Witches Get Stitches (Stay a Spell, #3)

by Juliette Cross

She gave a deep, throaty chuckle. “You were defensive as fuck. Curt, rude, and mean as hell.” “You’re exaggerating. If I was rude, it was because we were running late and I hate wasting time.” “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” “How does me being an asshole prove that I want Nico anyway?” “Because that’s what happens when you have a serious crush on a guy and you’re trying not to. You become a supreme bitch.”

“Tell me right fucking now, Eveleen.”

“Jesus, Violet. I don’t mean that. I mean just light touches. On the arm, the body, casual touches.”

“Yeah. But that’s all innocent. Other guys have done that.” But now that I thought about it, no one really did on the same level as Nico. “Not for a werewolf.” I could hear the smile in her voice as she went on. “To them, touch is a form of communication and, um, declaration.” “What is he communicating and declaring exactly?” A burst of butterflies scattered like buckshot in my belly, because I was pretty sure I knew what it meant. She huffed out a sigh. “And I always thought you were the smartest of my sisters. When it came to men anyway. Gotta go. I’m cooking dinner just in case Mateo wants something other than raw deer.”

I hugged my arms across my chest, remembering the many times he found a way to touch me in some innocent way in the office, the shop, even at the Cauldron. Was this some werewolf courting ritual to stake your claim? Now that I thought about it, he had freaked the fuck out when that guy Shane touched my wrist.

I waited for it. The outrage at some guy thinking he could claim me without my permission, exerting his caveman, possessive bullshit without even asking. But the usual resentment I felt every time a guy had tried that shit before never came.

Evie was right. I wanted him. Bad. So, so bad.

All I could do was wrap my arms more tightly around me and wonder what to do. And hope for a sign.

The shift was painful, yes, but fast. As soon as I’d become the nine-foot monster standing outside the cabin, it wasn’t the physical pain that lingered. It was the hollowness echoing inside my chest, my heart. My lonesome soul.

Jerking my snout toward the sky, I howled up at the moon. An aching, long wail that went unanswered. That’s where the true agony was. We need her. The gruff voice of my wolf in my head didn’t startle me. His will became my own this time of the month. He also erased any pretense that I could hide from what we both wanted most. The one woman who would satisfy us. Complete us. Fill this hollow ache in my chest, my soul.

We were dangerous. It was safer to be on my own. That way, no one got hurt. No one suffered. Only me.

A feral growl rippled through my chest. The beast was unhappy and restless. Bring her to me. That was impossible. Violet was still denying what we could be. While she did, I couldn’t and wouldn’t cross that line. No matter how gutting it felt when the wolf made our needs known. Like now.

That deep part of me yearned for an answer. For some reply to the hopeless longing throbbing in my veins, pounding in my aching heart. The beast had full sway, snuffling the air for a scent of her. Man and beast sent a mournful cry up into the night. Hoping. Craving. Longing. But as always, there was no answer. There never was.

Outside Empress Ink, we had a long thin border of crepe myrtle trees, which would be full of purple blooms in the spring. Right now, they were bare of any blooms or leaves at all. But they were wearing sweaters. I shit you not.

She hadn’t noticed me because she was chatting away, while knitting, to the grim leaning against the brick wall next to our entrance. He wore faded jeans and a leather jacket, his jet-black hair hiding most of his profile as he lifted a cigarette to his lips. Henry Blackwater, Sean’s older brother.

“So you’re kind of on a stakeout but without hiding in a nondescript car around the corner?” asked Clara. “Something like that.” His voice was low and deep and soft but not gentle. “You know, cigarettes are really bad for you.” “I’m a grim. I’ve got a long life.” “Doesn’t matter. Supers can still get sick, which can take years off your life. Instead of living three hundred years—well, how long do grims live anyway?”

A grim’s aura tended to make humans focus on their baser, darker urges.

“Violet! Isn’t it adorable?” She gestured wide to the colorful menagerie of covered tree trunks. “I’m yarn bombing you.”

I caught a pulse of magic. Not threatening, but…something. When I glanced at the grim, knowing full well it was coming from him, he remained casual as you please, blowing out a stream of smoke into the cold morning, dark gaze still on my sister.

I knew better to ask, but I did anyway. “Bernard?” She pointed to the skinniest tree on the far end. “That’s Bernard, then Lucy, and this is Doyle.” “Trees speak to you?” Henry took another drag on his cigarette. Strangely, his question wasn’t mocking in the least. “Not with words.” She slid a shy smile to him. “But they feel. Like all living things. I just prefer to give them names.”

Clara’s need to coddle and nurture all living creatures, right down to the nest of sugar ants that set up a residence in our cupboard last winter, was nothing new to me. And yes, I’m serious about the sugar ants. Rather than allow me to spray them with insecticide, she reorganized the shelves to allow them to keep that one, providing a dish of brown sugar for them.

Clara interrupted. “Are there really some werewolves bothering you?” She reeked of concern. I shook my head. “Nothing I can’t handle. But Nico is just”—I shrugged a shoulder—“you know, cautious.” “Mmhmm.” She smiled. “I know how Nico feels.”

I stormed off, irritated that yet another sister seemed to recognize the simmering attraction between myself and Nico. I suppose we weren’t fooling anyone. Not even ourselves.

Clara was already back to chatting up the silent grim acting as sentinel.

Honestly, I wasn’t even sure how he could help if a whole gang of werewolves showed up. As far as I knew, all grims could do was appeal to a person’s darker nature. And for werewolves, that wasn’t anything we w...

