Blood & Wine

30 | Fynley

Part Two

I had always known Eden was my mate, always.

"I swear to the Goddess, I am going to skin your fur from your hide and use it as a coat," she said, breezing into my office—a symbol of how things had become in the past two months. There was peace between witches and werewolves, and, multiple times, I had come downstairs in my house to see witches showing off their tricks and magic to impressionable werewolves.

But there was peace.

I looked up, even though I knew when she had walked in—her scent had brushed against me like it always did, covering me with that smell of flower petals and the lavender she always burned. Also, every werewolf in here had yelled, Eden! followed by whoops and hollers. They had never disliked her, never blamed her for the other Coven. They had seen that she was like me—forced into a role she didn't want to be, doing the best she could.

"Hello, Eden," I said smoothly, excited at her presence. My heart turned over in my chest.

Her smile, so much freer than when Dasher first arrived here, blossomed across her face, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. "Hello, mate," she teased, and I hated that she didn't know, that she hadn't realized what I had always known. She was a witch, though, and she didn't understand my feelings, her feelings—and it didn't feel right to tell her.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I missed you. It's been nearly a week." She kicked off her heels and seeing those curvy legs, thick and dark brown and perfect, made my stomach churn. This full moon was kicking my goddamn ass, and I had no Intended, no girlfriend, and asking my Mate to touch me was a step I wasn't ready to take. "Which is why I need to skin you—no calls, no texts, no mental check-ins..."

The corners of my mouth turned up as I closed my notebook. "I didn't know you cared," I replied.

"Of course I care, you mutt." She placed her bags on the desk, unfolding the brown paper bag one first. "I was thinking about you when I heard you thinking about Cuban sandwiches like your grandmother used to make—now, I have no idea how your grandmother used to make them, but I did buy one from the store."

The scents wafted to my nose, and I breathed it in. Her scent hit me, too, tightening my groin. Oh, fuck the full moon.

I kept a smile on my face. "You're feeding me before you flay me?"

"Think of it as a last meal." She slid a soda across the table for me, eyes twinkling. "Seriously, you haven't texted or called me. How are you?"

I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite, thinking of an answer. I gave her honesty every time, even when I didn't want to, even when it sucked. This time, though, I didn't want to tell her why I was distancing myself—partly because I couldn't be near her without ravaging her and partly because I wanted to give her distance. We were momentarily out of danger, and I didn't want to bother her, force to spend time with me while she was rebuilding the now-thriving La Estrella Coven.

"You're about to lie to me." Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I was eating. I'm starving." It wasn't a lie. I couldn't remember when I had last eaten—possibly for dinner a night or two ago. I usually drank and had some crackers or chips. This meal reminded me that I needed to get back on my game, but I had lost a lot, and I had my dad breathing down my neck and giving me pointless tasks and trips to keep my me away from my pack as much as possible. To punish me for finding a way to outmaneuver him and steal his thunder. "But, I didn't want to bother you. You're rebuilding your Coven."