her through the door. Caught her running her eyes over him and made a muscle with one raised, crooked arm, bulking the biceps, flexing it for added measure. “Of course as a shifter, I’m quite comfortable in the nude.” He glanced at her.

  She’d sat and averted her gaze, her cheek that luscious pink.

  Gotcha. While she wasn’t looking, he dashed off with her suitcase and hid it behind the register display case.

  He dressed, found the big red spell book on the floor—remembered the hot kiss that had sent it there—squashed his need for her and brought the book to the couch.

  They sat side by side, turning the pages together. He relaxed as they pored over the illuminated vellum. It was comfortable, nice. Like old mated wolves.

  He squashed that thought too.

  “There. What about that?” He pointed at the text done in careful calligraphy, titled Mortal Reveal, subtitle A Mundane Reveal for Altered Spells. “‘To see the nature of a spell that’s been magnified, altered, or both, gather final target, any intermediates and all magnifiers.’ Title’s good. Wonder what it means?”

  “Final target is you, the magnifier is the mirror. Intermediate…that’s my picture. Me.”

  “The mirror, you and me. Okay.” He went on reading. “‘The target must engage in the most powerful form of creative physical magic that mortals have available, in conjunction with any intermediates and magnifiers.’” He turned to her for clarification.

  “Creative physical mortal magic…” She stared at him, blushing furiously. “It’s talking about sex.”

  He could only gape at her. “Sex with the mirror?”

  “Sex, in front of the mirror—between you and me.”

  Hot desire shocked him, like water splashed on a sizzling griddle. He swallowed, hard. Him with a witch? Should’ve repelled him. Should have sent him howling from the room.

  But sex with Sophia… He wanted it so badly he had to clench his hands to keep from reaching for her. He grew claws into his palms, the pain giving him the barest edge of control to hold his place.

  It had to be her choice too.

  Sophia stared into Noah’s hungry eyes. She’d tried to walk away but couldn’t. Those eyes, that face, that brave heart, they all tethered her, made it physically painful to leave.

  Like a huge rubber band joined them, stretching tighter with every step apart.

  She’d wanted to find proof it was safe for her to stay. And immediate danger trumped taboo. But this proof? Her belly flipped at the thought of sex with him. It was wild, head-on wickedly tempting. Her body clamored for this excuse to have him.

  But it wouldn’t be right if he didn’t want it too.

  She searched his face but couldn’t read his reaction. He was damned controlled when he wanted to be. Nope. No clue.

  Until she saw a faint flush riding his high cheekbones. Clenched fingers in his lap. The barest shifting of his weight toward her, instantly checked.

  He wanted her too.

  She rejoiced. Then she despaired. What if the hex was fueling this? What if it was a bad hex, but they’d find out it was bad only after sex cemented their connection—because what she was feeling, what was in his eyes, tolled like a bell of forever.

  But it might be good. Maybe she could stay.

  They wouldn’t know unless they did this.

  His silver eyes burned mirror-bright. “So let me get this straight. You an
d me and sex.” His body tightened on the last word.

  Even with his clothes on, she could see his pecs tense, hard mounds she wanted to pet. His biceps were smooth scoops that she wanted to lick. She throttled back a groan. Need coiled deep between her thighs, the kind of tightly wound desire that could quickly spring into something large and ravenous. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  His nostrils flared, and he rose to his feet, giving her some much-needed space. She wondered what he smelled coming off her.

  Then, to her shock, he smiled like a naughty boy. “I’m willing if you are.”

  She groaned. Good thing he didn’t know the alluring power of that knowing-yet-boyish, eager-yet-patient, and definitely masculine smile. Her body flushed hot, prickled with anticipation. “It’s probably the hex. I can’t believe I’m considering it.”

  The heat pushed her to her feet. She peeled out of her jacket, staring at the mirror, still uncovered from taking the picture. Sex with Noah, magic meeting magic.

  Four years of being mundane—including mundane, conservative sex. She hadn’t missed any part of her magical side. Until now. Until him.

  Dangerous, because she felt like she knew him when she didn’t. Dangerous because they were going too fast.

  Most dangerous because she wanted it so badly.

  “Talk to me, Sophia.”

  Big hands wrapped around her arms. Her blazer dropped from her hand onto the edge of the carpet.

  Noah turned her to face him.

  Her camisole meant they were skin-to-skin. Not bankerly professional, but at that moment she appreciated the comfort of touch.

  “Tell me what you need from me. Or talk to me and we’ll work it out.”

  He wanted her too, but he wouldn’t push. The deadly beast was also a gentleman.

  She pressed palms to his chest. Felt something chunky under his shirt in the valley of his pecs. Put off the decision a moment longer. “What’s this?” She poked the thing under his shirt. “I got a glimpse. It looked like a wolf.”

  “My mother gave it to me when I was a boy.” He drew a leather thong from inside his shirt. Hanging from it was a black enameled wolf. “I wear it in her memory.”

  “That’s sweet.” She brushed a finger over smooth cool metal and felt just the whisper of power. “You’re a caring man, aren’t you?”

  One corner of his lips rose as he threaded the thong back into his shirt. “Don’t tell. It’ll ruin my big bad alpha reputation.”

  She smiled back, her heart warming. “I like this,” she admitted. “You touching me. This is good, reassuring. Comforting.”

  “Then I’ll keep doing it.” He folded her into his arms, her face pillowed on his taut pecs, her nose in the middle of all that smelled good. He kissed her hair, then rested his chin on her head. “It’s good for me too.” He paused. “Would it work?”

  She sighed. “Yes. A tantric reveal would certainly tell us the truth. But…” She fell silent.

  “There’s always a but, isn’t there?” He grinned down at her, unseen but felt in the change of the shape of his chin against the top of her head. “I’m ready. Hit me with it.”