I saw a few photographs on one shelf. There was one of him and Mateo in front of a stone fireplace in what looked like a ranch house. Then another of them much younger, maybe late teens, sandwiched between two men, one looked exactly like an older version of Mateo and a silver fox on the other side. I remember Nico mentioning that he’d grown up with Mateo, his uncle and his grandfather. The last picture squeezed my heart for a different reason. It was a pretty brunette woman taking the selfie of her and Nico. Nico held a precious little girl on his shoulders. She had chubby cheeks and brown curls and she held a stuffed bunny triumphantly over her head. Behind them was a carnival stand, a carousel in the distance.

The poem was about fear. A metaphor about a river, flowing on and unable to go back. Because going back was impossible. A profound and beautiful reflection on not allowing mistakes or regrets to guide you. Or fear. Nico had obviously read this one many times, highlighting a few of the lines. He’d even made a pencil notation. Three words. Let it go.

seat on the sofa, I flipped toward the beginning. I suppose I was expecting some kind of dated diary entries or something. But that wasn’t what I was looking at. I scanned the first page, marveling at the lyrical beauty of the words in verse. Then the next and the next. I was hypnotized by this little glimpse into the man I was currently obsessing over. And what a glimpse it was. Pages and pages of loveliness. Drafts that had been scratched out, then rewritten. But all ending in something utterly beautiful.

“Yeah,” he said evenly, leaning in even closer. “From you, I’d beg for them.”

I’d heard of werewolf hangover, the aftermath of a full moon excursion. And maybe I’d noticed Mateo or Nico act like this before, but for some reason, it was wreaking havoc on my lady bits this time. There was a feral look in his eyes. And some other raw emotion that sizzled off his skin. It was said the wolf lingered following the full moon, just beneath the surface.

“Guess I’m just broken inside.” His steady, unwavering gaze eased over me with torturous slowness. “A werewolf should never live in the spotlight anyway.” “Devraj did. He was a Bollywood superstar for years.” “He’s a vampire. There’s no chance of him suddenly shifting into a raging monster in front of a stadium of thousands.”

“What are you scared of?” he almost whispered. “I’m not scared,” I argued. “Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

He was right. I was scared. Terrified actually. Obviously, I was attracted to him, but what if we went there and it all went to hell like the cards had told me it would. Then it ended in heartbreak and he hated me.

You can’t put that genie back in the bottle. Once it’s out, it’s out. Did I even give a fuck about the stupid card reading anymore? I wasn’t sure.

“I’m afraid it will all go sideways.” My voice cracked. “And it’ll end in heartbreak. For both of us.” “It won’t,” he said with conviction. “It’s just that we’re—” “I know what we are,” he snapped back, almost viciously. He curled his hands completely around my wrists, squeezing firmly but not to the point of pain. “What we could be,” he growled. “If you’d just let it happen.” Then he let me go. His voice was rusty and grating, demanding that I listen. “I’m tired of waiting, Violet.”

His primal, possessive look screamed words like heart and soul and forever. But that psychic warning I’d received in that reading a year ago kept haunting me. The intensity of it, of him, had me scared shitless. No one had ever looked at me like that. It was awesome and terrifying at the same time.

He was kicking me out! Was he breaking up with me? We weren’t even together yet!

He wasn’t going to tell me why he was back so early or why he looked like such hell. I knew for a fact that he and Mateo typically returned from their full-moon weekends looking more virile, more powerful than when they’d left. What was so different now?

Tears pricked my eyes with a sudden wave of emotion as I recalled the heartbreak already in Nico’s eyes. Was the Death card already coming true because I was rejecting what we could have before it had even begun?

Then everything went silent; only the wise voice of Aunt Beryl resonated through my mind. “Your true love is broken inside. Like all of his kin.”

“Oh, my God!” I’d slept the entire day away, but that wasn’t what had struck me like a thunderbolt. Nico’s voice echoed right behind Aunt Beryl’s. “Guess I’m just broken inside.” “It’s him,” I whispered to myself, voice shaking. Aunt Beryl’s words slammed into me like a psychic whip cracking through my soul. “Never smart for a Seer to divine for herself anyway.”

The magic didn’t sizzle under my skin. It burned, punishing me for what I’d obviously gotten so wrong.

Death, Three of Swords, the Tower. A tear escaped, trailing down my cheek, because now I could see what was there all along. What I’d been too blind to understand. To see. Death did mean endings. But what it also meant, which I’d failed to see, was change and transformation. Indeed, my life had been going through transformation. Even when I’d first pulled the card, I’d been on the path to opening my shop and changing things. But this wasn’t even about that. This was about changing my life to include him.

The Three of Swords reflected Nico’s heartache, which I’d caused by my constant rejection of him when he so obviously wanted me all along. I sobbed, realizing I’d been breaking his heart by refusing him. My blaze of magic sung with the truth of it like living flame searing through my blood.

The Tower, the symbol for our relationship, could’ve meant chaos and upheaval as I’d thought all along. But my magic whispered that I’d misinterpreted that as well. The Tower also meant revelation. Awakening.

A starburst of powerful energy shattered with warmth inside my chest as it hit me. The awakening was happening right this very second. I opened my eyes to realize that Nico was the one. He was mine. “My one true love.” Laughing and crying at my sappy words and th...

The transformation began the night Nico arrived in town because that’s when I’d stopped hooking up. I’d been focusing on opening Empress Ink and had put all thoughts of men and sex to the side. Except for my secret craving for Nico.

His heartbreak began when I set on a path to reject what we could be, thinking wrongfully that I was saving us both. His words at his place echoed back to me. “I know what we are…what we could be.”

I’d really messed things up. But I could fix them. There was still longing in his eyes tonight before he’d turned a cold shoulder against me and kicked me out.

Tomorrow, I’d finally cross that bridge and tell Nico he was right. That I wanted him. And hoped he still wanted me.