Lorcan & Evette

Chapter Eleven

Physically, Lorcan decided everything was fine between the two of them. His little witch was just as attracted to him as he was to her. He found- as she slept- that her fingers fit perfectly with his own and her little body moulded to his. He enjoyed her company too. So, maybe they'd had their differences throughout the day—but he had kidnapped her. And tormented her regularly, come to think of it. So, maybe he wasn't the best person to be around, but the circumstances of this meant he could hardly be blamed.

None of this was his fault.

Excluding the kidnapping thing, and his lies, and his repeated fuck ups which he was going to work on— truly. He'd never had to do this thing before. Romance came to him. Or, no, bed partners.

Maybe there were instructions somewhere that'd tell him what to do.

Here, fate was to blame. For some blasphemous reason, fate had partnered a werewolf with a witch. Something had to have gone wrong there.

Putting that aside, he found her easy to get along with. He liked the teasing and the easiness of it all.

If only she weren't a witch. If only there weren't a war raging on between their kinds.

She didn't look like a witch. She didn't have that cruel set to her brows that most of them had. She wasn't muttering her creepy spells and cackling at him either. She looked warmer, lighter.

But she was still a witch. There was still a war. He still had a species to rule. A species that would never accept one of her kind as his Queen.

Maybe he'd have to take another. Not an option. His body and mind alike repelled that idea. His advisors would want him to take a figurehead Queen whilst keeping his mate behind the scenes. That way, everyone would win.

For some reason, he didn't picture the witch getting on board with that idea.

Guilt rose as soon as he thought it. Him and the witch were wrong for each other but there were limits to everything. He was already worried about the wedge the day's events had put between them.

She'd been knocked out as soon as her head hit the pillow. To say the witch was tired...

She started to murmur in her sleep. Little things Lorcan couldn't make out. Words and phrases that didn't make any sense. Little senseless nothings.

And then her body started to thrash and writhe.

There were words- Ragnarök, fire, war. Death, doom, destruction. Pain. Misery. He heard the names of many known Gods. Then there were names he didn't recognise too. Names that went straight over his head. Names the witch probably didn't know either. None of it made any sense to him. He understood they were visions. Eerie visions. Visions that left her skin slick with sweat.

He gave her body a shake. "Evette." Nothing. The witch didn't so much as stir.

"Evie?" Still nothing.

He growled. Pressing his back up against the headboard, he pulled her into his lap.

"Wake up witch." Nothing. He gave her body another shake.

"Evie? Come on witch. Wake up. I don't like this."

He parted his knees, enclosing her inside of them.

His arms wrapped around her to hold her tight. To keep her warm and safe. Then he scented salt. Tears.

Not good. He'd known his mate for all of a day. Already, she was crying in her sleep. This was not how things were supposed to be.

"Come on witch. No crying." He dabbed at the space beneath her eyes. He'd bit a claw off earlier. It'd already regrown. He did it again to avoid hurting her more.