  “I’m worried the hex is rushing us into a bad decision. Not just a bad decision but an irreparable one. There’s a reason the Witches’ Council forbids a witch to have sex with a werewolf.”

  “Ah.” The grin was gone.

  She opened her mouth to protest that the results were unpredictable and mostly bad, ranging from spontaneous human combustion during intercourse to monstrous, power-hungry offspring.

  Something—maybe her inexplicable feelings, maybe trying to let him down gently, maybe simply tired of justifying herself—stopped her. She only said, “I have to admit it feels right.”

  He gave a soft sigh. “Then why don’t we try it? Sophia, between the two of us, what can’t we handle? What can’t we work out?”

  “That’s the problem. We don’t know.”

  “You’re right. We don’t know.” Noah turned her and held her at arms’ length. “And we won’t know until we try.” He released her and strode to the mirror, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

  So decisive. It made him one hell of an alpha.

  He stood before the mirror, facing it. She realized he’d stopped exactly where he could see her face—because she could see his. That wasn’t the alpha staring back.

  That was the man, staring hungrily at her.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes met hers, his blazing silver. “I knew that when your aunt showed me your picture, but meeting you, being with you…you’re beautiful clear through. When I saw you leaving me—it hurt, Sophia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She blinked. “Are you okay? Your mouth is open but alien words are coming out.”

  He laughed. “Better than okay. My mouth is open and the truth is coming out, and it’s set me free. The words were burning my brain. But I couldn’t say them. Me, attracted to a witch? Heresy, insanity!”

  It was insane; it was the sweetest of music. She felt torn in two. “I think that hex has mutated on you, and not for the better. Together?”

  “Always.”

  At the word, she felt a surge of optimism. Maybe the two of them, together, could accomplish miracles. She went to him and positioned them with the mirror at her back and him in front of her. Placing fingertips on his chest, she took a deep breath, closed her physical eyes and opened her third eye.

  Last time she’d passed out. This time she only wanted a glimpse of what kind of power they could generate.

  In her Sight his eyes flashed a silver so hot it burned. Desire licked her from toes to crown. She gasped and staggered.

  He seized her, wolf fast. She fell against him, and he pulled her tight. His body was scorching. Her heart slammed into overdrive.

  Her physical eyes flew open. His molten silver gaze blazed directly into hers, melting her from the inside.

  His hand slid down her hip, grabbed her bottom and squeezed. She moaned and rose the few millimeters to tiptoes. Her hips collided with his. He winched them together and she could feel his cock unfurling in intense interest.

  He speared fingers into her hair and kissed her.

  Her lips parted on a gasp. His tongue thrust inside, filling her with a wild, animal hunger underscored by his deep growl. His tongue swept her mouth, diving and lashing until thrills shivered down her throat and breasts.

  Both his hands were on her backside now, caressing, cupping, massaging. Her hips shifted up and back, like a cat in heat. She tucked tail the instant she realized what she’d done.

  He wasn’t having any of that. He tunneled fingers of one hand under the waistband of her skirt.

  Directly onto her skin.

  She sucked in a shocked breath. As if he expected it, was waiting for it, was courting it, he speared both hands under the loosened waistband and into her panties, sliding directly onto her buttocks. He groaned. “Damn, you’re creamy smooth. Can’t wait to taste you there.”

  She parted her lips to respond. He thrust his tongue down her throat again. She moaned. His mouth opened aggressively, and his jaw worked as he tongued her even deeper.

  Her fears disappeared in the fire of his claiming. She threaded her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Her heart pounded and her breath rasped, with excitement but also the waistband was too tight with both her and him in it. “I…I can’t breathe.”

  “Sorry.” He murmured it against her lips. He withdrew one hand and she felt momentarily bereft. But there was a tugging and the waistband gave and she could breathe again—until his mouth reclaimed her with fierce heat. She was panting and breathless in an instant.

  Skimming one hard palm over her backside, he maneuvered the other into the low neckline of her camisole. Her breastbone raised in response, as if her breasts were begging f
or his touch. He delved deeper and cupped one, his hand fitting it perfectly. She sighed and relaxed into that warm, perfect hand.

  Then he gently tweaked her nipple. She squeaked.

  He captured her squeak in the dark hot cave of his mouth. His tongue began to thrust in hot wild rhythm. His lips were fierce and his shifter’s stubble rasped her skin. He kissed her, pinched her, kneaded her, overwhelmed her.

  Her muscles melted with desire, her skin was on fire. Her lips swelled and throbbed. Her nipples were tight as nuts. Her sex softened in anticipation, warm and damp and silky against her panties. Her pelvis churned with tense, growing need.

  The opposing forces clashed and crossed, building bigger and bigger, waves of hunger that made her so hot and needy she shuddered with it.

  He stopped. Spun her.

  She confronted them in the mirror.

  Her eyes were huge. Her pupils were dilated so wide that her eyes were almost black. Her lips were red and swollen. Hesitantly, she whispered, “Is it the hex doing this?”

  “No. It’s us doing this.” He wrapped an arm around her ribs, his hand resting on the opposite hip. Holding her firmly he dove under her neckline again to cup her breast. In the mirror, the mound that was his hand began to squeeze gently, like a breathing animal.

  “What are you—ohh.” She arched as he slotted her nipple through two fingers and pinched.

  He slid his other hand into her skirt, his arm an esker running from her waistband to her panties, where his fingers tunneled onto her sex.

  Thrust into her sex.

  She whimpered. One big finger inside her, his thumb on her clitoris, he squeezed, gently, rhythmically, in time with the tugging on her breast. She was caught between his hands, hot-wired nodes zapping electricity through her. Her hips began to rock and a moan bubbled through her parted lips.