The Wolf and the Witch (Witch Walker, #3)

by Charissa Weaks

“I know you do. I’ve seen you hovering for the last eight years. You and the sorcerer as well. As though neither of you realizes that woman” —he stabs a finger toward me— “can fucking take care of herself.”

When he finishes, he leans in, his nose grazing my neck. “I haven’t scented a woman in so long,” he whispers against my skin. “It’s so different absorbing your aroma like this, through godly senses, not the dulled senses of a man.” Another graze, another inhale, a hand at my waist. “You smell like bliss and ruin at the same time.”

So how dare you tell me that I cannot find her. How dare you think that anything will keep me from her.”

Why suddenly, you think I need a hero. I’m my own fucking hero. Don’t forget it.”

“I don't want your fear, Nephele.” Eyes shadowed with lust, he folds his arms around me and gathers me into a lover's embrace. “I want your surrender.”