Lorcan & Evette

Chapter Eighteen

In the living room, Lorcan had everything he needed ready for the full moon. He had his silver chains, his potions and a collection of knives made from silver. He sat in front of the strongest pipe in the house ready to be chained to it, just waiting for the witch to come down. She was mad at him. Understandably.

He hadn't even thought of it that way. His mind had been pretty taken up by the feel of her skin. Wherever it touched his, he felt the sparks, like heated tingles upon his flesh. Her very scent drove him crazy.

Everything about her was made to drive him insane.

Meanwhile, she couldn't stand him.

He didn't know any wolves whose mates were other. He wanted to ask someone. There had to be ways of going about this that would make it easier for her. A step by step system for warming them up to drop the bomb on them. You're a werewolf's mate, little witch. Because that totally wouldn't end with her yanking off his furry bollocks.

He'd have fucked her every which way in the book by now had she been like him. He'd have spent more time between her legs, with her under or over him, than the two of them had spent on their feet.

She'd wake up with his head between her legs on the daily, his hands worshipping her skin. She could have him whenever she wanted, whenever she wanted. His mark would be on her neck, her body claimed. She'd be his and him hers. Her species made matters difficult.

A witch would never accept a werewolf's mating claim.

She'd forsake him in a heartbeat.

When he heard the creaking of the stairs, he turned in that direction.

She'd tied her hair back since he'd seen her last. He liked it better down. That way, he could pull on it. He kept these thoughts to himself, remembering her breaking point.

He frowned at her attire. Evie wore her own clothes.

That was the problem.

On days like this where it was only the two of them, there were only two things his witch should've been wearing. Option number one was his own clothes. He longed to see her tot through the halls in clothes that were too big for her. To see her in a piece of him, scent claimed.

The other option was naked.

Though it would mark a hard time for his bollocks, the rest of him was sure to enjoy the view.

In her arms, she carried a book. He caught on quickly. She'd read that to avoid talking to him.

She can try...

When he saw the cover, he raised a brow. She'd found a book on werewolf culture. Mayhap she was looking for a way to kill him. At this point, it wouldn't surprise him.

"What've you got there witch?"

"Not talking to you."

"Of course not. You know, rather than reading that, you could just ask me. You have the King of the species at your disposal. I can probably tell you more about my people than that book can."

He decided matters could've been worse. At least with that book in hand he knew she was paying an interest.

She ignored him, moving to settle on one of the fancy couches. She propped the huge book up on her lap, opening it randomly to somewhere around the middle.

"Any thoughts?"

She cast her eyes up, just to make sure he saw her glare. "What does it matter? I'll be dead soon."

His throat itched to correct her.

Telling her the truth on the full moon would be a suicide mission. Stomach full of her potion, body weakened by silver, killing him would be a walk in the park.